Romance through the Ages
Author: Amy Harmon
Date: 2014-02-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance; Clean Romance; Anthologies; Contemporary; Fiction
Description: (went off-sale April 30, 2014) USA TODAY BESTSELLING BOX SET: Romance through the Ages brings you SEVEN NOVELS from 7 bestselling authors, including New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon bestsellers. Join us for this fabulous, limited-availability collection. Over 800 combined 4-5 star reviews! *7 Romance Novels, 7 Bestselling Authors, 1 Amazing Price* Running Barefoot by NY Times & USA Today bestselling author Amy Harmon!— Deeply romantic and poignant, Running Barefoot is the story of a small town girl and a Native American boy, the ties that bind them to their homes and families, and the lov
Publisher: Mirror Press

Table of Contents

Title Page

MASQUERADE by Janette Rallison

Other Works by Janette Rallison

About Janette Rallison

RUNNING BAREFOOT by Amy Harmon

Author’s Note

Other Works by Amy Harmon

About Amy Harmon

THE RELUCTANT BACHELORETTE by Rachael Anderson

Author’s Note

Other Works by Rachael Anderson

About Rachael Anderson

PRIDE AND PRECIPITATION by Heather Horrocks

Author’s Note

Other Works by Heather Horrocks

About Heather Horrocks

MY OWN MR. DARCY by Karey White

Author’s Note

Other Works by Karey White

About Karey White

SHE OWNS THE KNIGHT by Diane Darcy

Other Works by Diane Darcy

About Diane Darcy

HEART OF THE OCEAN by Heather B. Moore

Author’s Note

Other Works by Heather B. Moore

About Heather B. Moore

Copyright

Copyright © 2014 Heather B. Moore, Amy Harmon, Janette Rallison, Rachael Anderson, Heather Horrocks, Karey White, Diane Darcy

Published by Mirror Press, LLC

Cover Design by Rachael Anderson

This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

E-book edition released Feburary 2014

ISBN-13: 978-1941145005

Masquerade

by Janette Rallison

Chapter One

Opportunity didn’t knock for Slade Jacobson—it rang his cell phone at 10:34 pm while he was putting his daughter to bed for the third time. He ignored his phone and tried to convince Bella she was tired, this time using a cockney accent and a dragon puppet who begged the four-year-old to stop bouncing around the bed because he ‘ad a blazin ‘eadache.

Who said an actor’s life wasn’t carefree and glamorous?

Bella finally relented, clutching the puppet to her heart—and his arm along with it. She’d inherited her light brown curls, her heart-shaped face, and the dimples in her cheeks from his ex-wife. The only thing Bella seemed to have inherited from him was a pair of golden-brown eyes. But this brought him comfort. As long as there was some part of him in his daughter, there was hope she wouldn’t turn out like his ex-wife.

Bella finally relaxed her grip on his arm, surrendering to sleep. Slade’s cell phone rang again.

Bella’s eyes flew open.

“Lay still,” Slade told her. “You don’t want to make your dragon yell.” Or your father. He slipped out of the room, pulling the cell phone from his pocket as he did.

Who was calling at this hour? He glanced at the caller ID. Landon. Well, that explained the hour. This was still early in the evening in Landon’s world. He was probably out clubbing with some model and had forgotten altogether that the rest of the species wasn’t nocturnal.

Slade answered the phone with a tired, “Hello?”

“Take the next plane to Vegas, because this is your lucky night.”

Slade heard music and talking in the background. A woman laughed near the phone. Slade could picture Landon, his feet kicked up on the nearest piece of furniture, a day’s worth of stubble on that perfectly square jaw photographers were so crazy about. The laughing woman was probably tousling his blonde hair.

Slade walked toward his family room. “What’s up, Landon?”

“Don’t think of me as Landon. Think of me as the granter of favors, and I’m about to grant you a huge one.”

Slade sat down on a recliner and rubbed his eyebrows. “If this has anything to do with women, I’m not interested. The last one you set me up with had the personality of moss.”

Landon laughed. “Well, maybe, but she had other compensating qualities.”

Right. If she had been any shallower, she could have been classified as a kiddy pool.

“This isn’t about women,” Landon went on. “It’s about the only creatures on the earth more desirable than women—producers.”

Slade leaned forward. “I’m listening.”

“You owe me big for this,” Landon said. “Someday I’m going to need something, and I’m going to remind you of this moment.”

Slade didn’t wait to hear any more of the bargain. “Did you get someone interested in my screenplay?”

“I said I was granting favors, not miracles. You’re going to have to sell the script yourself. I’m just giving you the opportunity. AJ is taking the entire cast of Undercover Agents to Oahu for a week-and-a-half-long shoot there. He’s billing it as work, but you know AJ—he wants to vacation before we start filming. Anyway, I booked a room for you at the Mahalo Regency Resort with the rest of us. I thought you could pitch the project to him between the time he’s eating and swimming.” Landon paused. “Now tell me I didn’t do a better job for you than that overpaid agent of yours.”

“You’re certainly as resourceful.”

“We leave in ten days. Call the resort and confirm your spot.”

Slade didn’t answer for a moment. He’d been looking for a producer for this screenplay for months. His agent had set up a few pitch meetings, but nothing had come of those. Still, he had his daughter to consider. “I don’t know. Bella acts up when I’m away.”

“And she acts up when you’re with her. What’s the difference? Pay your nanny extra, and you’re set to go.”

Slade hesitated. “Actually, I’m between nannies right now.”

“Bella chased another nanny away?”

“Bella didn’t chase her away. The woman wasn’t capable of handling a spirited child. Besides, I think she only took the job because she wanted an in with her acting career. She kept doing Betty White impersonations for me.”

Landon let out an impatient grunt. “So find someone else.”

“It’s not that easy. I’ve got to find the perfect woman.”

Landon laughed, blocking out the background music on his end.

“What?” Slade asked.

“You’re such a family man now. There used to be a time when finding the perfect woman meant something entirely different to you.”

Slade knew Landon didn’t understand. He didn’t have a little girl with golden-brown eyes who depended on him. “Thanks for the lead,” Slade said. “I’ll see you in ten days.”

Which meant he had nine days to find the perfect woman.

Chapter Two

Writing a eulogy would have been easier, Clarissa mused as she looked down at the employment application. At least when you said glowing things about the dead, no one asked you to provide references to prove it was the truth.

Clarissa glanced around the waiting room and sized up her competition. The other four people sitting on the decoratively-uncomfortable couches appeared calm, perhaps even bored. A man with glassy eyes and a tight-fitting suit filled out his application in one corner. In another, two girls who looked like they had skipped out of high school to be here chatted instead of filling out their applications. Both wore jeans, T-shirts, and too much makeup. Next to them a frumpy older woman filled out her paperwork with a flourish, as though she thoroughly enjoyed dotting her i’s.

Clarissa didn’t like filling out her application. Reducing her life history to one-sentence answers made her sound so ordinary.

Accomplishments?

She tapped her pen against the clipboard her application was attached to. What had she accomplished lately? She’d survived a divorce. She’d single-handedly moved her belongings into an apartment. She’d recently bought an ironing board, a blender, and two outfits for her three-year-old daughter at a garage sale and got change back from her ten-dollar bill. That had seemed like a great accomplishment at the time.

What else?

She tapped the pen some more. How could she be busy from seven in the morning until midnight every night and yet never accomplish anything?

Clarissa looked at the next space on the application. It read: Hobbies.

Oh, great. Not only was she supposed to accomplish things, she was also supposed to have hobbies. Somewhere in between her job at the fitness club, her job as a waitress, and the time with Elaina she wedged into the remaining hours of the day, she was supposed to be skiing, composing poetry, or playing chess.

Reciting Dr. Seuss probably didn’t count as a hobby. Neither did turning old dish towels into Barbie fashions.

She looked at the space for a moment longer, then wrote yoga. As part of her job at the fitness club, she taught a yoga class twice a week. It paid little enough to almost count as a hobby.

Clarissa glanced over her application again. It was unimpressive by anyone’s standards. Perhaps she should embellish a few abilities and accomplishments for good measure. After all, she was justified because she really needed a decent job. Working two dead-end jobs had been all right in the short term. It had produced enough money to retain a lawyer and put down a deposit on an apartment, but she couldn’t go on this way for long. She had to think of her future. She had to think of Elaina’s. She needed work that would allow her more time with her daughter and enough money so she could go back to school and finish her family science degree.

Clarissa held the pen poised over the application, but in the end couldn’t bring herself to make up anything. It simply wasn’t right.

She stood, walked to the receptionist, and handed her the clipboard. Then she slipped back onto the couch and picked up a magazine. She didn’t read it, though. Instead, she gazed at the other people in the room and wondered what had brought them here. Then she wondered if they were thinking the same thing about her.

I’m not supposed to be here, she thought. This was never supposed to be a stopping place in my life. I planned on a career as a stay-at-home mom. I planned on baking casseroles, carting people to dance lessons, and teaching the joy of reading to a bunch of beautiful and talented children. That’s what was supposed to have happened.

Clarissa closed her eyes and pushed away the feeling of panic that assaulted her whenever she considered the future. It will be okay, she told herself and ignored the other voice in her head—the one that said, “You’re a single mother with minimal job skills, an incomplete college degree, and a three-year-old daughter to support.”

A portly, middle-aged man appeared in the doorway of the waiting room, signaling that he was ready to see the next applicant. He looked down at the form in his hand and then called, “Clarissa Hancock?”

Clarissa flinched at the name. She’d meant to put down Harrison as her last name. Instead, out of force of habit, she’d written Hancock on the form. It was just one more way she hadn’t fully adjusted to single life.

She got to her feet, smiled at the man who’d called her, and followed him into a small office.

He motioned her to have a seat, then sat down behind a desk, all the time keeping his gaze on her. As she settled into her chair, a smile broke across his face. “I do know you. It took me a moment to recognize you, but you’re Alex Hancock’s wife, right?”

She smiled back at him, trying to place him, and wondered how much of her current marital status to divulge.

Before she could say anything he added, “I’m an old friend of Alex’s parents. Brent Peterson. I came to your wedding reception, remember?”

She forced a smile and pretended she wasn’t uncomfortable talking about it. “Sorry. That day is a blur in my mind. I mean, I remember smiling for a lot of pictures, shaking hands, and somewhere in all of that we ate cake.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I gave you the nicest wedding gift.” He laughed a deep, rich laugh.

She didn’t want to tell him. She somehow couldn’t tell him the marriage was over, so she kept smiling and nodded.

“And how is that family of yours doing these days?” he asked.

“We have a three-year-old daughter. Her name is Elaina.”

He nodded. “Precious age.”

“Yes.” I want to leave, she thought. I want to walk out of here and go where I’ll never run into anyone who ever knew Alex. She shouldn’t have to explain all the personal details of her life. She shouldn’t have to tell people that Alex was not as charming or as kind as the image he so carefully cultivated.

What would Brent Peterson’s response be if she said, “Yes, three is a precious age—it’s too bad my ex-husband could never see that. He always found things to yell at her about, until it became a daily ritual for her to break into tears every time he spoke to her.”

One didn’t say those kinds of things. One was supposed to keep it inside and pretend everything was lovely. So Clarissa continued to smile and nod.

Mr. Peterson glanced over her application again, then set it aside. “I’ll tell you what… I’ve always believed friends should help friends, and I’m going to see what I can do for you.”

Clarissa gulped and hoped he didn’t see the flush that suddenly touched her face. Before, her divorce had been a question of privacy. Now suddenly it was a secret, a secret that might help her get a job. It seemed dishonest to keep pretending she was Alex’s wife, and yet how could she tell the truth now?

As Mr. Peterson looked through files on his computer, he recounted stories of cute things Alex had done as a child. One didn’t break into that kind of speech with: “Oh, I know exactly what you mean. Alex said the cutest thing to me the last time I saw him. He told me, ‘I’ll always be able to afford better lawyers than you can hire. I let you have full custody of Elaina, but don’t think you’ll ever get one cent more in child support from me.’”

Mr. Peterson looked up. “You don’t have any accounting skills?”

“Not beyond balancing my checkbook.”

“Pity, that one paid well.” He scanned his computer again. “Computer programming?”

She shook her head.

He returned his attention to the computer. “Any experience in dental offices?”

“Only the kind where you sit in a chair with your mouth open for half an hour.”

He smiled, then glanced down at her application again. “You do have child-care skills.”

“Three years’ worth.”

He pushed himself away from the computer. “I should have thought about this before.” Folding his arms, he leaned back in his chair. “Can you be an around-the-clock nanny for a week?”

One of Clarissa’s friends watched Elaina while Clarissa worked, and she would probably consent to taking care of her for an entire week, but Clarissa balked at the idea of being away from her daughter for so long. “Well, I was thinking of something more along the lines of eight to five.”

Mr. Peterson smiled across the desk at her. “It pays three thousand dollars, with the possibility of callbacks.”

“I’ll take it.”

He laughed and jotted an address on a card. “The job offer came in this morning. I already set up three people to be interviewed for it, but I’ll add you to the list and tell him you come with the highest recommendation.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you.”

Mr. Peterson handed her the card. “It’s a job for Slade Jacobson. He wants a nanny for his four-year-old daughter while he goes to Hawaii. It’s going to be a sort of working vacation for him.” Mr. Peterson leaned toward her. “Some life, huh?”

“Slade Jacobson?” Clarissa asked. “The Slade Jacobson who’s in all those movies?”

“The very one.”

Slade Jacobson was one of those tall, dark, and ruggedly-handsome actors who looked like he was perpetually about to defeat a villain in hand-to-hand combat and then carry off a swooning-yet-seductive maiden. It was hard to think about him as a father at all. Ordinary dads didn’t have shoulders like linebackers or golden-brown eyes that seemed to look right through you.

Mr. Petersen smiled. “I loved him as Hawk Hawthorn in Maximum Security, which reminds me—don’t give out his address to anyone. Actors are touchy that way.”

Before she could promise to be discreet, he went on. “I know how these interviews go, so let me give you a few hints. Be on time. Dress professionally, and don’t be afraid to emphasize your qualifications. Make sure he knows you’re perfect for the job. You’ve got the schooling, you’ve got the experience, you’re trustworthy, and you’re married.”

“I’m married?” she asked. “I mean, that’s a qualification?”

He laughed again, the same deep laugh. “Officially no. Unofficially yes. He doesn’t want any pretty young things taking the job for the wrong reasons.”

“Oh, yes, I see.” Well, no need to tell him the truth then. She only wanted the job for the right reasons.

“The interview will be Tuesday at three o’clock—” Mr. Peterson stopped, leaned back in his chair, and waved his pen in the air thoughtfully. “Why don’t you call and tell him you have a three-year-old daughter? She’s about the same age as Bella, and maybe he’d let you take her along as a playmate.”

Clarissa nodded and looked at the card. He lived in Malibu. She didn’t go there often, but she could find her way around.

She thanked Mr. Peterson and then stood up to go.

Mr. Peterson also stood and reached over the desk to shake her hand. “Say hello to Alex for me. And listen, if this interview doesn’t work out, you come back and we’ll find something else for you.”

She smiled and thanked Mr. Peterson again. This interview had to work out because she could absolutely not come here again.

Chapter Three

Clarissa glanced in the rearview mirror for the umpteenth time, making sure her hair was still in place and her makeup unsmeared. Those things weren’t likely to happen while she was driving in a car with the windows rolled up, but she checked her appearance anyway. A sudden phobia of not being perfect had hit her.

Her outfit probably wasn’t nice enough, and her shoes were scuffed. She hadn’t thought much about them until she got ready for the interview, and then she remembered why she hadn’t worn her wool blazer for so long. The only shoes that matched it were scuffed. But what could she do? This skirt and blazer were the only things professional enough to wear to an interview.

Clarissa glanced in the mirror again, this time checking on Elaina in her car seat. “Are you okay back there?”

Elaina nodded, her twin blonde pigtails bobbing as she did. The pink bows Clarissa had tied in her hair were still in place, and her dress didn’t even look wrinkled. It was pink too. Elaina had decided it was her favorite color and lately refused to wear anything that wasn’t some shade or hue of pink.

Elaina’s pale blue eyes looked up at her mother’s reflection. “Are we almost dere?”

“Yes. And while we’re there, you’re going to be what?”

“Good,” Elaina said.

“And that means being what?”

“Quiet,” Elaina said.

“And play nicely with the other little girl,” Clarissa added. “Then what will we get after we’re finished with the interview?”

“Ice cream,” Elaina said, smiling.

“One more thing. Remember, we’re not going to say anything about Daddy while we’re there, okay?” Clarissa hoped Elaina wouldn’t question that request. It was just one more thing to worry about, and Clarissa was already worried about everything else.

It wasn’t that she had any idealistic notions of celebrities. Clarissa had never been the type who poured over the tabloids or even watched the Oscars. Her knowledge of Hollywood was minimal by anyone’s standards, but you couldn’t be a grocery-store-shopping woman and not know who Slade Jacobson was.

Slade had graced the cover of every tabloid when he and TV starlet Evelyn Larkin married five years ago. They had looked like such a perfect couple. Perfectly happy, perfectly beautiful, perfectly rich and famous.

Apparently the marriage hadn’t been perfect though. The couple had made the same rounds on the tabloids about a year ago after Evelyn was caught cheating with her soap opera co-star. And the tabloids had photographic proof to commemorate the event: Evelyn draped over a blond hunk at some drunken party.

Clarissa had felt sorry for Slade then—to have his personal life the cause of so much public speculation. Everyone wondered who was to blame for the affair. Was there something wrong with Slade or with Evelyn that she would cheat on a guy that eighty percent off American women would willingly ditch their boyfriends for?

Perhaps Evelyn was a fool, walking away from that sort of knee-weakening specimen of manhood. Or maybe Slade was one of those overbearing jerks that a woman could only take for so long.

Well, Clarissa was about to find out, wasn’t she?

Clarissa turned away from the busyness of the main streets and toward Malibu Canyon. Even though it was late October, autumn only brought slightly cooler temperatures. California was still blue skies, sunshine, and tourists.

The farther Clarissa drove up the hill, the harder her heart pounded. I’m really going to do this, she thought. I’m going to walk up to Slade Jacobson’s house and knock on the door. Then he’ll open the door, and my brain will stop working, and the first thing I’ll blurt out is, “I’m not married.”

Clarissa gripped the steering wheel and resolved to remain poised and in control of her tongue. Her marital status didn’t matter. Slade had only requested a married woman so he didn’t have to worry about getting applicants who were just conniving little flirts in sheep’s clothing—or in this case, wool blazers. But Clarissa had no designs on Slade. In fact, after spending the last five years with Alex, she was likely to remain designless, as far as men went, on a permanent basis. If she ever felt lonely for someone whose main purpose in life was to point out her every shortcoming, she’d buy a subscription to a beauty magazine.

She pulled up Ocean View Drive and then into a long driveway. She stopped in front of an imposing metal gate and pressed the call button.

“Yes?” a faraway sounding female voice said.

“Hi. I’m here for an interview,” Clarissa said.

“Just a moment.” A few seconds of silence ticked by, and then the gate slowly swung open.

Clarissa continued down the driveway until she reached a two-story colonial house—a gray-brick splendor with dark green shutters and a crisp white porch that extended the length of the house. Rose bushes bordered the porch, their red and pink blossoms splashing color against the wood. To the side of the house, a grove of oak trees towered over an expanse of plush green lawn. It seemed like a place fairies would visit and not like the home of Hawk Hawthorn.

Clarissa parked, got Elaina out of the car, and they strolled silently up the walk. On the doorstep, she squeezed Elaina’s hand again. “Remember to be good.”

Elaina nodded. “Ice cream.”

Clarissa rang the doorbell, and moments later it opened to reveal a well-dressed, trim, middle-aged woman. Her gray hair was cut in a bob and neatly curled under. Even from where Clarissa stood, she could tell the woman’s lip color exactly matched the shade of her fingernail polish.

And now the flowers made sense. Clarissa was at the wrong house. Somehow there had been a horrible mistake, and Slade Jacobson was waiting for her somewhere in a house decorated with cactus, boulders, and the skulls of small animals that had wandered onto his property.

“I… uh… was looking for Slade Jacobson,” Clarissa said.

The woman smiled and opened the door farther. “Come in. He isn’t finished with the last interview, but I’ll show you to a waiting room.”

Clarissa took in the entryway in a glance. A chandelier cascaded from the high ceiling. The walls were cream, hung with large paintings of parochial hunting scenes above a border of hip-high wood molding. A vase of lilies overpowered a glass-topped table at the foot of a curved stairway, and the mahogany floor shone as though just recently buffed. There were still no signs of cactus or animal skulls.

As they walked through the entryway, the woman extended a hand to Clarissa. “I’m Meredith Allen, Slade’s assistant.”

Clarissa shook her hand. “Clarissa Hancock. This is a lovely home.”

“Thank you. I decorated it myself.” Meredith leaned closer to Clarissa. “Slade hasn’t quite forgiven me for all the florals, but he’ll get over it eventually.”

Meredith then bent down and surveyed Elaina. “You must be here for the job of playmate, is that right?”

“I get ice cream if I’m good,” Elaina said.

This was perhaps not the best way to start out an interview on child-rearing practices. Clarissa cleared her throat uncomfortably. “It isn’t bribery. It’s rewarding appropriate behavior.”

Meredith straightened, her smile still intact. “Oh, you don’t have to convince me. I frequently reward myself with ice cream. What’s the point of being good otherwise?” She walked a few paces down the hallway and motioned through a doorway. “You can wait in here until Slade is ready for you.”

Clarissa gave a soft thank you to Meredith and led Elaina into the room. It was the size of a small living room with an oversized couch in one corner and a matching chair in the other. Several silk trees stood against the walls, and a rustic-looking coffee table displayed an assortment of magazines. A floor-to-ceiling bookcase completely covered one wall, and two large ceramic dogs lay sprawled on the floor.

Another door—a slightly open door—stood directly across the room. Clarissa deposited Elaina on the couch, told her to sit still, and then went to investigate the door. She planned on closing it. As she got closer she heard voices coming from the room beyond it. One voice she recognized immediately: Slade’s.

“And discipline?” he asked. “How do you handle that?”

Instead of closing the door, Clarissa sat down in the chair beside it. It wasn’t really eavesdropping, she told herself. Meredith had told her to wait here, and the door was already open. It wasn’t her fault if she overheard the interview questions, and after all, it would help her prepare her own answers.

“I’m firm where discipline is concerned,” the woman said. “I let parents set the rules and I expect children to follow them.”

Elaina bounced up and down slightly on the couch. “Sweetheart, sit still,” Clarissa whispered.

Elaina stopped bouncing and slid off the couch. She started toward her mother, then stopped in front of the ceramic dogs. “Look, Mommy, doggies!”

“Yes, sweetheart. Don’t touch.”

From the other room Slade asked, “When do you think is the right time to ask for the parent to intervene?”

Clarissa tried to judge from the sound of his voice whether or not he approved of the woman’s last answer. His voice sounded clipped, but perhaps that was just his interviewing voice.

“I don’t expect a parent to have to intervene when I’m tending,” the woman said. “That’s my job.”

“I see.” His voice definitely sounded disapproving that time, although Clarissa had no idea what he disapproved of.

She glanced over at Elaina and saw her gingerly touching one of the dog’s heads.

“Elaina, I told you not to touch that.”

“But I’s petting it nicely,” Elaina said.

“Mommy said no.”

Elaina frowned. “I want to go home.”

“In a little while. Here, come look at these stickers in my purse. You can play with them when it’s time for me to talk to Mr. Jacobson.”

Elaina walked toward her mother, then stopped at the trees by the couch instead.

Clarissa tuned back to the conversation in the next room. Slade asked, “What are your favorite activities to do with children?”

This was an important question and one she hadn’t considered before. She would answer… reading. No one could take issue with that. Cooking was another good answer. It sounded homey and educational. She could talk about the way Elaina liked to stand beside her as she made dinner and help dump ingredients into the bowl. But then, perhaps Slade wouldn’t approve of that. He probably had someone do his cooking for him, and besides, maybe he’d worry about his daughter being burned or cut. Cooking was definitely out. Board games, perhaps…

Elaina moved behind the trees and giggled mischievously. “You can’t find me,” she cooed, and then giggled again.

“Where is my sweetie pie?” Clarissa asked. She knew this question would prolong the game and keep Elaina busy for a few more minutes. Then Clarissa blocked out the giggling and listened to the conversation in the next room again. They were talking about children’s self-esteem, although Clarissa didn’t know how they’d gotten on that subject. Slade seemed to think it was of the utmost importance, though. So when Clarissa went over her background in family science, she could slip in something about how appropriate achievements boost a child’s self-esteem.

And—oh, she had it… the perfect answer to the “What are your favorite activities to do with children?” question. When Slade asked her, she’d smile and say, “Whatever the child’s favorite activity is. I find children are happiest when they’re pursuing areas of their own natural interest.” How could Slade find fault with that answer?

I might have a chance at this job, Clarissa thought. I might be able to pull it off.

Slade said, “Thank you for coming, Mrs. McGrath. My assistant will call you tonight and let you know my decision.” Clarissa’s gaze instantly swung back to the silk plants. “Elaina, come here. It’s our turn now.”

The plants remained still and silent.

Clarissa stood and walked to the trees. She pushed aside the foliage. “Elaina?”

No one was there.

Clarissa’s eyes now swept over the room, looking for her daughter’s hiding place. She could hear the click of heels across the floor in the next room and knew Mrs. McGrath was leaving.

“Elaina,” Clarissa whispered. “Come here, right now!” She glanced behind the chair, and then, because it was the only hiding place left in the room, Clarissa knelt down beside the couch.

The couch stood high off the floor with a ruffled skirt, which concealed everything underneath. It probably could have accommodated several small children. Clarissa lifted the ruffle and looked to see if it hid hers. The area was dark, and it was impossible to see anything, so Clarissa reached out her hand to see if she could touch something that felt like a three-year-old.

“We evicted the dust bunnies from underneath the furniture,” Slade’s voice came from directly behind her, “but if you’re interested, we have a fine lint collection behind the washing machine.”

Clarissa jumped at the sound of Slade and, in doing so, banged the side of her face into the bottom of the couch. Then, more slowly, she turned to look up at him. He was taller than she’d expected and even more striking. In real life his hair was darker, his features stronger, and his brown eyes had an intensity she never saw on TV. There was something about him that reminded her of a lion. Something sleek, powerful, and full of pent-up energy.

Clarissa got to her feet. “I was looking for my daughter. She seems to have wandered off.”

“Under the couch?”

“Well, no. I just figured she must be in here someplace, and I’ve looked everywhere else.”

Slade appraised her silently. “You lost your daughter?” And although he didn’t actually come right out and say, “And yet you want a job taking care of mine?” the question hung in the air.

“She was just here and I…” How could she explain? She couldn’t tell him she’d been so busy eavesdropping she hadn’t been paying attention to Elaina. “She can’t have gone far.”

The door to the hallway stood slightly ajar. She went to it and peered down the hallway.

Empty.

“Elaina?” she called.

No one replied.

Clarissa stood there, feeling her heart pound, and looked hopelessly down the hallway.

Slade came up beside her and looked down the hallway himself. “How far did you say she usually wanders?”

Clarissa wasn’t sure whether his voice was laced with amusement or just amazement. At this point it didn’t matter. “Look,” she told him, “you probably don’t consider me capable of watching children. You don’t have to hire me to watch yours, but could you please help me find my daughter?”

He nodded slowly. “All right.” He stepped out into the hallway and tilted his head back. “Meredith?”

She appeared in one of the doorways down the hall. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Hancock has misplaced her daughter. Could you help her search down here, and I’ll try upstairs?”

Meredith’s gaze turned to Clarissa, and for a moment she saw sympathy there. “Certainly.”

Slade walked leisurely down to the end of the hallway and disappeared through one of the corridors. Meredith walked to the other end of the hallway and began looking in rooms. Clarissa followed her, scanning everything for movement, and every once in a while called out, “Elaina, come here right now!”

Clarissa tried to quell the sense of panic that nipped at her. After all, Elaina wasn’t really lost. It wasn’t as if someone had spirited her off. At least, Clarissa hoped not. She suddenly wondered how many employees Slade Jacobson had and if all of them had been given background checks. She shook off the thought. Elaina wasn’t kidnapped, she’d simply wandered off, and they would find her any moment. Still, as she searched, Clarissa said a silent prayer that Elaina wasn’t somewhere hurt, or scared, or breaking priceless antiques.

Meredith and Clarissa systematically went from one room to another, which proved to be quite a task. Clarissa didn’t see any signs of a little girl, but she did see enough cherry wood furniture to convince her that somewhere there was a large empty space in a cherry orchard with Slade Jacobson’s name on it.

They reached a spacious living room. As Clarissa was checking inside a fireplace that could have comfortably accommodated a band, Slade reappeared at the top of a winding staircase.

“Bella isn’t in the playroom anymore,” he called to Meredith. “Have you seen her downstairs?”

Meredith shook her head.

Slade’s jaw clenched, then he banged his hand against the banister and yelled, “Isabel Jacobson!”

Only silence followed his call.

He stormed down the stairs, mumbling something Clarissa couldn’t hear, then walked into the kitchen.

Meredith sighed and resumed her head shaking. She leaned toward Clarissa confidentially. “This is why I don’t tend Bella anymore. I’m too old to be chasing wild fillies.”

Wild fillies? So Slade Jacobson, Mr. We-have-no-dust-bunnies-under-the-couch, had a daughter who could be classified as a wild filly? It made Clarissa feel a little better about blowing her interview. At least she knew Mrs. McGrath would have to work for her money.

Slade came from the kitchen with a small black dog happily trailing behind him. The dog stared expectantly up at Slade, wagging his tail so fiercely it looked like it would topple him over.

“Blitzer,” Slade spoke slowly to the dog. “Where’s Bella? Go find Bella.”

The dog’s droopy ears lifted momentarily, and he peered about the room intently. Then he put his nose down and ran in what seemed a random manner around the room. Clarissa watched this with her mouth slightly open.

Slade glanced at her and shrugged. “It’s Bella’s dog. They play hide-and-go-seek together, and he can always find her.”

“That’s because Blitzer cheats,” Meredith said. Then to Clarissa she added, “He counts to ten but never closes his eyes.”

The dog apparently caught a whiff of the little girl, because he charged into the kitchen. Slade followed after him, and Meredith and Clarissa followed after Slade. The dog sniffed around the kitchen, then ran through an archway into the dining room. Once there, he went straight to the dining room table and stuck his head and front paws under the tablecloth. The tablecloth, like the matching curtains nearby, puddled lace onto the floor so that only the backside of Blitzer stuck out, his tail again wagging wildly.

Blitzer gave one sharp, happy bark, which was followed by giggling. Two pairs of giggles.

Slade crossed his arms and glared down at the table. “Bella!”

The giggles stopped.

“Bella Jacobson, what are you doing?”

Two little heads peeked out from underneath the tablecloth. The one with light brown curls said, “We’re having a hot chocolate party, Daddy.” Her smile grew wider. “Because you don’t let me drink real tea.”

Slade shook his head. “Bella, you were supposed to stay in the playroom until Meredith called you to come down.”

Bella’s smile instantly turned to a pout that made her look even more charming. “You said I would get to play with a friend, and then she came and you forgot to get me.” Bella pulled Blitzer into a hug, and he licked her face until she laughed and let him go. He then disappeared under the tablecloth completely.

“No one forgot to get you,” Slade said. “It just wasn’t your turn to play yet.”

Clarissa motioned to her daughter. “Come here, Elaina.”

Elaina crawled from underneath the table with a frown. “I just started playing.”

“You have to ask me before you play. You know that. I was worried when I couldn’t find you.”

Elaina sighed dramatically and, with her ponytails bobbing, stomped over to her mother. “But that girl said I’s ‘posed to go with her.”

Slade cocked his head and gave Bella another stern look. “Isabel, did you go get Elaina and tell her to come with you?”

Bella nodded and her curls bounced around her shoulders.

“Why didn’t you ask her mother if she could play?”

“Because we’re playing spy and so it’s a secret. That’s why we’re in our secret hideout.”

Slade nodded. His voice had a crispness to it when he spoke. “We will talk about your career as a spy later. Right now I want you to go back into the playroom so I can talk to Elaina’s mother.”

“You still want to interview me?” Clarissa asked.

“Do you still want the position…” he glanced at the table, “even now that you know my daughter is an underworld spy who lures unsuspecting bystanders underneath the dining room table?”

“That depends,” Clarissa said. “Does the dog come along as part of the job description?”

Slade smiled a broad, even smile, the same one she’d seen plastered on the cover of TV Guide not long ago. “I’ll talk to Bella about hiding.”

Without a trace of emotion Meredith said, “And perhaps you could put a bell around her neck.”

Slade shot Meredith a look, but when he turned back to Clarissa, he seemed to be the person she’d first seen in the waiting room—professional and impatient. “Well, let’s get on with the interview. Where did I leave my notebook?”

He looked toward the door. Before he could move in that direction, Meredith spoke up, “I’ll get it for you.” She smiled coolly, turned, and her heels clicked sharply across the floor as she left.

Slade turned to Bella. “Why don’t you and Elaina make a secret hideout in the playroom now?”

“The table is the best hideout.” Bella’s pout came back. “Pleeeease.”

Slade shook his head, and Clarissa could see the answer forming on his lips. Then just as quickly, he stopped and half smiled. “I suppose we can do the interview in here.” He glanced over at Clarissa. “If you don’t mind.”

Clarissa shrugged and let go of Elaina’s hand. Her daughter happily skipped over to the table and disappeared back underneath.

Slade walked to the table and pulled two chairs a little way from it. He motioned for Clarissa to sit down on one of them. As she did, he scrutinized her carefully.

“I read the résumé the agency sent, and it seems fine. Tell me one thing, though. Do you have an acting background?”

Clarissa shifted in her chair uneasily. “I played Liesl in my high school’s production of The Sound of Music.”

“Anything more recent?”

Not unless one considered pretending to be married, acting. “No,” she said.

“Good. The last nanny I hired cared more about my agent than my daughter.”

“Oh. Well, you don’t have to worry about that in my case.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Now then, on to your references.”

She nodded, glad she had called the friends she’d written down for references and instructed them what to say.

“Your references spoke well of you,” Slade said, “but I have yet to speak to your most important one, Elaina.”

“Elaina?”

“She’s had the most on-the-job experience with you. And besides,” he smiled at her mischievously, “kids tell the unvarnished truth.”

Yes, exactly, which was why Clarissa suddenly felt like her heart would knock through her chest.

Without waiting for her to formulate a decent protest, Slade left his chair and sat down on the floor by the table. Flipping up the tablecloth, he looked under the table at the girls. They lay sprawled out on their stomachs, the furry black dog and a pink plastic tea set lying between them.

“May I join your party?” Slade asked.

“Of course, Daddy.” Bella put her hand out as though giving him something. “Here’s a cookie for you. It’s pretend because Blitzer ate the real ones.”

Blitzer wagged his tail.

“Thank you,” Slade said. “I’ve always had a fondness for pretend cookies. What kind is it?”

“Peanut butter chip,” Bella said.

Slade put his hand to his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Delicious.” Then he leaned toward Elaina. “So, Elaina, how old are you?”

“Almost four.”

“And you have a mother, right?”

Elaina nodded.

“What’s her name?”

“Mommy.”

“A lovely name. One of my favorites. What type of things does Mommy do at home?”

Elaina tilted her head to one side. “The dishes.”

Slade took another bite from his invisible cookie. “Ahh, I specialize in that myself. Is she a good mommy?”

Elaina held her arms wide. “She’s the best-est mommy in the whole world.”

Slade looked over at Clarissa with raised eyebrows. “Stunning references.” He then turned back to Elaina. “What’s the nicest thing your mommy has ever done for you?”

“She’s gonna give me ice cream if I’m good.”

“Oh, that is nice. Tell her you want Haagen-Dazs. It’s the best.”

“Just what she needs to hear,” Clarissa called over.

“Does your mommy play with you?”

Elaina nodded, making her pigtails bob.

“What sorts of things do you play?”

“Shoot and batter.”

“Chutes and Ladders,” Clarissa corrected. “It’s Chutes and Ladders.”

“Yeah,” Elaina said. “We also play Go Flesh.”

“Fish,” Clarissa said.

Slade smiled. “Do you ever get in trouble?”

Elaina hesitated, sheepishly tilting her head to her shoulder. “Yes.”

“What happens when you get in trouble?”

“Mommy sends me to the chair and says, ‘Do you want to grow up to be like Aunt Renea?’”

“Who’s Aunt Renea?”

With the exact same inflection Clarissa must have sometime used, Elaina proclaimed, “She’s a pain in the neck.”

Slade bit back a smile and nodded.

Bella put a plastic pink spoon into the sugar bowl and lifted it out again. “Daddy, would you like one or two spoonfuls of sugar in your hot chocolate?”

“None. You don’t put sugar in hot chocolate.”

“I do.” Bella put the spoon into her cup, then picked up the teapot and poured something into her father’s cup.

Slade took it from her. “Hey, this is real water. You know you’re not supposed to take water out of the kitchen.”

Bella blinked her large brown eyes at him. “But this is the outside-of-the-kitchen water.”

“There is no outside-of-the-kitchen water.” He took a sip and then spit the contents back into his cup. “This is awful. Where did you get it?”

“Out of the watering can.” Bella smiled proudly. “Because you said that’s the only water that goes outside the kitchen.”

Slade picked up his cup and dumped the contents back into the teapot. “Great. Now I’ve ingested Miracle Grow.” He picked up Bella’s cup. “Have you been drinking this?”

“Just a little,” Bella said.

Clarissa immediately went to the table and dropped to her knees so she could get a better look at Elaina. “Did you drink any, sweetheart?”

Elaina nodded solemnly.

Clarissa turned to Slade. “Would Miracle Grow hurt them?”

Meredith’s tailored pumps suddenly appeared by the table. Clarissa hadn’t noticed her come back into the room, but she must have been there for some time because she said, “Shall I call the poison control center?”

“Yes.” Slade picked up the teapot, noting the water level. “We’d better.”

“I can call,” Clarissa said, reaching for the cell phone in her purse. “I have the number programmed in my phone.”

“So do I,” Meredith replied tiredly. She took the teapot and left the room carrying it slightly away from her as though she didn’t want to spill any of its contents on her clothes.

Still sitting, Slade looked over at Clarissa with one eyebrow raised. “How come you have the poison control center on speed dial?”

“In a time of crisis you don’t want to have to look up a number.”

“Oh.” From the tone of his voice, Clarissa could tell that he hadn’t expected this answer.

“Why does Meredith have it in her phone?” Clarissa asked.

“Well,” Slade cleared his throat, “not too long ago Bella got into some of those chewable multivitamins with iron. She ate half the bottle, and we had to take her to the emergency room.”

“Oh.” Clarissa nodded.

“And before that Bella got into a liquor cabinet.”

“Oh,” Clarissa said again.

“And then there was the time she picked a bunch of poisonous oleander seed pods, put them in her dishes, and said they were beans. That was another night spent in the emergency room.”

“Oh dear,” Clarissa said.

“She’s an imaginative child,” Slade said.

Meredith came clicking back across the floor. “Poison control said it isn’t a problem. Miracle Grow in water is too diluted to hurt anybody. Oh, and Vivian sends her regards.”

Slade shifted his weight and glanced back at Clarissa. “They only remember me because of my name.”

“Vivian asked if we’d be sending her a Christmas card again this year.”

Slade quirked an eyebrow. “I didn’t know we sent one to her last year.”

Meredith shrugged. “It only seemed proper after the way she helped us through the toothpaste affair.”

“The toothpaste affair?” Clarissa asked.

“The bubblegum flavored kind in the squeeze bottle,” Meredith said. “Bella pretended it was frosting.”

“All right, all right.” Slade held up one hand, conceding the point. “Maybe we are on a first-name basis with the ladies at the poison control center.” He reached over and tilted Bella’s face so she looked up at him. “But that’s going to change from now on, right?”

Bella smiled brightly. “Right.”

“Because what is rule number four?”

“We don’t eat anything Daddy didn’t serve us,” she chimed.

“What’s rule number one?” Clarissa asked.

With the same enthusiasm, Bella said, “We don’t put Daddy’s keys into the ignition.”

Clarissa nodded slowly. “I see. And exactly how many rules are there?”

“Sixteen,” Bella said.

“Seventeen,” Slade corrected. “I just made another one. No going to secret hideouts when Daddy doesn’t know where you are.”

“Okay, Daddy.” Bella reached over and gave him a kiss that melted the sternness from his face. He ran his hand over her hair in a gentle manner.

Clarissa watched them silently. They looked like a scene from a Norman Rockwell calendar—father and daughter sitting by the pink tea set smiling at each other as though they were sharing some irresistible secret. It was hard to remember that this was the same man who’d been serving up those sharp you-lost-your-daughter comments only minutes earlier. He seemed so tender now.

Men. You could never figure them out. It was a good thing Clarissa had sworn off men altogether. Who needed the aggravation of trying to second-guess them?

Bella glanced over at Clarissa. “Is that lady going to take care of me?”

“We haven’t decided yet,” Slade said. “What with two crises in one afternoon, we may have scared her off.”

Elaina giggled as though he’d told a joke. “My mommy’s not afraid of anything.”

“Another good qualification for this job,” Meredith said.

Again, Slade shot her a look. “Why don’t you take the girls into the playroom for a few minutes so I can finish this interview.”

Meredith motioned to them. “Come along, girls.”

Bella dragged herself out from underneath the table, and Elaina trotted along behind her. Blitzer sniffed around the carpet where the girls had been playing. He must have found something of interest because suddenly a soft crunching noise came from that area.

Clarissa expected Slade to return to his chair and to his professional manner. Instead, he stayed on the floor, leaned back with both arms stretched out behind him, and sighed in an almost defeated way. “You know,” he said slowly, “I never realized how hard parenting was going to be.”

“I know,” Clarissa said. “Just when you think you understand them, they come up with something else that baffles you.”

Slade cocked his head at Clarissa. “You understand your daughter? You must be doing a better job than I am. I always feel baffled.”

“Bella adores you. You must be doing something right.”

“I hope so.” He looked off into the distance with a wry expression. “Sometimes I don’t know how to get through to Bella. She doesn’t seem to remember anything I tell her—or at least not the seventeen important things.”

“She’s four years old. It’s amazing she can even count to seventeen.” Clarissa smiled sheepishly. “And you saw how well my daughter remembered to stay by her mother. I’ve told her a hundred times not to even talk to strangers, and here she went off with one to pursue a life of espionage.”

Slade’s gaze slid over to Clarissa, and he returned her grin. “Look at us. I’ve known you for a total of fifteen minutes, and we’re sitting on the floor sharing parenting woes.” He picked up his notebook from the floor. “As soon as I involved the children, I should have known the interview would end up this way.”

“Chaotic?”

“No.” He hesitated, then said, “Adults walk around wearing all sorts of masks, but kids have a way of stripping them off. If I’d had a few more moments with your daughter, I would have known all your family secrets.”

Clarissa laughed and hoped he didn’t notice it was nervous laughter.

“Who’s Aunt Renea?”

“Alex’s sister. She’s just sort of…”

“Ah, there you go. You’re putting on a mask. I can see you doing it.”

“All right,” Clarissa said, “I’ll tell you. She’s the type of person who thinks she can do whatever she wants, whenever she wants, and is always surprised the world doesn’t spin around to accommodate her.”

Slade nodded. “I’ve known a few of those myself. You’re right not to let Elaina grow up like her.”

“Well, I’m trying, anyway.”

He regarded Clarissa silently. “So, do you want the job?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He held his hand out and shook hers. “I’ll see you Thursday morning.”

He stood up then and pulled her up along with him. “I have some things to take care of before the trip, so Meredith will go over Bella’s schedule with you.”

Slade walked Clarissa to Meredith’s office. Once there, Meredith gave Clarissa an employment contract, a copy of Bella’s daily schedule, a list of house rules, and directions to Bella’s preschool. She was shown the guest room, Bella’s bedroom, and where they kept the fire extinguishers.

Meredith also gave her a list of phone numbers, including Bella’s dentist, doctor, and the nearest emergency room.

Clarissa smiled weakly as she looked over the list. “I probably won’t ever have to use these, right?”

Meredith smiled back at her. “That’s the spirit.”

Clarissa must have looked concerned, because Meredith added, “Oh, you don’t have to worry too much. I’m in my office most of the day. If you run into anything you can’t handle, I’ll help you out. I mean, my week doesn’t seem complete unless I get to chat with the ladies at the poison control center.”

Clarissa’s expression apparently didn’t change, because after a moment Meredith patted her arm. “I’m joking, dear. You’ll do fine.”

The two women then walked to the playroom to retrieve Elaina. Clarissa was half afraid the girls wouldn’t be there, but both were playing happily beside an entire Barbie village. Elaina pushed a shiny red Corvette up to the dream house. She was so enthralled that Clarissa didn’t let her know right away she’d come to end her playtime.

The room was easily the size of Clarissa’s entire apartment and had a built-in playhouse on one side. An assortment of child-sized furniture sat in the middle, and so many toy shelves covered the far side of the room, it could have passed for Toys R Us.

Clarissa kept eyeing the room. “I guess this sort of takes the anticipation out of Christmas morning, doesn’t?”

“Slade doesn’t mean to spoil her,” Meredith said. “He just tries to keep her busy. And to her credit, Bella is a sweet girl most of the time. It’s not her fault, really, that she goes through nannies like some people go through socks.”

“Oh,” Clarissa said, “then whose fault is it?”

“Some of it is bad luck… bad timing… the nature of help… the nature of children—and, of course, some of it really is Bella’s fault. The way she used to run away from Gwen…” Meredith shook her head. “I didn’t blame her for leaving.”

“She ran away?”

“With only a day’s notice too. Gwen’s next employer called and asked for a reference. I didn’t know what to tell them. I mean, I didn’t blame her for quitting, but really, one needs more than a day’s notice to replace a nanny. Especially a nanny for Bella.”

Clarissa had asked about Bella running away, not the nanny, and wasn’t comforted by this new piece of information.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine with Bella, though,” Meredith said, appraising Clarissa. “You seem like a sturdy individual.”

“I’d, um, like to think so.” Clarissa’s gaze stopped at Bella, who was making her Barbie dive into a plastic pool. Bella’s curls lay against the side of her face, perfectly offset by her golden-brown eyes. She looked cherubic and cuddly—not like the type who could intimidate a slew of nannies.

“Don’t let my grumblings worry you,” Meredith added. “Bella will probably be so busy playing with Elaina she won’t give you any trouble. And you know, when Slade starts work on his next movie, he’ll need a full-time nanny for Bella. If this week works out, the job could turn into a permanent position for you.”

“Full-time?”

“Actors work terrible hours, and when he’s on location, it’s even worse. He can’t take Bella with him then—at least not after the last scenery disaster.” Meredith smiled and shook her head as though she found it amusing.

“Well, I hope Mr. Jacobson thinks I’m capable of the job.”

“I’m sure you’ll do marvelously,” Meredith said, but the look in her eyes said something else. Clarissa wasn’t sure what.

Chapter Four

Slade was standing by his bed, tossing shirts into his suitcase, when Bella walked into the room. She climbed up onto his bed and watched him add a pair of shorts to the pile.

She frowned and slumped against his pillows. “I don’t want you to go.”

He folded a pair of jeans and put them in the suitcase. “I won’t be gone long. Only a week. And I’ll call every night.”

“What about Halloween?”

“Clarissa will take you trick-or-treating.”

This answer didn’t seem to satisfy Bella. She continued watching Slade with a frown. “What if you don’t come back?”

“I always come back.”

“Mommy didn’t.”

Slade’s hands froze in midair over the suitcase. He looked at his daughter, at her soft brown eyes, and then he dropped his clothes on the bed and sat next to her. “That’s different, Bella. I’ve explained this before. Mommy left because things changed between her and me. She didn’t think it was a good idea to live here anymore, but I love you and that will never change.”

His explanation hadn’t been enough. Bella’s eyes filled with tears.

“Not that Mommy doesn’t love you anymore,” he added. “She still does. It’s just that…” He groped for the words to make a four-year-old understand the things he still couldn’t quite comprehend himself. He rubbed his daughter’s back gently. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you come with me to Hawaii?”

Bella’s eyes brightened, and she threw her arms around his neck. He couldn’t have said any more if he had wanted to because she began to sing, “I get to go to Hawaii!” over and over again.

Chapter Five

Clarissa was loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher when the phone rang. She picked up the receiver, holding it between her shoulder and her ear, so she could pour the soap into the dispenser. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Hancock?” a deep and familiar voice asked.

She hesitated at the name, hesitated because she couldn’t place the voice, then answered, “Yes?”

“This is Slade Jacobson. Listen, there’s been a change in plans that I wanted to talk to you about.”

Clarissa’s heart fell. He didn’t need her after all. He’d changed his mind and hired someone else. She was back where she had started, with no job.

“I wanted to know if you could come to Hawaii for the week and watch Bella when I’m busy there.” He added, “I’ll pay for Elaina’s and your flight and room, of course.”

“Hawaii?” Clarissa asked, because it was the only word her lips could currently utter.

“Bella was having a hard time with me leaving, and I thought it would be better for everyone if I took her along.” He paused. “I realize that your husband might not approve of you going off to Hawaii for a week with me, so if you have to decline I’ll—”

“He won’t mind.” Perhaps she said the words too quickly, because Slade didn’t reply for a moment. She should have added some explanation, such as “because he trusts me,” but she couldn’t bring herself to deepen the lie. She let the words stand and waited for his reply.

“Well,” Slade said lightly, “that goes to show you what In Step magazine knows. It said most husbands wouldn’t allow their wives within ten feet of me, but you… your husband doesn’t mind you going off for a week with me.”

“Only because it’s business. I mean…”

She could tell from the tone of his voice he was smiling. “No, don’t explain. My ego will recover eventually. I’m just making sure I’m not creating any problems before I buy your plane tickets.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Yes to the problems or the plane tickets?”

“The tickets. Not the problems. There are absolutely no problems where my husband is concerned.”

“Really? A husband with no problems? Count yourself lucky, Mrs. Hancock.”

“Yes, I’m very lucky.” Again she said the words too quickly. They seemed forced even to her ear.

He didn’t question her about it. “All right. Be here at eleven-thirty Thursday morning with your bags packed.”

“Eleven-thirty. Right. Thank you. I’ll see you then.” She vaguely remembered saying good-bye before she hung up. It was hard to think of phone etiquette when she’d just learned she was going to Hawaii.

How wonderful. How symbolic. She’d gotten a divorce and was now on her way to paradise. What could be better?

It wasn’t until later that the full implications hit her. First, she’d just learned Slade’s four-year-old daughter had the ability to rearrange her father’s schedule by getting upset. That didn’t bode well for Clarissa’s future as a disciplinarian in this child’s life. If Slade was willing to pay for flights and a room to keep Bella from being cross, how long would he keep a nanny who upset her?

Second, it was one thing to tell a man you were married if you weren’t going to see him again for a week. But now he, Clarissa, Bella, and Elaina would be together off and on for the entire job.

Elaina was not even four yet. She didn’t fully grasp the concept of keeping secrets. Without much prodding she would probably let the cat, her kittens, and an entire assortment of farm animals out of the bag. How would Slade react if he found out Clarissa was lying to him?

These thoughts continued to press in on her during the evening, and by the time she went to bed, Hawaii didn’t seem nearly the paradise she had first imagined it to be.

Chapter Six

It wasn’t until Slade lay in the darkness of his bedroom that he realized he’d made a mistake in hiring the new nanny. He had felt uneasy about it ever since his phone call, but he hadn’t been able to put his finger on what was bothering him. Now he knew.

She was too pretty.

Of course he had noticed this before. He’d noticed it the first time she looked up at him from beside the couch. But he didn’t hold it against her then. After all, just because she was pretty didn’t mean she wasn’t also competent. Looks didn’t matter in a nanny position. Clarissa Hancock was an experienced mother who was working on a degree in family science and, judging from her interview, was the type of person who could roll with the punches—all necessary qualifications in a caretaker for Bella.

So he hadn’t held it against Clarissa that she had eyes like an angel and legs that made a man feel, well, less than angelic. He was, after all, open-minded where beautiful women were concerned.

The press wouldn’t be nearly as lenient in their views. If some of the media people covering the Undercover Agents shoot happened to see him check into the resort with Clarissa at his side, the quality of childcare she provided would be the last thing they’d consider. Rumors would fly. The tabloids would pounce on any hint of a story. Would Clarissa’s problem-free husband be so understanding then?

Slade tossed from one side of his bed to the other in an attempt to get more comfortable. He should have gone with that McGrath woman. She looked like someone who could play Mrs. Claus at the mall. No one would make anything of seeing the two of them together.

Of course, it was too late to change his mind now. He’d already offered the job to Clarissa, so he’d have to make the best of it. They would be discreet. They would check in at the resort late, after the media people had left the cast alone. He’d make sure he never stood too close to Clarissa. And a child would be between them at all times. Better yet, he’d invite Meredith to come along on the trip with them. She hadn’t taken a vacation in a while. She deserved a trip to Hawaii. And besides, that way he could make sure a child and Meredith stood between him and Clarissa at all times.

Slade stretched out his legs and felt a little better. Everything in Hollywood took jimmying and gerrymandering, and this was just one more thing to work around in order to sell his script.

Chapter Seven

The next day Clarissa ran around collecting everything she needed for the trip. She took her old blue swimsuit from a drawer and held it up to herself. She imagined lying on the beach wearing it, then grimaced. Swimsuits were never a pleasant consideration, and the thought of wearing one in front of Slade Jacobson was doubly unwelcome. He had probably never seen a woman in a swimsuit who hadn’t had a skilled team of professionals create her for the occasion.

Perhaps if she got a new suit and a tan and… she touched a strand of her shoulder-length blonde hair. Well, it was almost blonde. It had been blonde when she was younger. Now it seemed determined to turn light brown. Perhaps she could highlight it.

Clarissa considered the swimsuit, then threw it into her suitcase. It was ridiculous to spend a lot of money to go on this trip. She was supposed to be earning money. And why try to impress her boss, anyway? He thought she was married. A housewife. The dowdier she appeared, the better.

The phone rang, and she answered it while searching through her closet for her sandals.

“Clarissa?”

Clarissa recognized the voice and chided herself for not checking the caller ID before she answered. “Hi Renea.”

“I’m so glad I finally caught you,” Clarissa’s ex-sister-in-law spoke in her usual melodic manner, like she was excited about everything she said. “I’ve wanted to talk to you for ages.”

“Oh? What have you been up to?”

“Therapy. And I feel absolutely wonderful.”

Clarissa didn’t ask for what. It didn’t matter, and it was all the same anyway. Renea had gone through every pop psychology fad, spa treatment, and herbal remedy in existence. She wasn’t a person who tried to solve her problems—she celebrated them.

Clarissa shifted the phone to her ear so she could better reach the back of her closet. “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

“During my last session with Dr. Blumen, I told him about you and Alex, and it suddenly occurred to me that the two of you need to come in and see him.”

Clarissa momentarily stopped rummaging through shoes. She examined a pair of worn tennis shoes, then threw them into the suitcase. “It’s a little late for that.”

“It’s never too late to recover.”

“Alex and I are divorced, Renea. There’s nothing left to recover.”

“You see, you’re in the first stage of grief: denial.”

Clarissa kept her voice pleasant. “It’s nice you’re concerned about us, but I think it’s best if we both get on with our lives.”

“Denial, denial, denial.”

“It isn’t denial. It’s a statement of fact. We’re divorced.”

“If you’d come to therapy, you’d learn you can change, Clarissa.”

“I can change?”

“It isn’t too late to fix things with Alex.”

Clarissa took a deep breath, her resolve to be pleasant quickly evaporating. “Listen, as much as I’d love to sit and chat with you, I’m packing for a trip to Hawaii with Slade Jacobson, so I’m pressed for time.”

For a moment nothing but silence came across the phone, and then Renea said, “This is so sad, Clarissa. Now you’ve moved on to the next stage of grief: delusion.”

“I’ve got to go, Renea.” Clarissa didn’t wait to hear more. She hung up the phone and went back to packing.

* * *

The flight to Hawaii was uneventful. Well, as uneventful as five-and-a-half hours on a plane with two young children could be. Although Clarissa tried her best to entertain the girls, Bella and Elaina went through eighteen storybooks, four sticker books, a paper doll community, an entire bag of potato chips, and the patience of at least three adults and two cabin attendants before the plane touched down in Honolulu.

After retrieving their luggage, the group took a limo to an upscale Chinese restaurant for dinner. While they waited for their food, Bella taught Elaina the joy of knock-knock jokes. Neither of the girls understood the concept of a punch line, but they still laughed uproariously at the end of each joke, and sometimes in the middle too.

Everyone was tired when they finally got back into the limo and headed to Oahu’s north shore. Slade seemed especially tense. None of the charm, none of the gentleness he’d shown when they had sat on his dining room floor discussing parenting surrounded him now. He was distant and aloof. He hardly said anything to Clarissa, and when he did speak, he seemed irritable.

Actors, Clarissa supposed, thought they had a right to be moody. The limo left Honolulu behind and drove along a two-lane road that hugged the jutting hills of Oahu. In the darkness she caught glimpses of the foliage they passed, and she strained to see it better.

Earlier, as they had driven from the airport, she noticed a lot of the plants in Honolulu were identical to those in California: palm trees, bougainvillea, lantana, and thomberi trees. But somehow this island foliage seemed more exotic. These trees and bushes were bigger and lusher, as if they knew they belonged in Hawaii. Those same plants in California were just sadly making do because they’d been planted there.

Clarissa suddenly wished she had job skills that could be used anywhere. Like a doctor… or professor. If she had stayed in school instead of getting pregnant, she could be here on her way to teach school instead of being somebody’s nanny.

Then Clarissa looked over at Elaina, and those thoughts vanished. Her little girl was whispering instructions to her stuffed dachshund. “You’ve got to be a good dog in Y-ee or no ice cream.”

How could Clarissa regret staying home to raise Elaina? She treasured every moment they’d spent together.

The limo pulled off the main road and onto another. Clarissa saw the lights of a large building glowing off in the distance and knew they would soon be pulling up to the resort. She ran her hand across Elaina’s shiny blonde hair. “We’re almost there.”

Slade said something sharply under his breath, then Bella said loudly, “Daddy, we don’t say bad words. It’s rule number twelve, remember?”

“I know. I’m sorry, Bella.”

Clarissa looked over at Slade to see what had angered him. He stared out the window at the now-imminent resort.

“The press,” he said. “They have vans all over the parking lot.” He shook his head. “Undercover Agents must have some publicity thing going on, and we’re walking right into it.”

Meredith slipped the book she’d been reading into her carry-on bag. “You’ll find a way to handle it.”

“I thought actors liked publicity,” Clarissa said.

“Sure,” Slade muttered. “You like it when you’re working on a project, but not when you’re checking into a hotel with…” He waved a hand toward Clarissa.

“Small children?” she asked.

“A beautiful woman,” he said and didn’t sound pleased.

Clarissa stared at him. “You don’t mean me, do you?”

“Well, I don’t think he’s referring to me,” Meredith said with exaggerated offense.

Slade turned away from the window. “Stop fishing for compliments, Meredith. You’re an attractive woman, but not one the press will think I’m having an affair with. Clarissa…”

The limo was nearly to the front of the resort, and the driver looked back at them. “Where do you want me to let you off?”

Slade hesitated, then said, “Drive around to the back of the parking lot until we figure something out.”

The car moved smoothly in that direction.

Clarissa looked from the building back to Slade. “Can’t you just explain that I’m the nanny?”

“Mrs. Hancock,” Slade said slowly, “you’re either naive, or you’ve never paid attention to the tabloids. Facts aren’t a big concern for them.”

Meredith shuffled around a few things in her carry-on bag. “So ignore each other. It’s as simple as that.”

Clarissa picked up her purse from the floor. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

Bella bounced on her seat and chimed, “What’s an affair, Daddy?”

“Something Clarissa and your daddy are not having,” Meredith said back cheerily.

“Okay,” Slade lifted a hand, “this is what we’ll do. You four go into the resort ahead of me and check in. The reporters will leave you alone because you’re not important—”

“Thanks,” Meredith said.

“You know what I mean,” he said. “Then after about fifteen minutes I’ll come in. When I’m checked in, I’ll give Clarissa a call, and she can bring Bella to my room. Everybody got that?”

“I’ve never seen you before in my life,” Clarissa said again.

Elaina nodded solemnly. “Me either.”

“Are reporters bad guys?” Bella asked, tilting her head so her curls lay against her shoulder.

“No,” Meredith said.

“Yes,” Slade said, “and you’re to stay away from them.”

Clarissa undid the girls’ seatbelts, while Meredith opened the door. As they got out of the limo, Clarissa asked, “What about our luggage?”

“I’ll have a porter bring them in.” Slade shut the door behind them with a heavy thud, disappearing behind the tinted windows.

Clarissa took each girl by the hand, and they began trudging across the parking lot.

Meredith bent down and adjusted one of the straps on her heels. “I wish he’d dropped us off closer to the building. These aren’t the most comfortable shoes, and I’m not as young as I used to be—as Slade so kindly pointed out.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean—”

“Oh, you don’t need to defend him. Slade and I go way back.” Meredith straightened and continued across the parking lot. “I love him like a son. It’s just that he never thinks about what he’s going to say before he says it. That’s not a good quality in Hollywood, and I’m constantly telling him to work on it. The problem is, he listens to me like a son—which is to say, not at all.”

Elaina shuffled her feet as she walked, kicking tiny bits of gravel. Clarissa tried to hurry her, then gave up, bent down, and picked her up.

Bella looked up at Elaina and frowned. “I want someone to carry me too.”

“We’re almost there,” Meredith said. “If an old woman like me can make it, then so can you.”

Bella walked slower. “I’m tired. I want Daddy to carry me.”

“Your daddy will come in a few minutes,” Clarissa said. “We have to get to that building, and then he’ll come.”

Bella glanced at the resort. Her frown didn’t disappear. “I want Daddy now.”

It was late by California time, way past the girls’ bedtimes. Apparently that fact was finally taking its toll.

“Here,” Meredith told Bella, “let me carry you.”

Bella’s frown turned to tears, and she pulled her hand away from Clarissa. “Where’s my daddy?”

Clarissa had known these moments would come when she accepted the job, but she hadn’t expected them to take place just seconds after she was left in charge. She bent down to Bella’s level. Softly, reasonably, she said, “Bella, don’t you remember what your daddy said in the car? We have to go check into our rooms, and then he’ll come get you. If you stay here crying, he won’t be able to find us.”

Logic did not do the trick. Bella stood fixed to the spot and let out a deep, dramatic sob. Clarissa sighed and put Elaina down. Without another word, she picked up Bella and continued toward the building again. “Come on, Elaina,” she told her daughter. “Mommy needs you to walk now.”

Elaina furrowed her brows and didn’t seem eager to move forward.

Meredith looked from one little girl to the next. “Do you want me to carry someone?”

“I can manage it. After all, I’m the nanny. I’m supposed to be able to deal with these situations.” She walked slowly forward and was grateful Elaina followed instead of staying put. “Besides,” she told Meredith, “Bella must weigh forty pounds. You shouldn’t have to lug her around.”

“Ah, yes,” Meredith said. “I forgot that everyone thinks I’m old. Between you and Slade reminding me, I can tell this will be a fabulous vacation.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Clarissa said, and then to change the subject added, “Elaina, can you walk faster?”

Meredith took Elaina’s hand, smiled down at her, and said in an overly-loud voice, “Thank you, Elaina, for walking and being such a good girl. We appreciate it.”

Bella sobbed less noisily at this, as though she was trying her best to be good but couldn’t quite manage it, what with a broken heart and all.

When they reached the courtyard in front of the building, they walked past a crowd of people gathered outside the resort. Most of them were teenage girls, standing in clumps and fidgeting with excitement. A few reporters were scattered here and there. Instead of jeans, they wore business attire, had crisply hair-sprayed hair, and had cameramen trailing behind them. Every few seconds the reporters peered anxiously around. No one paid attention to Clarissa and her entourage of tired preschoolers.

At last they reached the resort doors. They slid open, and Clarissa towed her charges into the lobby. It was spacious and done in mahogany with splashes of emerald green. Potted palm trees lined the walls, and a large stone fountain gurgled and splashed in the center of the room.

Clarissa headed to the front desk, still carrying a sniffling Bella. The little girl quieted down considerably as they crossed the room, perhaps because she had now completely won the I-don’t-want-to-walk battle. She whispered into Clarissa’s ear, “Where’s Daddy?”

“He’ll be here soon.”

A well-dressed man and woman already stood in front of them, arguing with the young woman behind the counter. Clarissa shifted Bella in her arms as they waited for their turn.

“I requested that room back in January,” the man told the clerk sharply.

The clerk didn’t flinch at his tone. “I know, sir, and we try to honor requests, but we can’t always manage it. Number 712 is still a nice room.”

The man let out a sigh and waved a hand to one side. “All right, 835 was our first choice. If we can’t have it, then just give us something else on the top floor.”

The clerk’s voice stayed even. “I’m sorry, sir, the entire top floor is booked.”

“Booked? All of it? Before last January? I don’t believe you.”

Bella wiggled and twisted to look around at the lobby. Clarissa set her down, keeping hold of her hand.

As soon as Elaina saw that her mother’s arms were free, she raised her own in a request to be carried. Clarissa couldn’t refuse Elaina. After all, she had been so good walking to the resort. Clarissa picked up her daughter and held her in one arm while holding onto Bella with her free hand.

“The crew of Undercover Agents is here,” the clerk explained. “They have the entire floor blocked off.” She nodded toward the front doors. “That’s what’s going on outside. Any minute now the cast is coming out to sign autographs and talk to fans about their show.”

The man glanced through the glass doors, then back at the clerk with the same expression of disapproval. “I’ve seen that program, and there aren’t more than a dozen people in it. Why do they need a whole floor?”

“For production people, cameramen, lighting crews, that type of thing.”

“Well, what rooms do you have left then?”

The clerk rattled off several numbers, and the man shook his head as though familiar with all these rooms.

A clock hung on the wall behind the desk clerk. Clarissa watched the minutes go by. It was ten minutes after seven now. What time had it been when they’d left the limo? Seven o’clock? Six fifty-five? It had taken her some time to cross the parking lot because of Bella’s stubbornness and Elaina’s tiredness. So any time now, Slade would make the same journey, and he’d do it considerably faster. Perhaps he’d even have the limo drop him off at the front of the building. Would she and the girls still be waiting in the lobby when he arrived?

Clarissa tried not to think what this would do to Slade’s mood if, despite all his plans, the press still found out they were here together.

The man in front of them pointed a finger at the clerk. “You know, we’ve been coming here for twenty years, and there used to be a time you didn’t have to be a movie star to get a good room.”

The clerk held out one hand in a gesture of apology. “I’m sorry you’re not happy. I can only do so much about the scheduling.”

“The least you could do is offer us some sort of an upgrade.”

Clarissa shifted her weight. It was 7:12, and they hadn’t even reached the check-in counter yet. Shouldn’t the resort have more than one clerk working the desk? She strained to see if someone else was around but didn’t see anyone. Maybe the other employees had joined the crowd outside.

Clarissa squeezed Bella’s hand and bent closer to her, balancing Elaina in her other arm. “Bella, would you like to play a funny game?” she whispered. “How about we play an ignore-your-father game? If he comes in here, let’s pretend we don’t know him, okay?”

Bella didn’t say anything. Her brows wrinkled together unhappily, though. It was a bad sign.

Clarissa bent her head closer to Elaina. “We’ve never seen a movie star before in our lives, remember?”

Elaina smiled and nodded. At least she was willing to cooperate.

The man in front of them crossed his arms forcefully. “If that’s how you’re treating us, I’m not sure we want a room here. I’ll need to discuss our options with my wife.” The couple moved farther down the counter to talk.

Clarissa quickly stepped up to the counter. “Clarissa Hancock and Meredith Allen.”

The clerk checked the names on her computer, then opened the key drawer. “You’ll be staying in rooms 820 and 821. They’re off to your—”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” The man stormed back to the front of the counter, standing directly beside them. “You told me the top floor was booked up.”

“It is,” the clerk said, this time less patiently. “These women are part of that group.”

The man looked from the little girls, to Meredith, and then at Clarissa. “You mean to tell me you’re movie people?”

Elaina smiled up at the man. “We’ve neber seen movie stars before in our lives.”

“I thought as much.” He turned to the clerk. “I want to see the manager, right now.”

Clarissa leaned over the counter. “Can we just get our keys, please?”

From outside, clapping and hollering erupted.

“It sounds like the Agents’ cast showed up,” Meredith said.

Clarissa swallowed. “Or someone else has.” She let go of Bella’s hand to take her key card from the clerk. As she did, Bella shot off toward the front doors.

“Come back here,” Clarissa called.

“Right now,” Meredith added.

Bella peered out the glass doors for only a second. “It’s Daddy!”

The doors slid open in front of Bella. For Clarissa it was one of those awful moments, like when she knocked a glass off a table and watched the thing falling in slow motion to the floor. She wanted to stop it, but couldn’t. Clarissa stood holding Elaina and willed Bella to turn and come back. Instead, the little girl went crashing outside.

Clarissa turned and without a word handed Elaina to Meredith, then ran after Bella.

Bella had a head start, but she also had shorter legs. Clarissa could catch her.

The little girl darted into the crowd, and Clarissa followed. For a moment Clarissa couldn't see her and felt the trappings of panic. What if she lost her altogether? Clarissa called out, “Bella!” and got no answer.

Then Clarissa caught sight of her weaving through a group of teenagers. She called out her name again. Bella only glanced back at her and went quicker. Clarissa sprinted after her, trying to keep her in sight, while simultaneously avoiding plowing into bystanders. Bella slowed, staring up at the faces around her, searching for her father, and Clarissa narrowed the ground between them. The end of the chase came when Bella started to go one way, then changed her mind and went the other. Clarissa reached out and caught hold of Bella’s arm. “You’re coming with me right now, young lady.”

Bella lunged toward the nearest pant leg and held on. “Daddy!” she screamed.

Still pulling on Bella’s arm, Clarissa looked up at the owner of the pant leg to apologize for Bella’s behavior. She found herself looking directly into Slade’s eyes.

He hoisted Bella up into his arms. Then he took hold of Clarissa’s elbow and propelled her forward. “We’ve had enough of a scene for one night,” he said quietly into her ear. “Let’s gather what dignity we can and go to the lobby.”

Clarissa moved forward in a shocked sort of way and noticed for the first time that the crowd had parted around them. All eyes were on her. She gulped and walked stiffly, hoping that if there were ever a time in her life when she could manage not to trip, this would be it.

As they walked, one of the well-dressed, well-hair-sprayed women stepped into their path. “Slade, is this your daughter?”

Slade paused in front of the reporter and smiled casually, confidently, as though he’d meant to take this opportunity to show off Bella all along. That, Clarissa supposed, was why they called it acting.

“Yes, this is my daughter, and,” Slade motioned to Clarissa with a nod, “this is my daughter’s nanny, Mrs. Hancock.” He emphasized both the words nanny and Mrs.

The reporter gave Bella a big smile. “You are just a doll.”

“Are you a reporter?” Bella asked.

The smile got even bigger. “Yes, honey, I am.”

In a matter-of-fact tone Bella said, “Reporters are bad people.”

Slade patted Bella’s back, half laughing, half choking. “I don’t know where kids come up with these things.”

“You told me so, Daddy,” Bella said.

Slade laughed again, and this time it definitely sounded more like choking. “Of course, I wasn’t talking about you,” he told the woman.

She smiled back at him stiffly. “Of course.”

“My daddy and Clarissa aren’t having an affair,” Bella added.

Slade didn’t wait for any questions after that. He started walking toward the lobby again, quite quickly this time, and Clarissa matched his pace.

Bella hugged her father’s neck happily, like it had been years and not just minutes since she’d last seen him, and then kissed him on the cheek. It must have made an irresistible picture. Which is why, Clarissa told herself, flashes were suddenly going off around them.

Chapter Eight

Clarissa stood outside Slade’s hotel door and knocked softly. She tried to appear as poised as possible for a person about to face the wrath of a man who had—at least in the movies—single-handedly stormed the White House, killed dozens of terrorists, and brought down a drug cartel.

She fidgeted with her hands, forced herself to stop that, then found herself biting her bottom lip.

She had known ever since the instant she looked up from Bella’s arm into Slade’s eyes that this time would come. He had said nothing to her the entire time they checked in at the hotel desk or even on the way to their rooms. Now the girls had their pajamas on, their teeth brushed, and lay on Meredith’s bed watching cartoons so Slade could—as he’d explained to Meredith—have a moment alone to speak with Clarissa.

Slade opened the door, moved aside, and curtly said, “Come in.”

She did. She stood in the middle of the room, looking first at the couch and then the chair. “Do you want me to sit down, or would you rather I stand while you yell at me?”

“One thing,” he told her. “I asked you for one simple thing.” He slowly paced back and forth across the floor of the suite. “I asked you to check in before me so I could spare myself any negative press. Was that too hard?”

“I only let go of Bella’s hand to get my key, and she took off outside. I had to go after her. What else could I do?”

Slade stopped pacing and turned to face Clarissa. “Bella called reporters bad people and then specifically told one we weren’t having an affair. How do you suppose that story will go over once it hits the internet?”

“I didn’t put those words into her mouth. You did.”

“Yes, but I hired you to take care of her. You were supposed to keep her away from the paparazzi.” He held one hand up in the air. “Reporters want a story, and you gave them one.” He emphasized his next words as though each one were a headline. “Slade Jacobson’s week-long getaway with gorgeous married nanny.”

Gorgeous? Clarissa must not have looked sufficiently horrified by this headline because he added, “What will your husband say about that?”

Alex would probably say something snide about her not being so gorgeous when she got up first thing in the morning. “Don’t worry about Alex,” Clarissa said.

Slade thrust his hands in his pockets and began pacing again. His eyes were dark with anger. “You don’t realize what the paparazzi are like. You have no idea.”

“I was doing my best to control Bella—”

“I certainly hope that wasn’t your best,” he cut in. “One would hope your best efforts would see you past the first hour of your job.”

For one horrible moment Clarissa wasn’t in Hawaii at all. She was back with Alex, and he was standing there berating her.

She couldn’t keep the house clean. She couldn’t control their daughter. Somehow Elaina had always been too loud, too messy, or up too late, and it was Clarissa’s fault. Now with Slade Jacobson standing here saying the same things, she felt crushed by the thought that perhaps Alex had been right all along. Perhaps she really was incompetent.

She blinked to keep the tears from coming. She felt them stinging her eyes anyway. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I tried not to let go of her.”

He must have heard the quaver in her voice, because he suddenly stopped pacing and looked at her more closely. Once he did, he sighed and tilted back his head. “Oh no. Don’t cry. What is it with women? Why is it that they can’t ever take a performance review?”

“Is that what this is?” Clarissa sputtered. “A performance review?”

A quick, sharp knock sounded on the door. They both turned to it.

“Who’s there?” Slade called.

“It’s me, Landon. Hurry and open the door.”

Slade hesitated, then stepped toward the door. “This isn’t the best time, Landon. Can I give you a call later?”

“I don’t care if you’re in your pajamas,” Landon said. “Open the door, and hurry.”

Slade swung open the door. Landon instantly came through, then pushed the door shut behind him. He was in his late twenties, with sandy-blonde hair that was a bit too long but looked good on him anyway. He had clear blue eyes, a square jaw, and chiseled features. Without looking at Slade, he put one shoulder against the door and listened to the sounds in the hallway. “Three teenage girls got past security. I don’t dare go to my room, or I won’t have a minute’s peace.”

“So you led them to my room,” Slade said dryly. “How considerate.”

Landon shrugged, a smirk stealing across his features. “Hey, I figured you could use some female company even if—” and then he turned and saw Clarissa. A slow smile crept across his face. “Or perhaps not.”

Slade spoke in a flat, expressionless voice. “This is Clarissa Hancock, Bella’s nanny for the vacation.”

Still smiling, Landon walked to Clarissa. He shook her hand, caressingly, and then winked over at Slade. “You don’t have to explain to me.”

It was only a smile, but it instantly became much more than that. With this single act of admiration, Landon gave Clarissa her confidence back. She wasn’t incompetent. Alex had been wrong, and so was Slade. They were just a pair of impossible men.

Slade rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the—” He let out a groan of frustration. “She really is the nanny.”

Clarissa smiled back at Landon. “He’s a little touchy about the subject right now.”

Another knock sounded on the door. This one followed by giggles. Slade rolled his eyes and walked farther away from the door. “Great. Your fan club has arrived.”

“Is this Landon McKellips’s room?” a girl called through the door.

“No,” Landon boomed. “It’s Slade Jacobson’s.”

“Oh!” A chorus of shrieks and giggles penetrated the door. “Can he autograph our shirts?” More giggles. “Please?”

Landon leaned toward Slade and whispered, “Should I call security, or do you want to go out there? They looked older than eighteen.”

Slade turned to Clarissa and motioned to the door. “Can you get them to leave, please?”

“How?”

“Tell them I’m busy; tell them anything; just get rid of them.”

“Tell them anything,” Clarissa slowly repeated. “All right.”

She strode to the door, unlocked it, and opened it wide enough to stick her head out. Three young girls stood in front of her, dressed up, made up, and questionably older than eighteen.

“Is Slade Jacobson in there?” the one in the middle asked in an awed tone.

“Yes,” Clarissa said. “But trust me. You don’t want his autograph.”

“Why not?” asked the first one.

“I’m his daughter’s nanny, and I can tell you, he’s the most overbearing, egotistical man you’d ever hope not to meet. He asks the impossible and then acts like a tyrant when he doesn’t get it.”

All three faces fell. “Really?” they asked together.

Clarissa nodded. “Really. He’s horrible.” She motioned down the hallway. “If you want to meet someone nice, though, keep looking for Landon McKellips. He’s very friendly.”

The smiles returned. “Thanks,” the last one said, and then they started down the hallway, heads bobbing close together, already talking about this new information.

Clarissa shut the door, fastened the safety bolt, and then turned back to face the room.

Slade stood with his arms folded and glared at her. “I’m horrible?”

“They left, didn’t they?”

“I’m overbearing?”

“See, you’re doing it right now,” she said. “You ask the impossible and now you’re unhappy.”

“I think the phrase you used was, ‘He’s a tyrant.’”

She leaned against the door because there was no place else to go. “You said you wanted me to get rid of them.”

His dark eyes fixed on hers. “Fine. Just don’t say anything else to anyone for the rest of the time we’re here.”

“That’s a little overbearing, don’t you think?”

Landon laughed. Slade didn’t.

Clarissa cocked her head. “So are you firing me?”

“No. And don’t you dare quit and leave me without a nanny, either. You agreed to work for the whole time we’re here.”

“All right,” she said. “Then I should go to bed so I won’t be dead on my feet tomorrow.”

Slade nodded. His eyes still smoldered with anger. “Good night, then.”

“Good night. I’ll have Meredith bring Bella to you.”

She opened the door and slipped outside. Just as the door closed, she heard Slade’s voice, still crisp with emotion, say, “This is exactly the reason I’m single.”

Clarissa headed over to Meredith’s room. “Ditto,” she said out loud.

Chapter Nine

Slade woke up early, started thinking about Clarissa, and then couldn’t get back to sleep. He could see her blue eyes blinking in frustration at him, filling with tears. He’d been too hard on her last night. They’d all been tired.

When Slade dropped Bella off at Clarissa’s room, she greeted Bella with the exaggerated happy voice adults use when they talk to children. She greeted Slade with less enthusiasm.

He almost—almost—said, “I’m sorry about last night,” but instead he mumbled, “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

She took Bella’s hand. “That’s okay.”

He handed her one of his key cards. “If you need to get into my room for Bella’s toys or clothes, you can use this.”

“Thanks,” she said.

“And be sure to take your ID with you if you leave this floor. After last night’s teenage invasion, the hotel has set security guards at the end of the hallway.”

“Okay.”

They stared at one another for a moment longer, and then Slade said, “Well, I’ll see you later.” He turned, started down the hallway, and heard the door close behind him.

In brisk, heavy steps he walked to the elevator. He hated apologies. It was like rehashing the event all over again. And women made it even harder than it had to be. With guys, apologies were easy. You just said, “Hey, you’re not nearly as obnoxious as you were yesterday,” and the other guy said, “And you’re not as ugly!” Then you slapped each other on the shoulders, and the thing was over.

Women always wanted to discuss their feelings, analyze every word you said, and point out your many flaws along the way. They expected things like candy and flowers; and the prettier the woman, the more things she expected. Clarissa probably pulled in quite a haul after every argument.

He would have to pick up something for her later, although he wasn’t sure what. With her big blue eyes, she probably got stuff like jewelry. He wondered what Clarissa’s perfect husband would do if she came home wearing a necklace that Slade had given her. It would probably cause a big argument, and more apologies, and then she would get another installment of jewelry. Love didn’t keep jewelers in business, apologies did.

Maybe he’d just give her a bonus after the trip.

Slade checked the hotel restaurant in hopes of seeing AJ. He wasn’t there. Slade went back to his room, ordered breakfast there, and ate it on his balcony. He’d grown up in California, so he’d put in a good deal of time at the beach. Still, he never tired of watching the waves—the way they rose up, as though reaching for something, then rolled over in a great churning mass and spilled onto the shore. This time as Slade watched them, he wondered what they were reaching for.

And he hoped he had better luck in reaching his goals.

After breakfast Slade made his way to a meeting room off of the lobby, which had been turned into a prop storage area. Someone from the crew might know where AJ was.

An odd assortment of crates and boxes created a maze in the room, and a few people milled around between them, unloading things here and there. He sauntered in, stepping over cables and wires from the lighting equipment, and looked for a familiar face. It took him only moments to find one.

Natalie Granger knelt beside a box, digging through its contents with her long, tanned arms. He hadn’t seen her in two years—not since they’d worked together on the film Mermaid Island. Her platinum-blonde hair was shorter than it had been, but her eyes were the same bright blue, and her body still looked a perpetual twenty years old. She wore tight jeans and a halter top, a sort of chic comfort that she did so well.

He remembered her decked out in her mermaid outfit being carried onto the set because she couldn’t walk in her fins. He had teased her mercilessly throughout the production, telling her one helpless mermaid joke after another. She got back at him by making their love scene difficult. Every time they practiced, she changed it on him. Instead of murmuring softly into his ear that she loved him, she’d put her head on his shoulder and whisper anything else. “I was attacked by a rabid tuna,” she told him once breathlessly, “and now I feel like biting you.”

She made such a joke of the whole thing, he could barely keep a straight face during the actual shoot.

Now Slade walked over to her. “Natalie, if they’re making you unload your own props, I suggest you find a new agent.”

She blinked at him, and recognition warmed her face. “Slade!” She got to her feet and gave him a hug, pressing her body tightly against him. As he held her, he got a faint whiff of her Giorgio perfume. Even that was the same.

She released him, then glanced back at the boxes. “I was looking for my laptop. I think it got packed up with the props back in California.” Smiling, she tucked her hands into her back pockets. “It’s such a surprise to see you. What are you doing here?”

“Mostly just visiting Landon.”

Natalie tilted her head, skeptically. “Men never visit Landon. And besides, the two of you can see each other in L.A. Why are you really here?”

He laughed and ran a hand across the back of his neck. “Actually, I want to pitch a script.”

“Ahhh. Business. I should have known. Everything is always business with you.” She leaned closer to him. “If I recall, you were always too busy to devote any time to our budding relationship.”

“Yes, but as you remember, you were a fish. And besides, you died tragically in the end.” He snapped his fingers in the air, remembering. “What was it that finally did you in? Was it the rabid tuna or the oil spill? I’ve forgotten.”

“It was those plastic rings they use in six packs,” she said. “They’re deadly to marine life.”

“Ah, yes, well, it’s good that the old saying is true then. ‘There’s more than one fish in the sea.’”

She reached out and put a hand on his arm. Her pale pink lips parted slightly, seductively. “It’s also true you always remember the fish that got away.”

And then Slade recalled the other thing about Natalie. Back when they were working on Mermaid Island, she made passes at him on a daily basis. He considered it harmless flirting at first. Then one day she showed up in his trailer wearing nothing but seashells. He’d had to emphasize, strenuously, that he was happily married. Back then he still believed it was a happy marriage.

Natalie leaned toward Slade and ran a finger across his arm. “I was sorry when I heard that you and Evelyn split up. All that fidelity for nothing.”

“Well, sometimes that’s how it goes.” Slade glanced around to see if the other prop people were watching them. They had all disappeared except for one guy across the room. He was pulling assault rifles from a box, looking them over, and then putting them back.

“Fidelity is overrated in my opinion,” Natalie purred.

“And underrated in mine.”

She took her hand from his arm and slowly pushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Her long fingernails were gold, matching the rings she wore on her fingers. “The cast is having a luau tonight at the resort. You’ll come, won’t you? There will be dancing.”

Instead of answering her, he fingered a nearby police hat. “What are you doing here with the cast, anyway? Are you guest starring?”

Casually, she leaned up against one of the crates and watched him. The pose was calculated. Alluring. “No. Actually, I’m here with my boyfriend.”

“Really? Does he share your views about fidelity?”

She laughed, a soft tinkling sound like water falling. “Drinks are at five thirty. Roasted pig is at six. AJ is hosting. Is he the one you want to pitch your script to?”

Slade nodded. “He’s the man.”

“I can help you with it then.”

Somehow Slade knew, before he even asked, what the answer to his next question would be. “And how would you do that?”

“I’ll get you a seat at our table. AJ’s and mine.”

“He’s your boyfriend?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“I don’t mind helping you out, Slade. I want to do it.” She flashed him a smile that lit up the blue in her eyes. “Shall I put you on the guest list? The security is going to be tight.”

“Having trouble with fans?”

“No, with the press.”

“You didn’t seem to have problems with them last night.” He tapped his thumb against the crate and cringed at the memory. “It looked like you invited every reporter on this side of the Pacific to come out and meet you.”

“It’s not the local press that’s giving us grief. It’s the tabloids. Ever hear of Sylvia Stanfield?”

The name rang a bell—and not a smooth, melodic bell, but the shrill clanging of an alarm clock. “Sylvia Stanfield?” he repeated.

“The Scoop magazine.” Natalie overpronounced each word, as though the syllables themselves were sharp.

“Ah, yes, The Scoop.” One of those horrible tell-alls that only told enough to fuel its readers’ imagination. “I’ve always wondered what exactly it was scooping out.”

“Not only is Sylvia producing fiction for it, she’s also started one of those TV gossip bits. It’s called the Hollywood Dish, and lately the Undercover Agents cast has been the main course. It’s driving us crazy.”

Now Slade remembered Sylvia. He could picture her sitting behind her news desk, her shoulder-length, dark hair pulled back into a bun, a full set of shiny white teeth set in the middle of wide cheeks. The cheeks were wide because she was on the plump side, but also because she smiled so continually that her cheek muscles had probably grown to be the strongest in her body.

That was the thing about Sylvia. She smiled in a calm, regal manner as she sat on TV devouring people’s lives.

Natalie reached over and placed a hand on Slade’s arm. “So are you brave enough to hang out with us, or should I leave you off the guest list?”

For a moment Slade considered refusing the invitation—because of Natalie, not Sylvia.

But that was stupid. Having dinner with AJ was exactly the type of opportunity he needed. And Natalie wasn’t going to try anything with AJ sitting right next to her. He was her boyfriend. Chances were she was madly in love with him, and this stuff now was just flirting for old time’s sake.

“Dinner sounds great,” Slade said. And then to be on the safe side, he added, “I’ll bring my secretary along. She, uh, loves mingling with celebrities.”

“The woman who used to bring Bella to the set?”

“Yeah, Meredith. That’s the one.”

One of Natalie’s perfectly-shaped eyebrows arched up. “She’s still with you, even after the tropical fish fiasco?”

Slade shifted his weight uncomfortably and turned away from the police hat box. “It wasn’t Meredith’s fault that Bella shattered the aquarium. Bella is just accident prone.” He let out a slow breath. “It was my fault, really. I should have known better than to let her within throwing distance of it.”

Natalie smiled in a reminiscing sort of way. “I’ll never forget the way the water flooded over the studio floor—how the fish flopped around on the ground while we raced around trying to save them…”

“The lighting guys and I tried to save them,” Slade said. “You sat there in your fins laughing at us.”

“And you threw some of them into the water cooler. That might actually have worked if they had been fresh-water fish.”

Slade shook his head ruefully. “You wouldn’t think dying fish would be so picky.”

“So you stood over the cooler with a salt shaker trying to save them. It was very noble.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s what you thought while you were doubled up laughing.”

She grinned at him, but it wasn’t the grin he noticed. It was the way her gaze locked onto him. “I’ve always thought you were very noble.” She leaned closer to him again. “You’ll save me a dance tonight, won’t you?”

“Sure. We’ll request the theme song to Mermaid Island."

“Good.” The grin melted from her face, but the gaze was still going full blast. “I guess I ought to get back to my room. I have tons of unpacking to do.” She took a few steps toward the door, then turned back to face him. “Oh, and Slade, since we’re in Hawaii, who knows—maybe I’ll be able to find some seashells you like.”

Natalie finished her exit out the door. Slade stood in the room for several moments longer. He rubbed one hand over his brow and stared at the door. He hadn’t planned on walking any tightropes but suddenly found himself teetering on one. If he offended Natalie, she would destroy his chance with AJ. If he didn’t offend Natalie—well, there was no way around offending her if she planned to resurrect her seashell wardrobe. He’d have to do his best to avoid her until he’d worked things out with AJ.

Of all people, he had to run into Natalie here. Slade shook his head again and resolved never to become a gambler, because nobody, he was sure, had worse luck.

Chapter Ten

After Clarissa shut the door behind Slade, she smiled at Bella in the most confident manner she could muster. Clarissa had spent half of last night mentally reviewing every childrearing technique she’d ever learned about—coming up with contingencies for every possible Bella situation, until she felt she was ready for anything.

After all, Clarissa was a trained professional. During her family science classes she’d studied Piaget, Brazelton, Skinner, Freud, and James Jones. She knew about developmental needs, motivation, consequences, the subconscious, boundaries, and a myriad of complexes. She had years of experience in child care and the experts on her side.

Now she bent down until she was eye level with her charge and asked cheerfully, “Are you ready to play with us?”

Bella glanced around the room, taking in Elaina, who sat at the coffee table sleepily chomping on pieces of french toast. “I want to go swimming.”

“Maybe we’ll do that later then.”

“Why can’t we go now?”

“Because we just ate, and we don’t want to get cramps.” Okay, Clarissa told herself, I’m thirty seconds into this day, and I’ve already reverted to an old wives’ tale. Next I’ll be telling her the stork brings babies and if she steps on a crack her mother will be doomed to a life of chiropractic care. But Clarissa didn’t want to tell Bella the real reason they weren’t going outside right now, which was that Clarissa felt she had to get some ground rules down, inside, before they faced another crowd. Bella needed to understand that Clarissa was in charge and that consequences would follow if Bella didn’t obey. Last night, as far as Clarissa could tell, Slade hadn’t even reprimanded Bella for running away. Clarissa didn’t want a repeat of that performance.

In the same cheerful voice Clarissa asked, “Would you like to color while Elaina eats breakfast?”

Bella ignored Clarissa’s question and went and stood beside Elaina. “Are you done yet, ’Laina?”

Elaina shook her head, then slowly lifted another forkful of syrup-drenched french toast to her mouth.

“Are you done now?” Bella asked.

Clarissa tried to curb the questioning. “Bella, we’re going to play inside for an hour or so. Then if the two of you are good, we can go to the pool.”

“I want to go to the ocean and look for sharks.”

“We’ll try the kiddy pool first.”

Bella’s brows knitted together, and she frowned at Clarissa. “You’re ’posed to be playing with me.”

“I’d be happy to play some inside games.”

Bella crossed her arms tightly. “I want to go to the ocean.”

“I understand that,” Clarissa said. “Nevertheless the answer is no.”

Tears sprung immediately to Bella’s eyes. Her face almost seemed to scrunch into itself, and she let out a low wail of, “You’re not playing with me!”

Clarissa tried to reason with her for a moment longer. Bella’s wails only got louder and more shrill. In between her “I want to see the waves right now!” and “I’m telling my dad that you’re not nice!” she also added “My daddy can make people disappear!”

How nice for him. Along with being a movie star and a screenwriter, he was also a magician. Life must be easy for someone with so many talents.

Holding tightly onto the last vestige of her cheerfulness, Clarissa scooped up Bella, sat her down on the desk chair, and called over the din, “You can get off of the chair when you’re quiet.”

Clarissa then walked over to the coffee table and wiped Elaina’s face and hands off with a wet napkin. Elaina sat, wide-eyed and unblinking, staring at Bella. She was quite done with her breakfast now and clearly wondered what horrible thing would happen next.

“Bella just needs to learn she can’t always have her way,” Clarissa told her daughter softly. “Let’s look at a book while we wait for her to calm down.”

Elaina allowed Clarissa to propel her to the couch, still keeping her gaze fixed on Bella. Clarissa picked up a book filled with farm animals and set it on her lap. For half an hour she made animal noises in an attempt to ignore Bella’s screams, which rose by octaves as time progressed. Any moment now, they would shatter glass.

If this were to go on for much longer, the hotel staff would probably call to see who was being tortured. Perhaps the security guards were even now on their way to the room—or worse yet, Slade himself might be striding down the hallway.

And what would Slade do if he found out that his daughter had sat screaming on a chair all morning? Perhaps for her job’s sake, she ought to take Bella off the chair, go directly to the beach, and decide that if Slade wanted to teach Bella discipline, he could do it himself. Clarissa wasn’t her parent. Clarissa just got paid to keep Bella happy while Slade worked.

Clarissa glanced over at Bella and then at the hotel room door. If they left now, they could reach the beach in ten minutes. Ten minutes to quiet, happiness, and job security.

But even as she thought about it, Clarissa knew she couldn’t give in. She couldn’t let Bella get her way by screaming. Bella had already had a succession of revolving caregivers, and someone, somewhere along the line, had to be firm with this child. If for no one else’s sake, for Bella herself.

Clarissa shut her eyes, remembering the text she’d studied on the subject. Somewhere in those pages were the tools she needed. The experts, the men with the doctorate degrees, she reached out to them.

Skinner: yes, he said behavioral extinction takes time. Sometimes a lot of time. Jones said a parent couldn’t control a child’s behavior, just the consequences that followed. So she was on the right track. And Freud: he said repressed anxiety needed psychotherapy. Well, rather than go into dream analysis, Clarissa would ignore Freud. It had been her standard practice during her years of studying family science.

She took a pack of cards from the table and said in an overly-loud voice to Elaina, “Why don’t we play a game of Go Fish while we wait for Bella to calm down?”

Bella’s voice dropped to a low whine, and in between broken sobs, she asked, “Can we go to the beach if I calm down?”

Clarissa shuffled the deck of cards. Without looking at Bella, she dealt them out into three stacks. “If you calm down, you can get off the chair and play cards with us. Then later on we can go to the swimming pool.”

Bella crossed her arms over the chair back and buried her head in her arms. From underneath her mass of curls she moaned, “I’m telling my daddy I want you to go away.”

Clarissa handed one stack of cards to Elaina, then picked up her own hand and arranged the cards. “I understand that you’re angry with me.”

Bella continued to lie half flung over the back of the chair, muttering things into her arms. Clarissa supposed it was quiet enough to count as “calmed down” and softly called to her, “Would you like to play Go Fish with Elaina and me now?”

Bella lifted her head, looked at the cards, and then sniffed. Clarissa expected the little girl to snarl “no” and turn away. Instead, Bella slipped from the chair, went to the third stack of cards, and plopped down in front of them.

“Can I go first?” she asked.

“That would be fine,” Clarissa said, and then, while Bella arranged her cards, Clarissa let out a slow breath. It was only one hurdle, she knew, but it felt like success to have cleared it.

After three rounds of Go Fish, four storybooks, and two trips to the bathroom, Clarissa decided she was ready for an outing at the pool with Bella.

But to be certain, she decided to take along Piaget, Brazelton, Skinner, and Jones anyway. Freud would undoubtedly bring his id and tag along too. That was the thing about Freud. Once he popped up, it was hard to get rid of him.

Clarissa gathered up towels, sunblock, snacks, toys, keys, the cell phone, and basically anything and everything else she could think of that might come in handy at the pool, then put it all in a big plastic beach bag.

Bella looked like a fairy princess in her swimsuit. It was covered in ribbons and ruffles—no doubt created by some fashionable boutique on Rodeo Drive. Elaina, although less conspicuous, also looked darling in a pink-checked suit with small white ruffles. Clarissa looked considerably less darling in her old blue suit. As she slipped the straps over her shoulders, she noticed some snags in the material she hadn’t seen before, and the elastic sagged a little around one of the legs.

She had meant to buy a new one last summer, perhaps even the summer before that, but every time she spent money, it led to a fight with Alex. And so finally she just stopped buying herself anything. Since the divorce, she hadn’t had the means to buy such frivolities as swimming suits. Not when Elaina needed so many things.

Clarissa took one last depressing look at herself in the mirror, then tossed her white terry cloth robe into the beach bag. It was short and thin and could pass for a swimming suit cover-up.

As they walked to the kiddy pool, Clarissa told the girls several times that whether or not they went to the beach depended on how well they minded her at the pool. Bella, in her haste to play, only half listened. She skipped all the way there, stopping every few feet to turn around and call “Come on. I can see it!”

A large clover-shaped pool with a fountain spraying up in the middle spread out in back of the resort. The kiddy pool lay right beside it. It was also a large pool, with fountains tossing water in different directions and a slide shaped like a sunken ship.

As they weaved through the sunbathers, Clarissa said, “Remember, I’m responsible for you, and the first time you even go near the big pool, we’re done swimming, and we’ll go back to our rooms for naps.”

“I don’t take naps anymore,” Bella said.

“You will if you go near the big pool,” Clarissa told her.

Neither child seemed especially worried about her threats. Without looking back at her, they both ran, squealing, into the fountains.

Clarissa tossed their towels on a patio table, pulled a beach chair closer to the pool, and sat down to watch the girls. Bella had no fear of anything. She jumped from one fountain to the next, then slid down the slide with hands raised, reaching to take hold of the sky. Elaina eyed everything cautiously. She tried something new only after she saw Bella do it first.

Clarissa wished her daughter were more confident. Had Alex’s criticism made Elaina this way—cautious and insecure?

After Clarissa watched the girls for about twenty minutes, a middle-aged woman sat down in the chair next to her. The woman’s dark hair was pulled back in a bun and wrapped in a brightly-colored tropical scarf that matched her skirted swimsuit. She trained a red lipsticked smile on Clarissa. “It’s a beautiful day to sit out at the pool, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s gorgeous out.” Clarissa vaguely wondered why the woman had come to the kiddy pool. She looked too old to be the mother of any of the children tromping about in the water, but then sometimes women had children late in life, and other times they were early grandmothers.

“Of course, kids don’t care what kind of day it is so long as they can play,” the woman said. “Mine always liked the rain as much as the sunshine. Rain made mud, and that, as you know, is great fun.”

Clarissa nodded. “And fun to clean up after too.”

The woman gazed out over the pool. “Which children are yours?”

“The one coming down the slide and the one…” Clarissa searched for a moment to find Bella. “And the one sitting on that fountain.”

“Two girls. How sweet. Are they twins?”

“No, I’m just tending the fountain-sitter.”

The lipstick smile grew. “Well, that’s a generous thing to do while on your vacation. I hope her parents appreciate it.”

“I’m being paid to do it,” Clarissa said. “I’m here as a nanny.”

“Oh, a nanny.” The woman turned her gaze back on Bella. “I had a friend who nannied years ago. It didn’t work out very well for her. The boy she watched was a terror, and the parents were impossible to deal with.” The woman shook her head. “I’m afraid most nannies are vastly underappreciated. It’s a hard job.”

It has been so far, Clarissa thought, but she didn’t say it. When Clarissa didn’t comment, the woman went on. “Of course, you’re watching a girl, and they’re not half the terrors boys are.”

“I don’t know,” Clarissa said. “I imagine Bella could take on anyone for that title.”

The woman laughed lightly and stretched her legs out a bit farther. “Oh? Does she give you trouble?”

Clarissa didn’t answer right away. She suddenly felt pangs of disloyalty for saying what she had.

Skinner: Labels damage a child’s self-esteem.

Jones: Bella needs positive reinforcement.

Freud: Your subconscious is trying to assert itself independently of your ego.

When you came right down to it, Freud didn’t make a lot of sense.

Clarissa shrugged. “I imagine all children, both boys and girls, come with their own amount of trouble. I’m just happy I can work and still have my daughter with me.”

The woman turned her gaze to Elaina. “Yes,” she said slowly. “That is wonderful. Some employers wouldn’t allow it. Yours must be fond of you.”

Not really. “He’s a very nice man,” Clarissa said.

The woman leaned in a bit closer. “How lucky for you that you get along. How much time do you spend together?”

Before she could answer, a booming voice came from behind her. “Sylvia! Yes, I thought that was you. How are you doing?”

Clarissa turned around and saw Landon striding toward them. He wore a pair of khaki swimming trunks and had a towel draped around his neck. His hair was wet, and water droplets glistened all over his tanned body, as though he had just stepped out of the pool and hadn’t had a chance to dry off yet.

Sylvia slipped the sunglasses from her face and smiled up at him. “I’m fine, Landon. And I don’t need to ask you. I can tell you’re doing wonderfully.”

Landon sat down on the other side of Sylvia and gave Clarissa a forced smile. “I see you’ve met Sylvia Stanfield. She’s one of the reporters for The Scoop magazine.”

Clarissa didn’t say anything. She shut her eyes and gulped. A reporter. She’d been talking to a reporter—something her employment contract specifically stated she could not do. But it wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t known. And she hadn’t said anything bad. Well, except that Bella could compete with anyone for the title of “Terror.”

Clarissa laid her head back against the chair and gulped again. Slade was not going to be understanding about this.

Sylvia’s attention turned to Landon, and she didn’t seem to notice Clarissa’s discomfort. She tapped her sunglasses against Landon’s leg with an air of familiarity. “When are you going to let me interview you for The Scoop? I’ve always wanted to do you, you know.”

Landon’s smile was still forced. “Oh, I think your magazine has already done me quite a few times. The last time I read it, I learned I was secretly engaged to half a dozen showgirls and in drug rehab all at the same time.”

Sylvia didn’t even wince. She leaned toward Landon and grinned. “Consider it your opportunity to set the record straight.”

Landon’s gaze traveled back to Clarissa. His voice was still light, and yet felt heavy to her. “Is that what you were doing talking to Slade’s nanny? Getting the record straight?”

Sylvia glanced back at Clarissa as if only now remembering she sat beside her. “We were just passing the time. Friendly chitchat. That’s all. Weren’t we, dear?”

“Bella is a lovely child,” Clarissa said quickly, “and Slade is only nice to me in a professional sort of way.”

“Yes, of course, dear,” Sylvia said.

Landon rolled his eyes, but before Sylvia turned back to him, he put on his smile again. In a low voice, as though he and Sylvia were conspirators, he said, “Don’t use anything Slade’s nanny said in your magazine. Slade likes to keep his family life private. I’d hate to see her in trouble, since I’m the one who got her the job as nanny.”

Sylvia tilted her head a bit, seeming every bit as surprised as Clarissa was by this information. “You’re in the nanny business now?”

“No. Slade needed a nanny, and…” Landon hesitated only a moment before he came up with her name. “Clarissa is a friend of mine, so I hooked them up with one another.” Landon leaned forward and put one tanned hand on Sylvia’s not-so-tan knee. “How about this: You forget you talked to Clarissa, and I’ll buy you lunch. While we eat, you can interview me to your heart’s content.”

Sylvia’s smile grew so wide it seemed to cut her face in half. “I’ll take you up on that offer, and I happen to be famished right now.”

“Great,” Landon said. “Let’s go see what the hotel is serving.”

They both got up, and Sylvia didn’t even give Clarissa another glance as they walked away from the pool. That was all right, though. The look Landon shot her was enough.

For quite some time Clarissa sat in the chair, limply watching the girls splash around while she chastised herself.

She should have known better. Well, okay, she wasn’t sure how she should have known better, but she should have. She was in a different world now, a world where words—where the mere innuendo of words—was a dangerous thing. She couldn’t forget that again. If needs be, she’d take up sign language and pretend to be mute… that was, if she actually had a job after this afternoon.

Chapter Eleven

A little after eleven Slade called Clarissa, asked where she was, and then said he would join her. He hung up without say much else. Which was probably for the best. If he’d asked, “How did things go this morning?” she would have had to tell him something. At least this way she could tell him in person his daughter had spent half the morning screaming and threatening to get her fired. And then Clarissa could mention that she’d told a reporter that Bella was a terror and at this moment, Landon was out having lunch with the woman to rectify the situation.

This wasn’t going to be a good afternoon. She didn’t want to face Slade right now.

As she put her phone back into her bag, she noticed the snags in her bathing suit again. And she especially didn’t want to face Slade wearing this beat-up old bathing suit. She pulled her robe out of her bag. If she was going to be fired, she should do it with as much dignity as possible.

Hadn’t that same thought flashed through her mind last night?

It wasn’t a good sign that this sentence had become the theme of her nanny career.

Slade showed up twenty minutes later, and he didn’t come by himself. Two men and a woman walked with him toward the pool. The men were in their forties, both in good shape. One had a receding hairline and wore what hair he had left tied behind his neck in a ponytail. The other man had jet-black hair, a mustache, and wore metallic sunglasses.

The woman, Clarissa vaguely recognized as one of the actresses from Undercover Agents, although she couldn’t think of her name offhand. Long red hair swung around her shoulders, and large green eyes looked out from the midst of flawless skin. She was easily 5' 10" tall, and most of that was willowy legs. Her swimming suit looked like it was made of black velvet and showed off a Barbie-perfect figure.

Next, Clarissa’s gaze moved to Slade, and she couldn’t keep it from lingering there as he approached. He wore navy blue trunks, dark sunglasses, and had a pool towel slung over one of his shoulders.

Clarissa had never particularly appreciated how broad Slade’s shoulders were before, and now as he walked toward her, she tried not to stare at them. It probably wasn’t professional behavior for someone who was about to be fired.

When Slade reached Clarissa, he dropped his towel on the chair next to her, then stepped out of his sandals. The people with him began settling into the row of chairs by Clarissa.

Slade gestured at Clarissa. “This is Bella’s nanny, Mrs. Hancock.” He then held his hand out to point at each of the people with him. “This is Sherry, the hardworking, streetwise junior agent; and two narcotic thugs, Joe and Breck, who get killed in a bloody shoot-out at the end of the next show.”

Joe, the one with the ponytail, reached over, shook Clarissa’s hand, and winked. “Only the good die young.”

Sherry laughed and sat down. “Slade, that’s the last time I tell you the plot line to one of our episodes.”

“You don’t have to tell anyone the plots,” Breck said, plopping down on the chair next to her. “They’re all the same. Just for variety, I’m going to ask AJ to let me kill off one of the agents in our crossfire.”

“Don’t let it be me.” Sherry adjusted her pool chair so it leaned back. “Natalie would be putting on my uniform before they could even shoot the poignant scene where everyone comes to my funeral and cries their eyes out.”

Slade scanned the kiddy pool. “Where’s Bella?”

Clarissa pointed to the far corner of the pool where Elaina and Bella were bent over on their hands and knees, periodically jumping across the pool. “They’re being sharks,” Clarissa said.

“Ah, yes, my daughter the shark.” Slade sat down in the chair between Clarissa and Sherry. He leaned back in a relaxed fashion. “How has Bella been today?”

Here it was. The time to confess all, only Clarissa couldn’t exactly bring herself to do it with three other people sitting with them. And Slade wouldn’t want these other people to know what had gone on this morning anyway. Hadn’t Landon just emphasized what a private person Slade was when it came to his family life?

Still Clarissa had to say something. She smiled weakly. “Bella wanted to go to the beach, but I thought it best if we tried the kiddy pool first. She got quite upset about that.”

Slade looked back over at Bella. “Upset how?”

“You know, yelling and crying,” and issuing threats like a three-foot dictator.

Slade continued to look at Bella and at last shrugged. “She seems fine now.”

Clarissa let out a slow breath. That was easier than she expected. Of course, Slade’s attitude might change after he talked to Bella. Bella might carry through on her plans to tell Slade what an awful nanny she was. And there was still the matter of the reporter. Clarissa hadn’t formulated a casual way to tell Slade about that.

Slade’s golden-brown eyes turned to Clarissa. “I thought I’d watch the girls for a while and give you the afternoon off. That way you won’t be mad at me when I ask you to watch Bella all evening.”

“Oh, you have something planned?”

“The Agents have a dinner and dance tonight. AJ will be there, and the press won’t.”

“The press…” Clarissa repeated.

Joe leaned toward her. “Vultures,” he said. “And may I someday be famous enough to have them circling me.”

She should have said something about Sylvia then. She should have said, “Yeah, the press is horrible. Why, a little while ago…” But she couldn’t do it. Slade had already yelled at her in front of Landon. She didn’t want to add three more actors to that list of witnesses. Pretty soon she wouldn’t be able to turn on the TV without spotting people who’d seen her chewed out.

Breck slapped suntan lotion across his arms and shoulders. “Dinner should be another one of AJ’s big affairs. I swear, he doesn’t think he’s running a production. He thinks he’s running a cruise ship, and he’s the director.”

Joe nodded. “He must have taken dancing lessons and wants to get his money’s worth.”

Sherry slipped a pair of designer sunglasses over her eyes. “Some people enjoy dancing.”

Breck elbowed Joe and smirked. “Yeah, and those people are called women.”

Clarissa’s gaze fluttered over to Sherry. Was she the one who had invited Slade to the party? They would make such a striking couple together. All of Sherry’s long red tresses next to Slade’s thick, dark, I’d-love-to-run- my-fingers-through-it brown hair.

Clarissa suddenly felt enormously dowdy in her terry cloth robe. It wasn’t fair. No one should have to sit next to a starlet at a swimming pool while wearing an old terry cloth robe. These men were probably comparing Sherry’s long tanned legs to Clarissa’s pale ones, and Sherry’s shiny, curled-just-right hair to Clarissa’s dull, limp, pulled-back-in-a-ponytail blonde hair. She hated to think what else they might be comparing.

Clarissa had the sudden urge to name off her good qualities. Okay, so I’ve never appeared in People magazine, but I’m a caring mother, and I got straight A’s in college. I know how to bake cinnamon rolls, make life-like flowers out of crepe paper, and can sing Handel’s Messiah on key. I have lots of friends back home. Not famous friends, but still good people.

It wouldn’t have mattered to them, she supposed. Somehow in the great scale of life, being able to bake cinnamon rolls never seemed to outweigh looking stunning in a black velvet swimsuit.

Slade leaned over to Clarissa. “I’m serious about you taking the afternoon off. Have you given the girls lunch yet?”

“No, I was just about to order something for them.”

“I can do it,” Slade said. “Go have some fun, and I’ll bring the girls to your room at 4:30.”

Clarissa glanced over at Bella and Elaina. They were leaping toward the chairs now, making tremendous splashes as they came. Any moment Bella would see her father, and then what would happen? Perhaps Clarissa should take Slade up on the offer and bolt before Bella had the chance to make even more waves.

“Are you sure you’re up to watching two children?”

Slade rolled his eyes. “I am a parent, Clarissa. Over the past four years I have managed to pick up a few child-rearing abilities.”

Bella let out a squeal, followed by a loud “Daddy!” and then tramped up to the chairs and flung herself onto her father’s lap.

“Hey, princess.” He took the towel off his chair and wrapped it around her until she looked like a mound of fluff with eyes. “Are you having fun?”

“I’m a shark,” she said.

“I see. And did you have a good morning with Clarissa and Elaina?”

Clarissa wrapped her own towel around Elaina and held her breath, waiting for the tell-all. The ocean. The chair. The I’m-going-to-tell-my-daddy-to-send-you-away story. To what degree would Slade take his daughter’s side over that of the nanny?

Bella’s gaze brushed across Clarissa without any resentment. Then she said, “We played Go Fish. I won three times.”

“Ah, you’re a card shark then. It all makes sense now.”

Breck peered over his sunglasses at Slade. “What are you teaching your kid, Slade? You got her running a card racket?”

Joe leaned over and tousled some of Bella’s wet curls. “Hey, if you’re really tough, we could use you during our shoot-out. We got some namby-pamby agents we got to teach a lesson to.”

Bella slipped off her father’s lap, probably to get out of Joe’s reach, and let the towel fall from her shoulders. She took hold of her father’s hand. “Come play with me, Daddy.”

“In a minute,” Slade said, and turned his attention to Sherry. “What’s the dress code for tonight?”

Clarissa felt Elaina shiver and pulled the towel around her tighter. “Do you want to stay out here and have lunch with Bella and Slade, or do you want to come back to the hotel with Mommy and have lunch there?”

Elaina hopped up and down eagerly. “I want to stay here.”

Oh.

Clarissa wasn’t sure whether to be happy or disappointed. On one hand, she couldn’t remember the last time she had more than five minutes to herself. On the other hand, her daughter— her daughter, who usually couldn’t be pried from Clarissa’s side, had just voluntarily chosen to spend time away from her. That sort of hurt.

Then from the recesses of her mind, the child experts spoke again. They seemed to be nodding approvingly and murmuring things about a child’s quest for independence and a child’s ability to make her own choices.

Clarissa rubbed her hand up and down Elaina’s back. “Okay, honey, I’ll tell Slade you want to play out here for a bit longer, but if you change your mind, he can always…” She broke off as she noticed Bella. The little girl had given up tugging on her father’s hand, and now, with hands on hips, let out a heavy sigh. She looked over at Clarissa and something flickered in her eyes. Without a word, she circled around the back of the chairs.

Before Clarissa could even call out to her, Bella skipped over to the big pool and went directly over the edge. Her parting into the water only made a whispered splash.

At first Clarissa could neither move nor breathe, then her body suddenly worked again, and she yelled, “Slade!”

She leapt from her chair without waiting to see his response. Her sandals made it hard to run, but she didn’t have time to take them off. In seconds she reached the pool. She saw the form of Bella beneath the water’s surface and immediately plunged into the pool next to her.

The water felt cool and heavy, too heavy. Her robe, now saturated, weighed her down, and every motion seemed to take aggravatingly long. She reached out for Bella, kept reaching. The little girl seemed to always be just beyond her grasp. Then a moment later she grabbed hold of Bella’s hand and pulled her into her arms.

Clarissa turned and pushed through the surface, holding Bella’s head up into the air. She swam to the shallow water, checking the little girl’s face to make sure she was breathing.

“Are you all right?” Clarissa asked.

Bella nodded, her eyes wide with surprise.

Clarissa pushed her way to the stairs, hugging Bella to her to keep herself from shaking. “You scared me to death. Didn’t I tell you not to go near the big pool—didn’t I?”

“But you weren’t watching me anymore. Daddy was.”

“That matters?”

Elaina, Slade, Joe, Breck, and Sherry were all standing and staring at her from the side of the pool.

Slade gazed at her without the worry, without the terror, Clarissa had expected to see. He only looked puzzled. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Bella jumped in the pool. I went in to save her.”

“Oh,” Slade said, and a smile played on his lips. “That’s very sweet of you. Very heroic.” He held out his hands and took Bella from her arms. “Of course, it would have been more meaningful if Bella didn’t already know how to swim.”

Clarissa stood on the top stair, her robe heavy with water, which now streamed down around her ankles. Slowly she said, “Bella knows how to swim?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve got a pool at the house, so she’s had lessons since she was a baby. She probably swims as well as I do.” Clarissa stepped out onto the pool deck. One of her sandals dangled halfway off her foot. She kicked her foot into it angrily. “You never told me she knew how to swim.”

“I never told you she didn’t.”

Clarissa glared at him but didn’t dare look at the other faces. It was one thing to feel like a fool; it was another thing to see the proof that everyone agreed with you. Instead, Clarissa pushed the clinging strands of hair away from her face, then peeled off her bathrobe and rung it out. Water pooled at her feet.

“Who says good help is hard to find?” Sherry said cheerily.

Slade took the robe from Clarissa’s hands. “If we drape this across one of the pool chairs it should dry out soon.”

Clarissa had already had enough humiliation for the day. The thought of staying here for even one more moment didn’t appeal to her. She shook her head. “I’ll just hang my robe up in my bathroom.” She reached for the robe, gave it another twist, and watched as more water dripped onto the concrete. “Maybe I should take Elaina with me. She doesn’t know how to swim, and I wouldn’t want you to worry—”

Slade held his hand up like he was taking a pledge. “I’ll keep both girls safely in the kiddy pool, we’ll have lunch, and then go up to the hotel room and play a few rounds of Shoot and Batter or something.” His eyes ran over Clarissa’s figure, and stopped at the water accumulating at her feet. “Really. You deserve the afternoon off.”

Clarissa shot a last look at Elaina. “Fine.” She turned around and headed toward the hotel. Her wet skin felt cold against the air, and her sandals made a squishing sound with every step she took.

Step. Squish. Step. Squish. She probably wouldn’t stop dripping until she reached the elevator. One leg of her suit began to twist unnaturally. She didn’t dare stop and fix it. She’d already created enough of a spectacle to amuse the movie stars.

Step. Squish. Step. Squish.

She hated the way Slade was so at ease in every situation, while she always floundered around looking incompetent. And she hated the smug humor she’d seen on Sherry’s face before she turned around. But most of all she hated the way Bella could send Clarissa into a pool one moment and then blink innocently up from her father’s arms—the image of an angel—the next.

Had she done the whole thing on purpose?

And from the recesses of her mind, Clarissa heard Freud’s voice laughing. “You’d better listen to me next time.”

Clarissa changed into dry clothes, did some damage control to her hair and makeup, and then went out on her hotel room’s balcony to read a novel. It should have been easy to relax against the backdrop of the bright blue ocean spilling onto the pale sand. But it wasn’t. She reread the same paragraph over and over again while wondering how Slade was managing with the girls. Finally she put the book down. Pitiful, she scolded herself. It’s been so long since you had any time to yourself that you don’t know what to do any more.

She looked out at the beach, sunny and inviting, and wished her balcony faced the pool instead. That way she’d be able to see whether or not Slade had already taken the girls inside.

She was beyond pitiful; she had reached pathetic.

I should go for a walk along the beach, she thought, and pictured herself strolling along the shore with the other sunbathers. Then she pictured herself in her old blue swimming suit, and the image didn’t seem as appealing. She didn’t want to go for a walk; she wanted to buy a new bathing suit.

She grabbed her purse and key card and was out the door.

Chapter Twelve

Clarissa had expected the hotel gift shop to be small, but it was also a pro shop and ended up being bigger than some of the stores she’d been to in the mall. It carried everything from toothbrushes to sports equipment. A rack of women’s swimming suits stood in the back of the store in between the golf shirts and beach towels.

As Clarissa flipped through them, she chastised herself for not buying a new suit before she came. In California, she could have shopped around and found a bargain. Here she’d have to accept the price.

She turned over the tag on a bright, floral suit and winced. Too much. It was a week’s worth of groceries. She couldn’t justify spending this much, and yet, even as she thought about returning the suit to the rack, she also thought of Sherry stretched out on the pool chair in her black velvet suit, looking sleek and elegant. Clarissa wanted to feel that way. The old blue suit seemed symbolic of all Clarissa’s problems, and she didn’t want to put it on again. Ever.

She took the floral suit and also grabbed a hot pink, a yellow, and a black one from the rack. Then she took them to the dressing room.

The whole time she disrobed, she mourned her lack of willpower and the amount of chocolate she’d consumed over her lifetime. Chocolate. It seemed to cancel out the time she’d put in on the treadmill. She ought to have done better. If she were perfect, it wouldn’t matter what she wore. She would always feel confident.

Clarissa put on the yellow suit and turned sideways to the mirror. It was a good thing, really, that she and Elaina would be here for Halloween instead of back home. Who needed bags of fun-sized Snickers lying around the apartment to tempt you? As of this moment, she promised herself she would never overindulge in chocolate again—at least not when she had to face people while wearing only half a yard of tight spandex.

These thoughts were reaffirmed upon seeing herself in the floral suit. It made her feel like she had put on bumpy wallpaper. The black suit wasn’t much better. She took one glance in the mirror and muttered, “It would be perfect to wear to an Esther Williams funeral.”

The pink suit had promise, but felt a bit tight. Clarissa remembered seeing the next size up on the rack and now peeked over the top of the fitting room door in search of a wandering sales clerk. Of course, she saw no one.

She thought about getting dressed to walk back to the swimming suit rack, then chided herself for being silly. After all, if she planned on wearing the suit outside in front of the whole world, she ought to be able to walk ten feet across the store.

She took a deep breath, then darted out to the swimming suit rack. It took her a moment to locate the pink suit in a larger size, and once she did, she also found the same style in white and turquoise blue. She held them in her hands and tried to decide which color she liked best. She had just decided to take all three back to the dressing room, when she looked up and saw Landon approaching her.

He came, stood beside her, and put one hand on the swimming suit rack. As though it were a perfectly normal way to start a conversation, he said, “You may have heard the saying ‘There’s no such thing as bad publicity.’” Now he leaned toward her, keeping his gaze cool, serious, and directly trained at her eyes. “Let me warn you that Slade doesn’t think that saying applies to him.”

Clarissa stared back at Landon, clutching the swimsuits to her chest in an attempt to create a sort of spandex shield. “I didn’t know Sylvia was a reporter. I wouldn’t have said a word to her if I did. I hardly said a word to her as it was.”

Landon raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Then you must have a really direct conversational manner. She told me you love Slade but think Bella is a terror.”

Clarissa nearly dropped the swimming suits altogether. She caught hold of the hangers before they completely slipped from her fingers and held them to her in one massive tangle of material and tags. “I didn’t say that!” She swallowed hard and gripped the hangers tighter. “Well, I mean, I didn’t say it like that.” She shut her eyes and let out a small groan. “The Scoop isn’t going to print that, is it?”

“No, but only because I gave her a better story instead.” He ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair. “For forty-five minutes I talked to that woman about my career plans, personal life, and promised if I ever have any illegitimate children, she’d be the first to know.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Landon folded his arms and his eyes narrowed. “You and Slade both owe me a really big favor for this.”

She almost volunteered to have a few illegitimate children for him, then decided against it. He might not realize she was joking. Women probably actually did make those types of propositions to him on a regular basis. “Just name it,” she said.

He looked at her, and then his gaze slide down her figure, as though realizing for the first time she wore only a tight pink swimming suit. A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips, and his whole expression softened. “Just name it, huh?”

Clarissa felt herself blushing. “I mean, you know, what I meant to say was that I hope someday I can return the favor.”

His smile grew. “I hope so too.”

This line of talk was getting her nowhere. Well, actually it was getting her somewhere, but not someplace she should be. Just being in the same room with Landon McKellips was enough to make any woman sweat; being six inches away from him while he smiled at her was positively dangerous. She nervously pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I haven’t told Slade that I ran into Sylvia. I’m not sure how to break that sort of news to him.” She looked at the clothes rack. Anything was better than facing Landon’s sultry stare. “I mean, despite what she told you, I didn’t actually say any of that, and what I did say, she tricked me into saying—”

“Clarissa.” Landon said the word slowly, soothingly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell Slade anything. It’s taken care of.” He casually reached over and took the turquoise swimming suit from her hand. It was one foot less of spandex in her shield, and she blushed anew as he held it up to her. “The pink looks good, but I like the way the blue brings out your eyes.”

“Do you? Well, blue it is then.” She took it from his hand and backed away toward the dressing room, still clutching the suits in front of her as she went. “I’m going to get dressed now. Thanks for your opinion.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to try on a few more?” he called after her. “I can give you my opinion on all of them.”

“No, that’s okay. I mean, I’ll go with the blue.”

Once inside the dressing room she locked the door, leaned against the wall, and cursed the fashion industry for ever doing away with suits with bloomers. She also cursed herself for being so easily embarrassed. A modern woman shouldn’t blush in a swimsuit.

He must think of her as incredibly backward.

Of course, she shouldn’t care what Landon thought of her. But somehow she did. After all, three days ago she’d been an unimpressive, unimportant, struggling single mother. Now she was here in Hawaii. She was still an unimpressive, unimportant, struggling single mother, but Landon McKellips had just flirted with her. Of course she cared. If she could have recorded the event to replay for herself every time she got depressed, she would have.

Well, maybe not. If she recorded the event, then she’d have to watch herself blushing, and fumbling, and looking awkward. Some things were better to forget.

Clarissa changed back into her shorts and top and stepped out of the dressing room. She hadn’t expected to see Landon still in the shop. In fact, she was relatively certain she’d never see him again. He stood beside the closest wall, waiting for her.

He was waiting for her. Oh, for a camera.

As she walked toward the register, he casually strolled over to her. His blue eyes sparkled as he took her in. “Can I ask you a question?”

Yes, I will have your illegitimate children, and yes, I’ll even be the one to send the birth announcements to Sylvia. “Sure,” she said calmly.

“Are you really Bella’s nanny? I mean, there’s nothing going on between you and Slade?”

“No. I mean yes. I mean no.” She took a deep breath. “No, there’s nothing going on between us, and yes, I really am Bella’s nanny.” Clarissa ran her fingers around the swimming suit hanger and tried to subdue her heart rate. What she thought would come next, couldn’t really come next. Not between someone rich and famous like Landon and someone like her.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Landon said softly. “That being the case, do you have plans for dinner tonight?”

She had just been asked for her first date since the divorce. Ever since her relationship with Alex ended, she’d wondered about this moment. She wondered if she would be ready. She wondered if the question would come from someone she’d be eager to accept or someone she’d have to avoid for the rest of her life. She never—not even once—imagined it would happen in a Hawaiian resort by Landon McKellips, Hollywood hunk.

And to think Alex had told her she would never find someone to replace him. She smiled at this fact even though she knew she had to turn Landon down. “I’m sorry. I’m watching Bella tonight while Slade goes to a luau.”

Landon shook his head and moaned. “That’s the same party I want to take you to. Can’t you get someone else to watch her while you come with me?”

“It’s my job to watch her.” And then, because Clarissa suddenly remembered she had to say it, she added, “and besides, I’m married.”

Landon tilted his head in puzzlement. “You said that as an afterthought.”

“What?” she asked, because she didn’t want to admit he was right.

“Usually, if a woman is married, that thought stays pretty much foremost in her mind. Her excuse isn’t, ‘I’m sorry, I’m busy, and oh, by the way, I’m married too.’”

“I’m sorry,” Clarissa said, and she felt herself blushing again. “I didn’t think that you thought… I mean… I just thought you were being friendly and… I’m sorry.”

Landon smiled, and it was still a confident smile. “You’re not really Slade’s nanny, are you?”

“Yes I am. It’s just that…” In spite of her embarrassment, she kept her eyes on him. His tousled, sun-bleached hair, his half-parted lips, his blue eyes all seemed to pull her toward him. She considered telling him everything, then decided that was her stupidest idea since she swore off chocolate.

No one could know the truth. No one. If it got back to Slade, it would ruin whatever inkling of a chance she still had for a permanent position. So she was married, and that was that, even if it did mean turning down a date with the most handsome man who’d ever asked her out.

“It’s just that what?” Landon asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “I need to go. Thanks for your opinion on the swimsuit.”

She walked toward the front counter to pay for the suit, and he didn’t follow her.

“And thank you," he called after her, “for leaving me with that visual image.”

* * *

At 4:15 Slade knocked on the door. Clarissa didn’t care he was early. She’d missed Elaina and scooped her up in her arms the moment she saw her. She smelled of sunblock and french fries.

“Did you have a fun time this afternoon?”

“Yep,” Elaina said. “Slade let us jump on Bella’s bed.”

Clarissa raised her eyebrows at Slade. “You did?”

He thrust his hands into his pockets and didn’t move from his place in the doorway. “Yeah, well, it turns out I can only take so many games of Chutes and Ladders.”

“Poor thing. No wonder you brought them by early.”

“I didn’t mean to show up early, but I can’t get a hold of Meredith.” Slade glanced over his shoulder at the hotel hallway. “Did she tell you where she was going?”

Elaina started to squirm, so Clarissa put her down. The little girl immediately ran over to the couch to get her stuffed dachshund. Bella followed, looking to see what other toys Elaina had laying around.

Clarissa turned back to Slade. “Sorry, I haven’t talked to Meredith all day.”

“She’s supposed to go to this luau thing with me.”

“Then I’m sure she’ll turn up.”

Slade paused. “Well, I haven’t actually told her about it yet.”

Clarissa raised her eyebrows again.

“I haven’t seen her since I found out about it, but I don’t want to go alone.” Slade checked his phone. “Maybe I should ask the front desk if she rented a car.”

As soon as he’d said this, Meredith rounded the corner. She wore a large brimmed hat and a swimming suit cover-up. A large beach bag was slung over her arm.

“Where have you been?” Slade called to her. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you for hours.”

“I’m on vacation,” she told him slowly. “I went to the beach.” She put her things down by her door and ran her key card through the slot. “I had a lovely afternoon and met a very nice banker from Idaho.” She opened the door and gave them a smile. “He didn’t seem to think I was too old at all.”

Before she went into the room, Slade said, “I need you to come to dinner with me at quarter til six. Wear something Hawaiian. It’s a luau.”

She turned back toward him and smiled graciously. “I had a late lunch with Bill, so I’m not hungry. Thanks anyway.”

Slade walked toward her. “It’s one of AJ’s affairs. He’ll be there with Natalie Granger, and she’s already threatened to go seashell hunting for me. I need you with me.”

Meredith shook her head. “I’m tired and sunburned. The last thing I want to do is stay up all night keeping Natalie Granger away from you. Besides, you know how I hate mingling with celebrities. It’s awful. You always have to think up compliments about their work no matter how pathetic it is.”

“You won’t have to talk business tonight,” Slade said.

“That’s what you said when we went to the network charity dinner. I was trapped in a corner with Will Ferrell for a complete hour. The things I had to say about his comedies—” She looked at the ceiling and breathed out slowly. “It burns my soul just to think about it.”

Meredith then glanced back over at them, and her gaze locked onto Clarissa. Perhaps a little desperately, she said, “Why don’t you take Clarissa?”

“She’s watching the girls.”

“I’ll watch them.”

“They’re too much for you to handle.”

“Nonsense. I watched them for a bit last night and survived just fine. Besides, they’ll be going to bed in a few hours, which means I’ll be able to relax.” Without waiting for further protests, Meredith peeked into Clarissa’s room at the girls. “While your parents are at dinner, we’re going to have a slumber party in my room.”

“A party?” Elaina asked. “Do we get balloons?”

“Of course,” Meredith replied. “Don’t forget to bring your jammies and toothbrushes.”

Both girls got to their feet and chattered to each other happily.

“I want a pink balloon,” Bella said.

“I want anudder pink one,” Elaina added.

“We’ll take whatever colors we can bribe the housekeeping staff to get for us,” Meredith answered.

Clarissa turned to Slade, “What about our affair? I mean, I thought you didn’t want us to be seen together.”

Before Slade could answer, Meredith spoke. “Seeing the two of you together will help dispel any rumors.” She patted Clarissa’s arm. “Just talk about your husband every few minutes.”

“I don’t have anything to wear,” Clarissa said weakly, but it was too late. Meredith was already headed toward her room.

“Just keep repeating, ‘The cinematography was breathtaking!’” Meredith told Clarissa, “and you’ll be fine.”

Slade glanced at his watch. He didn’t look entirely pleased by the turn of events. “Can you be ready at quarter til?”

“I suppose so,” Clarissa said, because she knew she didn’t have a choice.

“Wear your hair up,” he told her as he left the room. “That looks more matronly.”

Chapter Thirteen

At five-forty, Slade knocked on Clarissa’s door. He wore tan pants and a Hawaiian shirt that made him look casual and utterly handsome. She hadn’t brought anything tropical to wear, so she’d put on a straight khaki skirt, a beige blouse, and the lei she’d been given by the flight attendant as she left the airplane in Honolulu. The tiny yellow flowers were a little wilted around the edges, but it was the only Hawaiian thing she had.

Slade’s gaze ran over her with evident disapproval. “You don’t look matronly.”

“Do you want me to bring Elaina along to prove the point?”

“No.” He sighed and then moved away from the door so she could come out of the room. “I suppose I’m asking the impossible again.”

She would have taken this as a compliment if he hadn’t looked so displeased as he said it.

As they walked to the elevator, Clarissa could feel him surveying her again. “Remember to bring up your husband every few minutes. You know, in that annoying gloating way married people always talk about their spouses.”

Clarissa glanced over at him. “Women don’t generally accuse you of being charming, do they?”

He smiled and reached to push the elevator button. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want anything else to go wrong.”

The door opened, and Clarissa stepped in and waited for Slade to join her. They both reached for the button to the lobby at the same time, and their hands brushed together. She quickly withdrew hers. She suddenly felt awkward, as though without Elaina’s hand to hold, Clarissa wasn’t sure what to do with her hands. She finally folded them together. She and Slade stood in silence for a moment, then Clarissa said, “Who is Natalie Granger, anyway?”

“An old colleague. She has some ideas about the two of us, which makes things tricky because she’s here with AJ. He’s the one I want to pitch my script to.”

Clarissa considered this. “She’s AJ’s girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“But she’s coming on to you?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Awesome girlfriend.”

The elevator door opened. As Clarissa stepped out, she lost her footing and wobbled. She’d bought these high heels on one of her post-divorce, bargain-hunting shopping trips. At the time they’d seemed carefree and young—something a single woman would buy. As it turned out, they were something that only people who didn’t actually have to wear them would buy.

Slade took hold of her arm, catching her. He didn’t let her go right away. “Are you all okay?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s just these heels. They’re too high.”

His gaze slid down her legs to her feet. “You’d think after being liberated for so long, women would have done away with heels altogether.”

“We were liberated from men,” she said, “not from fashion.”

He grinned, shook his head, and continued down the hallway.

“What exactly am I supposed to do about Natalie tonight?” Clarissa asked.

“You just have to be around. That way I’m obligated to stick by you and make sure you have a good time. I have a built-in excuse not to disappear anywhere with Natalie.”

“Oh.”

He smiled over at her again. “Now you know where those soap opera plot ideas come from.”

The luau was being held in the hotel garden overlooking the beach. As they exited the lobby and crossed the hotel lanai, Clarissa stopped to take in the view around her. Beyond the resort gardens and through a row of tall palm trees, a bank of purple clouds on the horizon of the ocean was turning shades of pink, yellow, and red. The surf rolled in long white lines toward the beach, and strains of soft Hawaiian music drifted over the garden. Paradise. Clarissa breathed in the fragrance of tropical flowers and wished she could capture this scene, this moment, and hold it forever.

Slade motioned for her to follow him, and she pulled her attention away from the beach. Across the garden terrace stood a dozen circular tables covered in crisp white linen and hibiscus centerpieces. A long table stood in the middle of these, loaded with an assortment of salads, rolls, fruit, and meat.

A parquet dance floor spread out in front of the band. Those who had already arrived were congregated in groups, talking, or lined up at the bar for drinks. It all looked very informal, except for the presence of a number of husky men in hotel uniforms who stood around the perimeter of the banquet site. Security men to keep unwanted guests out.

The next thing Clarissa noticed as they walked around were the familiar faces. People she had seen often but had never met. It wasn’t just the Undercover Agents who were scattered about. She also noticed a tennis pro, a former NBA star, a couple of rock stars, and an assortment of supermodels.

Clarissa stayed next to Slade as he slowly circulated through the crowd. He introduced her to everyone as Mrs. Hancock. No one seemed concerned about who she was or why she was with Slade. In fact, hardly anyone spoke to her beyond the introductions. They all wanted to talk to Slade, to ask him what he’d been doing and why he was in Hawaii.

Clarissa didn’t mind being ignored. It saved her from having to admit she knew nothing about the movie business, the modeling industry, tennis, or basketball. So she smiled, nodded, sipped her guava juice, and concentrated on keeping her balance in shoes she was now convinced were designed for people with foot abnormalities that required them to walk on their tiptoes.

As she followed Slade around on his mingling tour, she saw both Joe and Breck. Joe looked at her, grinned, and then laughed softly into his drink. Breck wasn’t as subtle. When Clarissa and Slade reached the group Breck stood in, he winked at her. “Find anyone else to save today?”

Then because everyone looked at him for an explanation, he gave a blow-by-blow description of the whole event, sound effects included. He finished off the story with an aside to Clarissa. “And if you’re ever concerned about Bella getting trapped in an elevator, don’t worry. I have it on good authority she already knows how to push the buttons.”

“Thanks,” Clarissa said. “Thanks so much.”

She expected more of the same treatment when they reached Sherry’s group, but Sherry barely glanced at her. It was as if Sherry had not only forgotten the whole event at the pool but also forgotten Clarissa altogether. Clarissa didn’t mind the snub. In fact, she was grateful.

At one point Landon, with drink in hand, sauntered up to the group Slade and Clarissa had joined. He wore a black shirt with a gaudy silver pendant of an eagle around his neck. An average person would have looked absurd wearing it to a luau; on Landon it looked chic.

“Hello, Slade.” He nodded at his friend, then turned to eye Clarissa. “Mrs. Hancock, what a surprise to see you here. I thought you were busy tonight.”

Clarissa shifted the glass in her hands. “I was. I mean, Meredith volunteered to watch the girls.”

“Oh, you got someone else to babysit.” He nodded again. “It’s a pity you didn’t think of that when I suggested it to you.”

Slade turned to Landon then. “When you suggested it? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing,” Landon said. “I’m just making idle chitchat. Mingling and all that.” He looked over at Clarissa again. “Tell me, Mrs. Hancock, do you think you’ll be too busy to spare me a dance later?”

“I’m sure I’ll have the time.”

“Good, then I’ll talk to you later.” He smiled at her rather pointedly and turned and walked away.

Slade watched him go. “What was that about?”

Clarissa shrugged. “Nothing really.”

“Nothing?” Slade didn’t press the point because another couple approached them.

The man was tall, lanky, and probably in his fifties. Streaks of gray lightened his brown hair, and wrinkles lined the corners of his eyes. His maroon shirt looked more western than Hawaiian and matched the pair of cowboy boots he wore. The woman at his side was much younger. She could have been his daughter, except a daughter wouldn’t have hung onto his arm so possessively. Her platinum-blonde hair, expertly styled, brushed against her bare shoulders. Her flowered sundress was short, tight, and showed off her tan exceptionally.

The man extended his hand. “Slade, glad you could make it tonight.”

“I wouldn’t want to miss one of your events, AJ.”

The woman turned huge blue eyes on Slade. “Your secretary looks better and better every time I see her.”

“Oh, I forgot to make introductions.” Slade held out his hand as he spoke the names. “AJ, Natalie, this is Bella’s nanny, Mrs. Clarissa Hancock. My secretary couldn’t make it tonight, but Clarissa is a big fan of Undercover Agents, so I brought her along.”

All eyes turned on Clarissa as though they expected her to make some comment about her love of the show. She stammered out, “Undercover Agents is… well… the cinematography is breathtaking.” It made no sense, and she quickly took a drink of her guava juice so she wouldn’t have to say anything else.

Natalie cast her a half-sincere smile. “How nice of you to come. I can tell just by looking at you that you must be good with children.”

“Thank you,” Clarissa answered, even though she had the distinct feeling she’d been insulted.

“Slade,” AJ said, “I haven’t seen you since the Oscars. What are you up to these days?”

Slade smiled broadly. “I’ve written a screenplay. A wonderful screenplay some astute producer is going to pick up soon.”

Natalie turned her gaze back onto AJ. “You’re as astute as they come, AJ. You’d better set up a pitch meeting.”

AJ laughed and pulled Natalie close. “Sure thing. We’ll have lunch sometime.”

“Why don’t we have Slade sit at our table?” Natalie said. “Then he can tell you about it over dinner.”

AJ waved off the suggestion. “I don’t talk business at parties. That’s the fastest way to give everyone heartburn, but we’ll save a spot for you at the table anyway. And I’ll tell you what—you give me a call tomorrow, and we’ll set something up.”

“Great,” Slade said. “I look forward to it.”

AJ and Natalie drifted away after that, and Slade didn’t seem any worse for his encounter with the actress. Still, every once in a while when Slade talked, Clarissa glanced over to where Natalie was circulating through the crowd. There was no doubt; the woman had a knack for displaying herself. She didn’t just walk; she glided, she flowed, she drew glances to her like a magnet, and Clarissa was suddenly glad Slade wanted to stay away from her.

Dinner was a continuation of the mingling session, only sitting down. Clarissa still felt like an outsider who had nothing to say and no idea what anyone else was talking about. She ate silently, occasionally nodding at the conversation so people would think she was paying attention.

Landon sat a few tables over, talking animatedly with the group of people there. As she watched him, he turned and saw her. She looked away quickly, embarrassed to be caught staring. She gazed intently at her plate, at the centerpiece, at anything but Landon.

It was ridiculous to feel guilty for showing up with Slade when Landon had asked her first. She hadn’t planned to slight him. And besides, he couldn’t be slighted by her anyway. He was a star. All he had to do was walk into a room that had more than three women in it, and he could find a date… or two. Landon knew that. He’d only asked her out in the first place on a whim—because she was standing in the store wearing a swimsuit, and he’d enjoyed embarrassing her over it. He didn’t care what she did or who she was with. In this crowd, she was a nobody.

Almost against her will, she glanced over at Landon’s table again and saw him looking back at her. This time he turned away, smiling before he did it.

Clarissa blushed. It shouldn’t have mattered to Landon that she’d turned him down. He didn’t have any real intentions toward her. That was too unlikely for a man like Landon.

Of course, now that she thought about it, she realized she didn’t really know what sort of man Landon was. She only knew what sort of man he portrayed in movies and TV. Perhaps he wasn’t like those wicked but charming scoundrels at all.

“Clarissa is married and has a three-year-old daughter,” she heard Slade say.

He smiled over at her like she ought to have some commentary on that statement, but she had no idea what he wanted her to say. She nodded awkwardly. “That’s right.”

“Clarissa’s husband is a great guy,” Slade said. “She talks about what a great guy he is all the time.”

“That’s right,” Clarissa said again. Everyone at the table was staring at her now.

Slade snapped his fingers and put his finger to his lips as though trying to remember something. “What was that funny thing you told me about your husband on the way up here?” Clarissa blinked at him and said the first thing she thought of. “He’s a perfectionist.”

“What’s funny about that?” Natalie asked.

Clarissa swallowed hard and willed her brain to think of something to say that actually made sense. “Well, it’s not funny in a humorous way,” she finally decided on. “It’s just funny that with so many things in life to think about, a person would zero in on the crumbs in the silverware tray.”

“Oh,” Natalie said, and then, with a shrug of her shoulders, laughed. “I can’t tell you the last time I cleaned out my silverware tray.”

AJ winked at her. “That’s because you always eat out.”

“Still,” Natalie said, “it’s nice to know if I ever want to be a perfectionist, all I have to do is dump out the silverware tray once in a while.”

Clarissa suddenly felt strangely detached from her marriage, as though here, thousands of miles away from Alex, she could begin to see him clearly. “It’s not only the silverware tray,” she said. “It’s also the hangers in the closet. They have to face the same direction. The shoes have to be lined up in a row, and the paper towel roll in the kitchen has to have the flap in the front and not the back.”

AJ shook his head sadly. “Your husband is definitely OCD. Except for the paper towel thing. I do that too.”

“And he watches every single football game during the entire season,” Clarissa said.

“How is that being a perfectionist?” Natalie asked.

“It’s not,” Clarissa said. “It’s just something else I find annoying.”

Slade smiled at her—a stiff unhappy smile, like he wanted to kick her underneath the table.

Clarissa cleared her throat. She was supposed to say happy things about Alex, no matter how hard that was.

“Alex is thorough about everything. He’s an accountant for an engineering firm. I suppose that’s about as opposite of an actor as you can get. Although,” she picked up her glass, “I guess it’s hard to tell what actors are like. I mean…” She looked across the room searching for an example. “Take Landon McKellips. He always plays the part of a womanizing playboy, but for all I know, he’s completely different from that in real life.”

“No,” Slade said. “He’s actually like that.”

Clarissa swirled the ice in her drink. “One woman is about the same as the next to him?”

Slade cocked his head at her. “Why do you ask?”

She knew she ought to change the subject, to forget Landon, and yet she felt compelled to reach some sort of conclusion about him. She couldn’t be so close to the answer and not ask the question. She shrugged as casually as she could. “I’m just thinking about different types of men. You know, perfectionists. Womanizers. I mean, in theory, it wouldn’t hurt Landon’s feelings for long if a woman turned him down. He’d just move on to the next woman, right?”

AJ let out a grunt. “Actually, he’d probably go into shock from the surprise.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever turned down Landon,” Natalie said, and she grinned in a way that made Clarissa wonder if she spoke from experience.

Slade’s eyes narrowed at Clarissa. “How did we suddenly start talking about Landon? What do womanizers have to do with perfectionists?”

Clarissa cleared her throat to give herself time to think. “They both determine their self-worth by using outside props.”

The group stared at her for a moment. “Well,” Slade said at last, “that will give me something to think about the next time I clean out my silverware tray.”

AJ looked upward thoughtfully. “If I had to choose to be either a perfectionist or a womanizer, I’d be the womanizer.”

Natalie swatted him playfully. “See,” she told Clarissa, “you ought to be glad your husband just watches football. He could be watching something else.” Then she gave a perfectly charming pout to AJ. “When are you going to take me dancing, you womanizer, you?”

AJ took his napkin from his lap, tossed it on the tabletop, and stood. He held his hand out to Natalie, and her pout instantly turned to a smile. They left the table without saying good-bye.

They were the first ones out to dance, but as soon as they took the floor, several couples followed, then several more, until Clarissa felt she was one of the only people still working on dinner.

Slade ripped his dinner roll in half. “When I told you I wanted you to talk about your husband, I was thinking along the lines of endearing little stories that would let everyone know you were happily married, not an exposé on his faults.”

Clarissa slunk down in her chair a bit. “Sorry. I just said the first thing that came into my head.”

“The first thing that came into your head was which direction your husband puts the hangers in the closet?”

Clarissa looked out at the dance floor, wondering if it would be impolite to ignore the question altogether. That’s when she saw Landon striding toward her.

He smiled at her, a knowing smile, as if he knew she’d been discussing him during dinner—not because anyone had told him, but simply because he understood women. “Are you too busy for that dance you promised me?”

She glanced at Slade. He rolled his eyes. If she stayed here, Slade would continue his lecture on her shortcomings as a dinner guest. She smiled up at Landon and took his hand. “I’d love to.” They walked onto the dance floor, and she noticed as she turned in Landon’s arms that Slade was watching her and his lips were drawn into a disapproving line.

For a few minutes Landon said nothing. He moved her around the dance floor, gazing down at her in a manner that could have been classified as “lazily” if there hadn’t been an intensity behind his eyes.

Finally tired of the silence, she said, “I’m sorry about turning you down this afternoon. I really was planning on tending the girls. It was a last-minute thing that I came.”

“You’re sorry?” His voice was sultry.

“I just said so.”

He pulled her closer to him and bent to whisper into her ear. “Then make it up to me.”

“Make it up to you?”

His fingers momentarily tightened on her waist. “Clarissa, remember how you told me to name a favor, and you’d do it?”

Yes, well, apparently that had been a mistake. How in the world was she supposed to know this afternoon that he’d be whispering things into her ear tonight? She hadn’t expected him to even remember her name, let alone whisper it.

“You’re blushing,” he said and actually sounded surprised. “That’s so refreshing. I don’t remember the last time a woman blushed around me.”

“I can help you with that. It was this afternoon by the swimsuit rack.”

She felt his chuckle, rather than heard it. “I meant besides you.”

Clarissa thought the subject of favors had been dropped, then Landon leaned toward her ear again. “Are you going to keep your word? I want to name a favor.”

“Um…”

“You don’t need to start blushing again. I just want you to have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

For a moment, she actually considered saying yes. She swallowed back the word instead. “I mentioned that I was married, didn’t I?”

“You mentioned it. I promise to take you somewhere respectable.”

“That’s the point. It wouldn’t be respectable.”

The intensity in his eyes grew until she felt like she wasn’t looking at him at all—she was just looking at a picture of him. It was like watching a movie, and this was the part where he swung the heroine into his arms and kissed her passionately. He leaned closer to her ear. “Couldn’t you be disrespectable for one night?”

Clarissa laughed. She hadn’t meant to, but it seemed so… Landon—as if he’d rehearsed for the part of being himself. “You’re good at this,” she said. “No wonder they pay you so much to do this onscreen.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet.” He ran his hand gently down her back. “It’s too crowded here. Let’s take a walk to the beach.” He drew back and gave her a playful look, already anticipating her protest. “A respectable walk.”

“I can’t disappear anywhere. It would defeat my whole purpose for being here.” And because she’d reminded herself of this fact, she glanced back at their table. Slade had left his seat. A moment later she located him standing with some of the production people he’d introduced her to earlier. His gaze connected with hers, and his lips were still drawn into a tight line.

“Your whole purpose?” Landon asked. “And what would that be?”

Clarissa tried to think of a way to explain it to him without implicating Natalie, then realized she couldn’t do it. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

“No, really, tell me.”

“I can’t. Forget I said anything.”

“Hmm.” Landon nodded. “You’re gorgeous and now mysterious too.”

Clarissa smiled at him. She probably shouldn’t have. She probably should have found some proper way to put an end to Landon’s flirting. But it had been so long since anyone had flirted with her that it felt like water on parched ground. She hated to turn it off.

Besides, it wasn’t wrong to smile up at him this way, because she wasn’t really married. And none of it mattered to Landon anyway. He undoubtedly flirted with everyone. He wouldn’t remember her next week, let alone remember that she smiled back at him while they danced. She would bask in his attention for a few more moments before she returned to being a dowdy, unnoticed housewife.

“Your purpose.” Landon said again. “Let me guess. You’re an undercover reporter?”

“Nope.”

“An actress? A spy?”

“Sorry.”

The intensity returned to his gaze. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

“I really can’t.”

Landon smiled at her again, undefeated. “All right. I guess I’ll have to be satisfied with holding your picture.”

“My picture?”

“The one in the paper. As soon as I get back to my hotel room I’m going to cut it out.”

“What paper?” she asked.

He cocked his head at her. “This morning’s paper. Didn’t you see the picture of you and Slade in it?”

“No,” she said and then, “Oh, no.” She felt a ball of anxiety tightening in her stomach. “What did it say?”

He shrugged. “Nothing really. Just that Slade was here with the cast.”

She hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath but now exhaled slowly. “That doesn’t sound too bad.” Of course it wasn’t bad. If the paper had printed anything unfavorable, she would have heard about it by now from Slade. Repeatedly. In a loud, angry voice.

Landon pulled her toward him to avoid another couple. “Yeah, every once in a while the papers have an off day and print something nice. I’m sure their next article will call us Under-the-Covers Agents, and they’ll write about how we trashed the hotel during our wild parties.”

“Well, I’m not talking to anyone from here on out. In fact, I’m going to insist on some sort of identification and proof of occupation before I even discuss the weather.”

He laughed softly. “It won’t matter. The press is like Santa Claus. They know when you’ve been sleeping. They know when you’re awake. And they know about anything that happens in between those two times.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Sometimes.” A brief scowl touched his lips. “It’s been worse lately. It’s to the point that the whole cast is afraid to cough for fear of being written up as having contracted the plague.”

Which only made Clarissa feel more guilty about her slipup at the pool. “Why did you tell Sylvia I was an old friend of yours?”

His hand slid across her waist. “I know how reporters like Sylvia think. She won’t believe you’re only a nanny. She thinks you have some ulterior motive, some connection. I let her believe your connection is to me instead of to Slade.” He winked at her. “I don’t mind being linked with beautiful women. You see, this isn’t just a dance—I’m helping your cover story.”

Clarissa shifted a bit in Landon’s arms, uncertain how to reply to the compliment. “Well, thanks again for pulling Sylvia away from me.”

“You still owe me a favor,” he said.

The song ended. Landon didn’t let go of her. “You’re not ready to go sit down, are you?”

She didn’t have time to formulate a reason for doing so. Slade was suddenly at her side. He smiled pleasantly at Landon. “Do you mind if I cut in?”

Landon looked as though he did mind but stepped aside anyway. He nodded to Clarissa and then gave her a sultry stare. “Thanks for the dance, Mrs. Hancock.”

Despite her intentions to do otherwise, Clarissa blushed at his parting, which made it that much harder to look at Slade. He was eyeing her in a very Hawk Hawthorn sort of way—handsome, dark, and dangerous.

The music started up—another slow song. Slade took her hand in his and placed his other hand on her waist. She shouldn’t have felt a tingle of electricity at his touch. He was her employer, and judging by his facial expression, he wasn’t that happy with her right now. But he was still Slade Jacobson. A man that had been voted America’s sexiest man in more than one poll.

Landon’s good looks were smooth, polished like the surface of welcoming lake. Slade was attractive in a rugged sort of way. Slade’s looks were like waves on the beach—powerful, energetic, and something that could drag you under if you weren’t careful.

Slade maneuvered her to where the floor was less crowded. “Why did you dance with Landon?”

“Because he asked me.”

“Yes, but didn’t you know what it meant when he asked you to dance?”

“I supposed it meant he wanted to dance.”

Slade shook his head at her, and when he spoke his words were clipped. “What’s going on between you two? You looked like a couple out here.”

“We were dancing,” she said. “Everyone looks like a couple when they’re dancing.”

Slade’s gaze was as intense as Landon’s, without any of the warmth. “I don’t know your perfectionist husband, Clarissa, but I can imagine what he would say at this moment.”

Clarissa hesitated. “There’s nothing going on between Landon and me. He helped me out this morning and…” She hadn’t meant to tell Slade like this. She had wanted to wait until he seemed to be in an understanding mood.

“Helped you how?” Slade asked, and he didn’t sound understanding.

Clarissa gave a brief version of her encounter with Sylvia that morning, giving as few details as possible. She waited for Slade to break into some sort of lecture… or yell. His face showed no expression though. “And what was that business between you and Landon about you being busy tonight?”

“After his interview I ran into him in the hotel, and he asked me to the party. I told him I was married, and that I had to watch Bella.” Although not in that order.

Slade let out a slow breath, almost a sigh. “We told you the truth during dinner. Landon is a womanizer.”

“I know.”

“But you danced with him anyway, and I could see you blushing from where I stood halfway across the floor.”

She felt her cheeks growing red again. “I’m one of those people who blushes easily.” And then because she still felt the need to defend herself, she added, “It was just a dance. I was being polite to him.”

“Trust me, stay away from him from now on.” Slade said this to Clarissa as though she was some wide-eyed groupie throwing herself at Landon.

“You were the one who insisted I come tonight,” she reminded him.

Slade swayed her to the left to avoid getting too close to another couple, and as he did so, he pulled her nearer. “Exactly, so let’s stick together. From here on, we’ll sit out.” Slade glanced across the floor, and his eyes stopped on Natalie. She stood in AJ’s arms, flowing back and forth to the rhythm of the music. As Slade watched her, she looked over and smiled at him.

Slade smiled back, then turned to be away from Natalie’s line of sight. “But first I think we’d better dance for a while.”

Clarissa watched Natalie for another moment. The woman’s smile returned to AJ, and she caressed the back of his neck with her hand. “I don’t know why you’re worried about Natalie,” Clarissa said. “She seems pretty devoted to AJ.”

“It’s called acting,” Slade said, “and this is exactly the reason you have to trust me where Landon is concerned. You’re not used to being around actors. They’re different.”

Clarissa gazed off into the crowd. “You can say that again.”

Slade chuckled, a sound that was familiar and comforting. “Go ahead and be angry with me. You’ll thank me someday.”

She looked back at Slade and saw the grin on his face. She hadn’t expected to see him smiling at her, and it totally disarmed her. It seemed odd to her that one smile from him was more effective than ten of Landon’s sultry stares. It suddenly became hard to dance with him, to not notice how close he stood or to feel his shoulder underneath her hand.

It was true that she wasn’t used to actors, to men who made your heart race when they glanced at you. She would have to learn to rein in these reactions, and rein them in fast.

She looked out at the crowd again, trying to think of anything but how near Slade was. She contemplated women’s fashion, time-share condos, Hawaiian flowers. Her mind kept wandering back to Slade, to the feel of his hand on her waist.

“Did you see the paper today?” she asked.

“No.”

“Landon said there was a picture of us.”

“Us?” Slade nearly spat out the word.

A lump suddenly formed in Clarissa’s throat. He hadn’t known about it, and she had just opened the floodgates for more criticism.

Slade stopped dancing, stopped breathing probably, and Clarissa quickly added, “Landon said there wasn’t anything bad about it.”

“Landon’s definition of ‘bad’ and mine are not exactly the same.” Still holding onto her hand, he led her back across the dance floor.

He only held her hand so as not to lose her. It still made them look like a couple, though. She didn’t point this out to him, and she didn’t take her hand from his. His fingers felt warm and strong holding on to hers.

She needed some serious work when it came to resisting actors.

Chapter Fourteen

They headed to Clarissa’s room. She knew where her paper was. “What exactly did Landon say about the picture?” Slade asked as they got into the elevator.

Landon said he’d have to be satisfied with having Clarissa’s picture since she wouldn’t go out with him. She was not about to tell Slade this. “Just that it was in the paper.”

Slade narrowed his eyes at her as though he knew she was hiding something. “You’re leaving out the part where he told you how stunning you looked, how you ought to be a model, and how he knew people who could help you.”

“He didn’t say any of that,” Clarissa said, and then stopped herself, because it implied he’d said something else.

The elevator door opened, and Slade stepped out without saying any more on the subject. When they got to her room, she slid her card through the slot and opened the door. She wished she’d done a better job of arranging Elaina’s things somewhere neatly instead of piling them the furniture. Slade didn’t seem to notice the mess. He went straight for the newspaper on her couch.

He flipped through it, then his jaw clenched and he muttered several things.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He turned the paper over so she could see the page. It was one of four pictures under the headline “Agents Go Undercover in Hawaii.” The top corner showed a photo of Landon autographing a picture for a fan. Below it were two pictures of the cast members mingling with the crowd, and in the bottom right-hand corner, Slade and Clarissa walked toward the hotel entrance.

It could have been worse. It could have been a picture of her peeling Bella off of Slade’s leg while Bella screamed like a banshee. Instead, they looked almost like normal people. Slade was smiling, and it didn’t even seem like a forced smile. He carried Bella with one arm and had his other hand on Clarissa’s elbow. Clarissa looked a little dazed, but none of the frustration she’d felt at that moment showed on her face. Her hair was in place, and her mouth wasn’t hanging open. It was even a good photo of herself.

“Look at this.” Slade smacked the paper with the back of his hand. “Slade Jacobson and a friend drop in at the Mahalo Regency. A friend,” he repeated. “They called you a friend.”

Only because they hadn’t talked to her first.

He tossed the paper onto the coffee table. “I specifically told them you were Bella’s nanny.”

“Yes, and Bella told them that reporters are bad people and we weren’t having an affair. All in all, ‘friend’ doesn’t seem so bad.”

“Friend makes it sound like there’s something more to it. Anyone who sees this will think there is. Next thing you know, the tabloids will be here interviewing the maid service.”

Clarissa kicked off her shoes. “Aren’t you being a little paranoid about this? I mean, who cares what kind of relationship you have with your daughter’s nanny?”

He sat down on the couch and rubbed his brow. “The media went on a feeding frenzy when they found out Evelyn cheated on me. I couldn’t even let Bella switch channels on the TV because I was afraid of what she would see, what she would hear about her parents. They’re all just waiting for the next chapter in that saga, and they’ll think this is it.” He leaned back against the couch. He looked defeated, vulnerable.

Clarissa suddenly had the urge to go and sit beside him and take his hand in hers, to comfort him. Instead, she walked to the chair across from the couch and sat down stiffly. “This is different. It doesn’t matter what anyone reports. Bella knows I’m nothing but the nanny.”

Slade lifted an eyebrow to show that she was missing the point. “Does Elaina? Do your friends, neighbors, and the people you went to high school with—do they all know you’re not cheating? Because this is the sort of story reporters love: Home-wrecked becomes home wrecker. It doesn’t matter if there isn’t any truth to it.” His gaze was still on her, warm and intense. “I was thinking about the havoc this could cause you, Clarissa.”

“Oh,” she said with surprise. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

He looked at her unconvinced.

“Really,” she said. “In high school I was voted most likely to run off with a movie star to a Hawaiian resort. No one will be shocked.”

“Not even your husband?”

“He was the one who nominated me.”

Slade didn’t laugh. In fact, he was staring at her like she wasn’t taking the subject seriously enough. “I called Alex last night,” she said, “and told him about the reporters. He thought it was funny.”

Slade relaxed at that. He glanced once more at the paper, then stood up. “Well friend, I guess we should go relieve Meredith.”

“I guess we should.”

Slade walked out of the room and into the hallway. Clarissa followed, glad she only had to look at the back of Slade’s shirt. Looking at the back of his shirt was easier than looking into his eyes. She didn’t like lying to Slade, but what else could she have said to make him stop worrying?

Slade knocked softly on Meredith’s door, and after a few moments, she opened it. She wore a navy blue silk robe, and the makeup was gone from her face. She still managed to have a professional air about her, though. “You’re back early,” she said.

Slade walked into her room. “We left when we found out our picture was in this morning’s paper. I wanted to check it out.”

Meredith nodded. “I noticed it after the girls fell asleep. She gestured to where the paper lay on her couch. “It’s only a local story. It probably won’t even be noticed by the larger press.”

“Probably not,” Slade said.

“And if it is, we’ll just ask Clarissa’s husband if he can be out here on the next flight and tell the press he’s been here with us all along.”

“And Bella adores them both,” Slade agreed.

Clarissa’s mouth went suddenly dry.

Meredith turned toward Clarissa. “If the situation arose, your husband could arrange that, couldn’t he? It would be all expenses paid, of course.”

Clarissa fidgeted with her lei. “Oh, um, if he could get the time off work.”

Slade’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Couldn’t he get the time off work if it meant saving your reputation from death by tabloids?”

“Well, I’m sure he’d try,” Clarissa said.

Slade’s voice took on an exasperated tone. “Tell him I’ll personally make sure the hangers in your hotel room are facing the right direction.”

“I’ll tell him,” Clarissa said. She pretended to brush away a piece of lint because she couldn’t bear to look at Slade any longer. Her stomach felt as though it had turned to clay.

She should have told him at the beginning. Risking the job would have been better than perpetuating this lie. It would have been easier. Now she stood only one news story away from being revealed as a fraud.

Slade looked around the room. “You say the girls are asleep?”

“They’re on my bed.” Meredith walked over to her desk where her laptop sat. “You got an email you’ll want to answer.”

Slade turned and went to check on the girls instead of following Meredith. He came back a minute later, smiling. “They look like a pair of angels in there sleeping.”

“Yes, it’s quite deceptive, isn’t it?” Meredith sat down on the chair in front of the computer and with a few clicks of the mouse logged onto the Internet.

“They weren’t good for you?” Clarissa asked.

“Oh, they were fine,” Meredith said. “Just your normal, busy preschoolers, and I’m sure housekeeping will find a way to get that fingernail polish out of the carpet.”

“Remind me to tip the maids well,” Slade said.

“You always do.” Meredith leaned back in her chair and scanned through a long row of emails. “Here we are. It’s from your friend Kim.”

Slade leaned over Meredith’s shoulder and read out loud: “Slade, I can’t believe you’re in Oahu. For once our paths are going to cross. I’ll be near the north shore to study some plant species in a couple of days. We have to find a time to get together. I’m tired of seeing your face on the screen and never in real life. Besides, half of my roommates don’t believe I’m really e-mailing you. I need proof. Pictures of us together and perhaps a notarized set of fingerprints. Let’s work something out. Love, Kim.”

Meredith twisted in her chair to face him. “Isn’t it perfect?”

He shrugged. “Sure. It’s great. We’ll have lunch somewhere.”

“No,” Meredith said. “You can bring her to the hotel the next time AJ has one of his functions. She’ll be your date. That way you’ll be able to hold off Natalie and any rumors about you and Clarissa at the same time.”

Slade nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll ask AJ when his next party is. It will give me an excuse to run into him tomorrow.”

Clarissa watched them for a moment, then because her curiosity got the best of her, she asked, “Who’s Kim?”

Slade smiled, a soft smile rich with inner meaning. “My best friend’s little sister. Well, at least he was my best friend until eighth grade when he moved to England.”

“That’s the thing about being a star,” Meredith told Clarissa. “It doesn’t matter if a girl hasn’t seen you since she was ten years old. She’s going to track you down and email you. This time it works in our favor.”

Slade still smiled nostalgically. “Eric and I used to tease her mercilessly. I’m surprised she’s even forgiven me.”

“Maybe she hasn’t,” Meredith said. “Maybe that’s why she wants to see you. She wants to give you the ‘what for’ for all those times you pulled her pigtails.”

“We did worse than that,” Slade said, rubbing his chin. “I guess you could credit Kim for my first acting jobs. One time, we pretended we’d been hit by a car. We came staggering up the sidewalk, bleeding ketchup all over the place, just to hear her scream.”

Meredith made a “tsking” sound with her tongue. “Now I know where Bella gets her sense of humor. It’s genetic, and it serves you right for having her.”

“It certainly does,” Slade said, “and I guess it’s time I take her back to our room.”

He walked to Meredith’s bedroom and Clarissa followed. She watched as he gently picked up Bella and cradled her against his chest. He gazed down at her with the same warm expression she’d seen on his face as he held Bella by the dining room table.

The words he’d said came to Clarissa’s mind. “Children have a way of stripping off the masks we wear.” She realized she was seeing him unmasked. In this setting, he wasn’t the actor who smiled confidently for the camera, or even the slightly cynical man who had just berated her for dancing with Landon. This was who he was unmasked. A tender and gentle man who loved his daughter.

Clarissa looked down at Elaina and thought of Alex. Perhaps he had also been unmasked by his daughter. To the rest of the world he was even-tempered, generous, and caring; but somehow all those things fell away when he came home.

Clarissa reached to pick Elaina up, then paused. She took in her daughter’s shiny blonde hair, the pixie nose, and the soft brown lashes. Lying there bathed in the soft light from the open doorway, Elaina did look like an angel— except for the smudges of mauve fingernail polish on her hands.

It was Alex’s loss. It was all his loss.

She picked up Elaina, and the little girl nestled her head on Clarissa’s shoulder. She smelled slightly of perfume and slightly of shampoo. Clarissa held her, enjoying the softness of her body. “Come on, sweetheart,” she murmured into Elaina’s hair. “Let’s go to our room.”

Slade whispered, “I’ll drop Bella off in the morning.”

Clarissa nodded.

As she walked from the room he added, “Thanks for coming with me tonight.”

“Sorry about my husband.” Clarissa turned slightly to face Slade. “I mean, I’m sorry about the stuff I said about my husband at dinner. You know, the hangers and silverware tray.”

Slade nodded with an expression that tingled right through her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Clarissa whispered a good-bye to Meredith and walked out of the room.

After Clarissa was safely out of sight in the hallway, she shook her head. To think Slade had asked her if she had any acting ambitions. She’d been here two days and could barely act married. She’d almost forgotten to tell Landon about her husband altogether, and at dinner she had said all sorts of stupid stuff about Alex to Slade. And then there were those racing heartbeats she’d had as she looked at Slade tonight. Had he noticed those?

She would have to be better.

And what if Slade actually asked her husband to join them? She shuddered as she balanced Elaina with one hand and fumbled to unlock the door with the other. She could barely even talk about Alex without mumbling incoherently. She would never be able to come up with a believable excuse for his not being able to come to Hawaii to defend her honor.

Acting ambitions, indeed.

After Clarissa settled Elaina in bed, she wandered into the front room and sank into a chair. The room was annoyingly quiet and empty. She supposed Slade Jacobson had that effect on rooms. Once he’d been in them and then left, they just naturally seemed duller. She glanced over at the couch he’d sat on and could still picture him there: his head tossed back, his brown hair smooth and shiny, his eyes dark and magnetic, looking into hers.

Clarissa immediately cut off the image. It was ridiculous to think about Slade like that. Even if he knew she was single, he wouldn’t be interested in her. She was the nanny. The hired help. He had beautiful and famous women like Natalie Granger after him. Why would he ever look twice at Clarissa? It was a good thing he thought she was married. That way she wouldn’t have to face the humiliation of being unnoticed by him.

Clarissa picked up the paper from where it lay on the couch, saw the picture of Slade, and sighed.

A friend.

She fumbled through her purse until she found a pair of small scissors, then carefully cut out the photo. She would put it in her journal— right after she color-copied a dozen prints to send to her friends and family. Because hey, what was the point of having fifteen minutes of fame if you couldn’t share it with the people who actually knew you?

Her friends would gasp at the caption and ask, “You’re friends with Slade Jacobson?”

Then she’d have to say, “No, not really. Actually he hardly knew I existed.”

Perhaps she wouldn’t make color copies of the photo after all.

Clarissa logged onto her laptop. Checking her email would keep her mind off things she didn’t want to think about. The first thing she saw was a message from Renea. Clarissa stared at it, tapping her fingers against the desk while she decided whether she was up to reading a message from her ex-sister-in-law. After a moment she clicked it open.

“Clarissa,” it read. “I’ve called you twice and never got an answer back from you. I’m getting worried. I know how depressed you are, but it’s important for you to get out and be with people. Don’t hole up somewhere and spend your days crying. Especially not since I want to help you through this. I want to talk to you about Alex. I think you still have hope. Give me a call.”

Clarissa tapped her fingers against the keyboard harder than she needed to. Hope. She had hope. How nice to know.

She hit the reply button and typed: “Renea, sorry I haven’t returned your calls. I’ve been busy here in Hawaii. It’s nice you’re concerned about me, but I’m doing fine. In fact, today Landon McKellips asked me out. I turned him down, though. He isn’t my type.” She hit the send button before she could change her mind about its contents.

And then to prove her point, she found the web page of the Oahu Times and copied the link into another e-mail. A photo of Slade Jacobson dropping into the Mahalo Regency with a friend was just the right thing to send to Renea.

Chapter Fifteen

Slade woke up at six thirty in the morning. He wished he could sleep in later, especially on a Saturday. But once he woke up, he thought about how he’d pitch his script to AJ, and then he couldn’t get back to sleep. He finally pulled himself out of bed and went to shower and shave.

AJ had undoubtedly stayed up late last night, so Slade didn’t dare call too early. On the other hand, if he waited too long, AJ might be off doing something. Perhaps nine thirty would be the best time.

Slade dressed, ordered room service for breakfast, and then woke up Bella. She didn’t want to get dressed in clothes. She only wanted to wear her swimsuit.

While he cut up her pancakes she asked, “Are you going to take me swimming today, Daddy?”

“We’ll work something out,” he said. “I’m sure Clarissa wouldn’t mind taking you.”

“I want you to do it,” Bella said. “You throw me up in the air, and then I make big splashes.”

Slade nodded seriously and took a sip of his orange juice. “Yes, I suppose that is important.” He watched Bella trying to capture a piece of her pancake with her fork. “So,” he asked, “do you like Clarissa?”

Without looking up, Bella said, “She didn’t take me to the beach, but she played games. Your other girlfriends never do that.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Slade said. “She’s your nanny. She’s supposed to play with you.”

“Nuh-uh, Daddy.” Bella’s head bounced in a dramatic way with each word she spoke. “Nannies are old.”

“Clarissa is your nanny,” Slade emphasized in his most serious tone. The last thing he wanted was for Bella to call Clarissa his girlfriend out in public. “I got you a young nanny this time because I thought she’d play better with you.” And then almost under his breath he added, “She’s stronger than the other ones. And sturdier and faster.”

Bella skewered a pancake piece, twirled it around, and popped it in her mouth. “You’ll make her leave if she’s not nice, right?”

Slade raised an eyebrow at the question. Bella had never said much about his hiring practices, and now he wasn’t sure how to answer the question. “Let’s give Clarissa a try, and we’ll talk about how you’re getting along at the end of the week.”

Bella didn’t answer, just slid her fork into another pancake piece.

“I already explained why she jumped into the pool after you,” he added and couldn’t help smiling as he thought of Clarissa dripping on the pool deck. “She thought you were drowning. She wanted to help you.”

Bella frowned at her pancakes. “When is Mommy coming back?”

Slade nearly toppled his juice glass over. Even now, after nearly a year of being divorced, questions like this still pierced him. They let him see into Bella’s mind and into a reality that existed only for her. In her mind Evelyn’s short visits every few months meant something. “I don’t know when she’ll be by to see you again, honey.”

“She has to be there for the first day of kindergarten,” Bella said matter-of-factly. “Kayla said all the moms come to school on the first day.”

“I’ll be there,” Slade said.

“You’re not a mom.”

“They’ll let you into kindergarten, even if it’s your dad who drops you off.”

Bella’s brows knit together as though she didn’t quite believe him.

“It’s still a long time off,” he said. “We’ll make sure everything is all right.”

“Okay.” Bella went back to her breakfast. Slade couldn’t finish his. He put it back on the tray.

At nine thirty he dropped Bella off at Clarissa’s room, then went back to his room to make the phone call. He had to have quiet—professional-sounding quiet—as he talked to AJ.

He made the call. No one answered.

Could AJ still be asleep? Maybe he’d gone somewhere for the day and turned off his phone.

Slade went to his laptop and brought up the script for his part in an upcoming Sparta movie. Rehearsals started in a few weeks. He might as well learn his lines while he had some free time.

For twenty minutes he vehemently threatened the dresser, lamp, and nightstand, then he called AJ again. Still no answer.

Slade pushed the end button on his phone harder than he needed to. He must have missed AJ. The man was probably snorkeling off a reef somewhere, and Slade wouldn’t be able to get hold of him all day.

He went back to his lines but couldn’t concentrate on them.

Sometimes he hated this business. He hated the whole connections aspect of it—the way you had to be in the right place at the right time; and because those things rarely happened naturally, you had to force yourself to be in the right place at the right time and then fake that it was happening naturally. Slade had finally reached the point in his career where he didn’t have to hustle to get the right parts, and now he was starting on a whole new venture of hustling, hoping, and dealing with rejection. Who needed this?

Slade glanced over to his dresser at the manila envelope that held his screenplay.

He didn’t need the money. He didn’t need the recognition. It would be easy to let this project go.

Only he couldn’t let it go.

He’d started writing screenplays during his divorce. It had kept his mind off obsessing over the images of Evelyn and Brad that popped up everywhere. Whenever he was besieged with unanswerable questions like “How could she do this?” and “Why did she stop loving me?” he turned his mind to his latest screenplay.

At first they were all bitter, angry, and completely unsellable. Most of them had buildings, planes, or towns that erupted into flames. But then out of the ashes of his emotion, he had starting working on Time Machine. It was a story about realizing you’d made mistakes and trying to undo them. And even more than that, it was about seeing life differently and valuing the right kind of people.

The story had become a part of him. He wanted to share it, to share what he’d learned with other people. He couldn’t just let it go.

Slade tossed his lines onto the bed and headed out the door. He would go wake up Landon and find out what the production schedule was like. That way he’d know when he had the greatest chance of getting hold of AJ.

Slade hadn’t gone far down the hallway before he ran into the right place at the right time. AJ and Natalie were standing in front of the elevator.

Slade sauntered up to them at an unconcerned pace. “AJ, you’re just the man I was looking for.”

Natalie took hold of AJ’s arm possessively. “I say the same thing to him every day.”

Slade laughed lightly at Natalie’s joke, then turned his attention back to AJ. “I wanted to tell you again how much I enjoyed your party last night. I’m already looking forward to your next one.”

“We’re having one Halloween night,” Natalie said. “A masquerade.”

“In the Iolani room at seven,” AJ added. “We’ll count on seeing you there.”

The elevator opened and all three stepped in. It was the right place, the right time, and it would only last for eight floors.

“So,” Slade put his hands in his pockets and donned a casual expression, “have you given any more thought about a pitch meeting?”

AJ nodded. “Right. We were going to do that, weren’t we?” He looked upward, as though mentally reviewing his calendar. “Why don’t you join us for breakfast, and you can do it there.”

“At breakfast? Right now?”

“Sure, there’s nothing like hearing a good story over bacon and eggs.” He smiled at Natalie. “You don’t mind, do you, hon?”

“Of course not,” she said, and her pink lips curled into a smile. “Join us.”

They walked to the restaurant, and the hostess seated them in a corner booth. Slade waited until the waitress had taken their orders, then began his pitch.

“Time Machine is a love story with a sci-fi angle, but it’s really a story about redemption.” He paused to let the emphasis sink in. “People will relate to it because we all look back at our lives and wish we could change things.”

AJ nodded and reached for his cup of coffee. “Yeah. If I had it to do over again, I would have skipped marrying my second wife and just paid a large sum of money to her lawyer. It would have saved me a lot of hassle.”

Slade leaned forward a bit. “Right. We’d all do things differently. The main character, Dalton Hammer, is a successful scientist and inventor. He’s made millions, collected accolades, seen and done it all. He’s getting older—he’s sixty-five, retirement age, and he realizes he has nothing of real value. No wife, no family, not even a lot of friends. He’s been a workaholic, a loner, and a lot of times a jerk. He wishes he had relationships in his life—a wife and kids—so he pours his time and money into building this time machine that will permit him to go anywhere in time for seventy-two hours. Then he’ll automatically come back to the present, and the time machine is used up, finished. He has one shot to change things.

“He decides the best way to repair his life is to go back in time to his college days and convince the young him to change his ways. You see, Dalton lost the love of his life, Kathleen, because he went to the right grad school instead of deciding to be with her. After he told her good-bye, they went their separate ways, and he never saw her again.

“Kathleen is the type of girl all guys want—beautiful, smart, sophisticated. Dalton figures if he’d only married her, his life would have had love in it, so everything would have been better.” Slade paused to see AJ’s reaction.

AJ nodded. “Typical leading-lady role.”

“I’m picturing Natalie Granger,” Natalie interjected.

“Right,” Slade said, “and Dalton thinks he has a chance of changing his life with Kathleen because an incident back in college almost made him stop and see the bigger picture of life. When Kathleen’s roommate, Sarah, flew home for Christmas, she died in a plane crash. It made an impression on the young Dalton, and for a few days after the accident, he realized how fragile life is. If he’d been more committed to Kathleen in the first place, or if he’d had someone older and wiser to guide him, Dalton is sure he would have taken the leap and asked her to marry him.

“So the old Dalton uses the time machine to go back to right before the plane crash. He poses as a wealthy great uncle and tries to talk some sense into the young Dalton. The young Dalton is still a jerk, though, and the problem is, he won’t listen to himself.

“The older Dalton has to think of more and more ways to convince him. He’s bribing and setting things up; he even enlists Sarah’s help. Then as he’s creating these scenarios, he realizes Kathleen isn’t the right woman for him at all. She’s just a female version of the young Dalton—a jerk. It’s really Sarah who’s the great catch. The only problem is, not only is she going to die, the young Dalton isn’t interested in her, either.

“The old Dalton realizes that he might not be able to change his own life, but he can save Sarah. He tries to convince her not to take the plane home because he knows it will crash. Kids never listen, though, and she’s still going.

“He can’t let her die, so in the climactic scene, the old Dalton dashes in front of her car to stop her from leaving. She accidentally hits him, and instead of catching her flight, has to rush him to the hospital.

“In the hospital, the doctors are afraid the old Dalton is going to die. The young Dalton comes to see him and is especially shaken about it. The old Dalton tells him that he’s from the future and has built a time machine so he can change his life. The young Dalton thinks the old man’s delirious, but as the hospital people begin to prep him for surgery, the young Dalton notices some birthmarks on the old man’s chest—the same birthmarks he has on his own chest.

“Sarah and the young Dalton are sent to a waiting room while the doctors work on saving the old Dalton. And it’s there she sees the news story about her plane going down. They’re both in shock over this, as well as what’s happened with the old Dalton; they talk about life, about what’s important in life, and the audience can see a bond forming between them. Dalton starts trying to figure the whole thing out—starts wondering what kind of man he’ll be at sixty-five and what all this time-travel business means. Does he need to change his life? What will happen if he does?

“Just then the surgeon comes into the waiting room, frustrated, and tells them they’ve lost the old Dalton. ‘Lost?’ Dalton says. ‘You mean he’s dead?’

‘No,’ the surgeon says. ‘I mean he’s gone.’

‘Gone but not dead?’ Dalton says.

‘He was there on the table one moment, and the next moment he was gone,’ the surgeon says. ‘We’re searching the hospital for him.’

“The surgeon walks off and Sarah understands. She takes hold of Dalton’s arm and says, ‘He went back to the future.’”

‘Or,’ Dalton says, ‘perhaps he changed the present so much that now I won’t need to build a time machine in the future.’

“They gaze at one another, and Sarah says, ‘I guess we’ll never know.’

“But as they walk out of the hospital, Dalton takes her hand, and the audience knows.” Slade held up his hands for emphasis. “The end. Everyone gets up from their seats, so moved they spill the remainder of their popcorn on the floor.”

Slade looked intently at AJ, trying to judge his reaction by the way he chewed his hash browns. Finally AJ said, “Interesting. Sounds like it might have potential.”

“Then you’ll look at the script?”

“Sure. Drop it by anytime.”

Slade smiled. “You’ll have it by the end of the day."

AJ forked another bite of hash browns into his mouth. “I’m not sure how long it will take me to get to it. Every minute we’re not on the set, Natalie either has a sightseeing or shopping trip planned.” He gestured to her. “Which is it this morning? I’ve forgotten already.”

“Shopping,” she said.

He nodded. “Of course.”

Natalie glanced over at Slade, then folded her hands across her lap. “It seems like a great story.” She slid one hand on AJ’s arm and turned her attention completely to him. “I’ll skip my trip to Neiman Marcus if you want to spend the morning reading Slade’s script.”

“Really?” AJ asked. “You’d give up Neiman for the Time Machine?”

“I’ll go swimming and work on my tan instead.”

AJ turned to Slade. “I guess the story has one fan already.” He leaned closer to Slade. “I’m ready to green-light your script on the merit of how much money it just saved me at Neiman’s alone.”

“Great,” Slade said. “I’ll give it to you as soon as we finish here.” Slade picked up his fork and took a bite of his eggs. Finally he felt like he had an appetite.

Chapter Sixteen

The first thing out of Bella’s mouth when she walked into Clarissa’s room was, “Are you taking me to the ocean today?” Leave it to a child to skip the small talk.

Clarissa turned her back on Elaina, who lay sprawled in front of the TV watching Sesame Street, and smiled down at Bella. While Clarissa smiled she wrestled between the pros and cons of giving in to a beach trip this morning.

Pro: No screaming right now.

Con: Screaming the next time Bella didn’t get her way the first time she asked for something.

Pro: No screaming right now.

Con: Clarissa running around the beach after Bella because Bella had never learned to obey and wouldn’t follow her instructions. Perhaps something dangerous could even happen, like losing Bella to an undercurrent—which would lead to a lot of other cons, like the heartbreaking funeral and a lifetime of therapy to deal with the guilt of Bella’s death.

Clarissa bent down to be on Bella’s eye level and kept her voice cheerfully upbeat. “I’m not comfortable taking you to the beach by myself yet, but if you’d like, we can go put on our suits and go to the kiddy pool again.”

Bella slouched her shoulders, tilted her face up, and let out a whiny, “Wh-y-y can-n-’t I g-o-o to the bea-ea-ch n-ow-ow?”

“I’m not sure you can mind me well enough to follow the rules, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I ca-an too-o ob-ey-ey the ru-u-u-les!”

Clarissa stared down at Bella and all at once felt overwhelmed at the task ahead of her. How could she even think she wanted a permanent position as a nanny when she didn’t know how she would make it through the next ten minutes with her sanity intact? Still, she continued to smile. “I’ll see how well you obey at the pool, and then we’ll talk about the beach.”

Bella took a deep breath, and Clarissa braced herself for a bloodcurdling scream. Instead, Bella glanced over at the chair she had time-out in yesterday and then let the breath out again. She frowned as she considered her options. “Can we go to the pool right now?”

“Sure.”

“And if I’m good, we’ll go to the beach?”

“Right.”

“And we can catch sharks?”

“Well, um, if the sharks are on the sand.”

“Okay.”

Clarissa got the girls ready, and Bella reminded her, in two-minute increments, that she was being good. Which always made Elaina pipe in with, “I’s being good too, huh, Mommy?”

“Yes, you’re both being very good,” Clarissa answered. “I appreciate it.” And she did. Still, it was a relief when both girls finally splashed into the pool, bringing the constant performance review to an end.

Then Clarissa had time to think about her own performance review.

Yesterday had gone badly. In fact, thus far her career as Bella’s nanny had—in Hollywood’s terminology—been a one-star affair. If that. She needed today to be better. She needed to prove to Slade that she actually was competent and qualified to watch Bella. And for once it would be helpful if Bella could cooperate toward that end.

Clarissa looked out at the kiddy pool where Bella sat perched on the side of the pool, kicking her feet in the water.

Keep being good, she told her silently. Keep being good until I can figure out how to handle you.

Chapter Seventeen

Slade stood at AJ’s hotel room door, script in hand, and knocked lightly. Natalie answered the door. She wore a white bikini top; a short, silky, floral wraparound skirt; and a pair of white, beaded sandals that looked as though they’d snap if she took more than two steps in them. “AJ’s on the phone with California,” she said in a hushed tone, “I’ll give your script to him. Just a second.”

Leaving Slade in the hall, she took the envelope from his hands and disappeared into the room. When she came back, she had a towel draped over her shoulder and carried a straw beach bag. She slipped out of the room and shut the door behind her.

“So where are you taking me this morning?” She put her arm through Slade’s. “The beach, the pool, or somewhere else?”

“You want me to take you somewhere?”

“I got AJ to read your script, didn’t I?” She squeezed his arm. “You don’t want me to get bored and change my mind about shopping, do you?”

Slade smiled at her warily. “All right. I’ll meet you at the pool in ten minutes. Just give me time to change.”

Her smile widened. It was probably the same smile a praying mantis used right before it devoured its mate. “I’ll be waiting,” she cooed, then turned and walked down the hallway, her skirt swaying softly as she went.

Slade strode back toward his room but stopped at Clarissa’s instead. If she was still in her room, he could tell her to take the girls to the pool. With Bella around, climbing over him and demanding to be tossed up into the air, Natalie wouldn’t have a chance to implement whatever plans she was concocting.

He knocked on the door. No one answered.

Plan number two. Meredith could show up at the pool and fake some sort of emergency. Anything that would require his immediate attention. He hurried to her room and tried it. No one answered there, either.

Slade slapped his hand on the door one last time, then marched to his own room. Women. How come they were never around when you needed them?

After he’d closed his door behind him, he took out his cell phone and punched in Clarissa’s number. While it rang, he unbuttoned his shirt.

Clarissa picked up after a couple of rings. “Hello?”

Slade tossed his shirt on the dresser and balanced the phone against his shoulder while he worked on his pants. “Are you still at the hotel?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Stop doing whatever you’re doing, and go to the pool with the girls.”

“I’m already at the pool with the girls.”

“Good. Then stay there.” He dropped the phone as he put one leg of his swimsuit on. He finished with his swimsuit, then picked up the phone from the floor. “Sorry about that. Look, I’ll see you in a few minutes.” He turned off the phone, tossed it onto a chair, and grabbed a towel and a bottle of suntan lotion. He had just slipped on his sandals when he heard a knock on the door. He picked up his sunglasses and went to answer the door.

Somehow he’d known Natalie wouldn’t meet him at the pool. She had come to his room to wait for him while he finished changing.

He opened the door, and she stood there smiling casually. “I forgot to bring suntan lotion. Do you have any?”

He tossed his bottle to her. “You’re in luck.”

She caught it without even looking at the bottle. “I hope so.”

Chapter Eighteen

Clarissa slipped the phone back into her bag. Stay where you are? The man was absolutely cryptic. Maybe movie stars were used to ordering people around without any explanations.

She lay back on the pool deck chair and watched the girls go down the boat slide. Bella went down waving her arms and squealing. Splash. Elaina followed. More squealing. Splash. Then both girls waded across the pool, up the steps, and dripped their way back to the slide. They never seemed to get tired of it.

That was fine, though. When Slade came he’d see what a good time the girls were having. Perhaps with a little luck Clarissa might raise her rating to a three- or four-star nanny today.

“You were right. The blue suit does look the nicest on you.”

Clarissa turned and saw Landon standing behind her. He was dressed in shorts and a polo, looking irresistibly tanned and toned. The sun hit his hair so that his blonde highlights gleamed. His eyes scanned over her, taking in her every detail.

“Landon, hello,” Clarissa said. “Are you going swimming?” A stupid question. Of course he wasn’t going swimming. He was fully dressed. Only people like, well, people like herself, went into the pool with their clothes on.

He didn’t seem to notice, or at least didn’t comment, on the obvious. He pulled one of the pool chairs next to hers and sat down, his arms resting casually on the chair armrests. “I was passing by and noticed you sitting here. You’ve lured me to you again with your swimsuit.”

Oh. This was what she needed. Slade would be here in a few minutes. He’d see her with Landon and think she’d ignored everything he told her last night. Slade would think she was some sort of hopeless flirt. She could feel, as she sat stiffly smiling over at Landon, her rating as a nanny fall to a dangerously low level.

“Well, it’s nice of you to drop by and say hi. I mean, I’m sure you must be busy working on your series. Swamped probably. In a rush to get somewhere…”

“I’ll be busy come Monday. That’s when the work starts.”

“Oh.”

Landon leaned back in his chair. “So what are your plans for the day?”

Clarissa watched Bella shriek into the pool. “I’m babysitting the girls.”

“Today? On Saturday? Slade isn’t even giving you the weekend off?”

“I watch Bella whenever he needs me to.”

“Then I’ll help you watch her.” Landon smiled over at Clarissa. “Which one is your daughter?”

“The one at the top of the slide.”

Landon glanced in that direction. “She’s beautiful. Looks just like her mother. Same long blonde hair. Same big blue eyes.” Landon turned his attention back to Clarissa, and his gaze felt heavy. She told herself she was absolutely not going to blush but wasn’t sure how well she managed to achieve that goal.

“Um, thanks,” she said. “But you don’t want to sit around and tend children all day. They get to be quite a handful. I can’t take my eyes off them for a minute.”

“I’m great with kids,” Landon said. “Bella is crazy about me.” He waved at her and yelled, “Hi, Bella!”

Bella glanced at him, then turned away, splashing through the pool without saying anything.

“Bella!” he called to her again. “It’s me, Uncle Landon. Aren’t you going to say hi to me?”

Without looking at him she yelled, “Hi!”

Landon leaned back in his chair. “See. She loves me.”

Clarissa heard footsteps behind her, and then a woman’s voice said, “Who loves you, Landon?”

Clarissa glanced over her shoulder and saw Natalie and Slade both dressed in swimming suits and carrying towels.

Landon smiled widely at Natalie. “Simply fill in the blank.”

Natalie tossed her towel on the chair next to Landon and undid the tie on her skirt, slowly peeling it away from her white bikini and tanned waist.

Landon leaned farther back in his chair and let his gaze run over her. “So, what brings you to the kiddy pool, Natalie?”

“Slade and I are spending the afternoon together while AJ goes over Slade’s screenplay. When we saw you here, Slade had to come over and check on Bella.”

Slade dropped his things on the chair next to Natalie’s. He looked tense, although Clarissa couldn’t tell whether this was from being with Natalie or because he found her with Landon. Perhaps both.

“There’s Bella now,” Slade said and headed into the kiddy pool.

He was only a few steps into the water when Bella noticed him. She was halfway down the slide, tried to stand up anyway, and ended up falling face first into the water. Slade sloshed over to her as quickly as he could.

Bella popped back up out of the water, laughing. “Daddy!” she yelled and held her arms up to him. He picked her up and swung her around.

Elaina slid down the slide next and immediately splashed over to Slade too. She held up her arms to him. “Swing me too! Swing me too!”

Holding Bella in one arm, Slade scooped Elaina up, spun around, and then fell down in the water. Both girls squealed with delight and chanted, “Again! Again!”

Clarissa hadn’t even noticed she’d gripped the armrests of her chair, but she found her grip slowly relaxing. Slade had picked up Elaina and held her along with his own daughter. There was no hesitancy, no sense of rejection—no sense that Slade considered Elaina a burden. It was a bittersweet relief. She couldn’t help wondering why Alex couldn’t have been like that.

“Do you mind rubbing some lotion on my back?” Natalie held the bottle out to Landon. “I never can seem to reach there.”

He took it with a grin. “I’m always willing to help.”

Landon poured some lotion into the palm of his hand and then rubbed it slowly across Natalie’s shoulders, caressing the curves of her neck. She lifted her hair off her shoulders, and studied Landon through lowered lashes.

Completely obvious. Completely transparent. Next they’d be sending each other meaningful gazes and making guttural noises. Clarissa turned away, rolling her eyes as she did.

Had she and Landon behaved this blatantly while dancing last night? She felt her cheeks redden in embarrassment at the thought. No wonder Slade thought she was foolish. You always looked foolish flirting with shallow people.

She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

In fact, she was back to her resolve of swearing off men completely. Men had a way of muddling your thinking and making you act in ways you regretted later.

No more men.

She glanced over at Landon, and his handsomeness seemed diminished somehow. His jawline, instead of square and masculine, seemed over-exaggerated. His eyes, so intense last night, now looked artificial, like costume jewelry.

Her gaze traveled to the pool again. Slade was so different from Landon. Slade had substance. Character. That’s why he was avoiding Natalie, and that’s why he would never look twice at Clarissa.

She watched him as he waded backward in the kiddy pool, grinning down at the girls as they splashed after him.

He would probably never come out of the pool. He’d stay there until dinnertime to avoid Little Miss Coppertone’s advances. And if Slade ever did come back in conversational range, he’d probably tell Clarissa she could have the rest of the day off, just so Bella could be his permanent chaperone.

On the downside, she would no longer have an excuse to avoid Landon; but on the upside, Landon was now so involved with Natalie he probably wouldn’t care. They’d spend the day oiling each other and wouldn’t even notice Clarissa’s exit.

“Clarissa, do you need lotion on your back?” Landon turned his smile at her.

Oh. How nice. Landon was an equal-opportunity flirter.

He wiggled his fingers. “My hands are already lotioned, so I might as well protect you from the sun too.”

“That’s okay. I put on sunscreen before I came out.”

He swung his legs off his chair and faced Clarissa, then leaned over and put his hands on her shoulders. “You can never have too much sunscreen.” His hands caressed the lotion onto her shoulders. “You need to be careful, you know.”

Careful. Yes. Over in the pool, Slade held one girl under each arm and slowly spun them through the water. He hadn’t seen his nanny getting a massage from Landon. Yet.

Clarissa glanced at Natalie, though she wasn’t sure what help she’d get from that corner. Natalie wasn’t paying attention to Landon anymore. She had lain back in her chair, stretched one arm above her head, and closed her eyes. Her pose looked as relaxed as it did seductive.

Clarissa swallowed and tried to appear casual about Landon’s touch. “Thanks. My shoulders are safe now.”

With a gentle motion he swept her hair off of her back. “Here, lean forward, and I’ll put some on your back.”

“I don’t think I need it,” she said.

He shook his head, and his smile was tinged with mocking. “I think you do. You might be starting to burn already. You look a bit pink.”

And they both knew why. Why did she have to blush when she really didn’t want to?

Landon eyed her appraisingly. “Do you feel like you’re burning?”

Only with embarrassment. “I’m fine,” Clarissa said.

Landon shook his head again. “Maybe you should go inside and get out of the sun.”

“I’ve only been here for a little while,” Clarissa said, “and Slade still needs me to babysit him. I mean, for him.”

A smile tugged at the comers of Landon’s mouth. He seemed to think Clarissa’s discomfort was a direct compliment to him. “Slade looks like he’s taking care of Bella just fine.”

Natalie turned her head lazily toward Landon. “If she says Slade wants her to babysit, then don’t argue with her. You don’t want to get her fired, do you?”

“Fired?” Landon sat back in his chair. “Slade isn’t such a slave driver, is he?”

Clarissa pulled her towel up onto her legs. “I think I’ll be fine. Really.”

Landon waved a hand in Slade’s direction. “You don’t need to worry about Slade getting angry at you. Look at him. He’s such a family man now. Completely tame and domesticated. As harmless as a puppy.”

“Spoken like a wolf,” Natalie said, only half teasing. “You’re still too undomesticated and wild.”

Landon wiped the excess suntan lotion onto his arms. “I’ll settle down one day. When I find the right person.”

Natalie let out a tinkling laugh and stretched out her long legs. Her toenails were so perfectly manicured her feet hardly looked real. “You’ll never settle down. You don’t believe in commitment any more than I do.”

“You don’t believe in commitment?” Clarissa asked.

“People just lie to themselves when they get married,” Natalie said. “Love only lasts as long as a man’s attention span. Or,” she added with a smile, “A woman’s attention span.” Her gaze zeroed in on Slade then, and it was a hungry gaze.

It sent a cold chill down Clarissa’s back. Slade deserved so much better than Natalie.

“Don’t pay any attention to Natalie,” Landon said settling into his chair. “She’s bitter and jaded. I still believe in true love.”

Natalie rolled her eyes and snorted. “Marriage isn’t natural. Plants and animals live freely without rules. Why do people need them? Rules only hamper our freedoms.”

“You want to live like the animals?” Clarissa repeated. “Are you planning on devouring your young too?”

Landon laughed, and Natalie made a scoffing sound low in her throat.

Clarissa didn’t let go of her point. “You’ve obviously never watched a nature documentary if you think that’s the way to go.”

One of Natalie’s immaculately formed eyebrows rose. “I forgot. You’re one of the married ranks, aren’t you?” For the first time she looked at, and not just past, Clarissa. Natalie tapped her long golden fingernails against the armrest of her pool chair with a calculating look. “You’re the type of person who wants to follow all of society’s rules.”

“Well, most of them,” Clarissa said.

For a moment longer Natalie stared at her, dissecting her with her gaze. “Haven’t you ever longed to be free from those sorts of restrictions?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, come on, haven’t you ever known you shouldn’t do something, but you couldn’t help yourself?” Natalie’s voice turned smooth and lulling. She smiled, catlike. “The temptation, the lure of a few moments of ecstasy is too much to resist, and so you give in, even though you know you shouldn’t?”

“Yes,” Clarissa said, “I have those moments. They’re called ‘eating chocolate.’”

Natalie leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes with a huff. “You’ve never lived, Mrs. Hancock.”

“My life is fine,” Clarissa said, realizing how ridiculous the words were as she said them.

How was her life fine? She was a divorced temporary nanny. On the other hand, most women would have killed to be in Natalie Granger’s shoes—or in this instance, in her sandals and little white bikini.

Clarissa had always done her best to make the right choices. How had she managed to get so far off course? How had she ended up here?

Natalie watched her smugly. “Your life could be better than fine. I hope one day you find someone so wonderful you won’t care about breaking the rules.” Natalie’s eyes fixed on Landon’s with pointed meaning. Even from where Clarissa sat, she could tell Natalie had offered Landon up a challenge. She was sure Landon would have no trouble convincing Clarissa to break the rules. And Landon, his eyes still on Natalie, gave her an easy smile.

A smile that meant what?

Natalie laughed slightly, stretched again, and settled back into her chair.

It would have been poetic justice if lightning had suddenly come from the sky and singed Natalie and her bikini, but lightning never struck when you wanted it to. Natalie would probably always be gorgeous, rich, and singe-free. She’d simply go through life amassing fans and collecting Oscars.

Perhaps because Slade was tired of tromping through the kiddy pool, or perhaps because he figured there was safety in numbers, he picked up Bella and carried her toward the group. Elaina watched them go, then headed quickly back to the slide.

Clarissa recognized the look on her daughter’s face. She didn’t want to leave the pool and didn’t want to be close enough to her mother to hear, in case Clarissa called for her to come.

Slade grabbed a towel from his chair and, still holding Bella, wrapped it around her shoulders and back.

“Bella has a stomachache,” he announced.

Clarissa sat up in her chair, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “Do you want me to take her back to the hotel?”

“No,” Slade said, and to his credit he actually sounded like he was debating the idea. “I’ll hold her for a while and see if she feels better. I think I just played too rough.” He leaned his lounge chair back to a 45-degree angle, sat down, and cradled Bella in his arms.

Clarissa leaned toward Slade so she could see Bella’s face. “Bella was very good this morning. We’ll have to go to the beach soon.”

Bella returned Clarissa’s gaze. “I don’t want to go to the beach.”

It figured. “We’ll find something you do want to do then.”

Slade bent down and gave the top of Bella’s head a kiss. “How’s your stomach feeling now?”

She pushed one arm from underneath the towel and laid it on her father. “I feel good, but not gooder enough for you to leave me.”

Slade couldn’t have scripted a better line to keep Bella at his side, and as Clarissa thought about it, she wondered if Slade had scripted the line.

But if Slade wanted to be with Bella so he wouldn’t have to be alone with Natalie, was Clarissa supposed to stick around, or did Slade want her to leave? Clarissa wished Slade would give her some hint.

For the next hour, Clarissa watched Elaina swim, splash, and plunge down the slide, sometimes going quickly, other times holding onto the side of the slide so she sat stopped, suspended above the water. Clarissa also listened while the others discussed reading lines, doing retakes, and wearing makeup in humid locations.

Natalie seemed intent on keeping the conversation on subjects Clarissa had no knowledge of. If one of the two men ever made a comment to Clarissa, Natalie quickly found a way to steal the attention back.

Bella stayed with the adults, and her stomach must have felt better, because she took fishy crackers from Clarissa’s bag, climbed back on her father’s chair, and ate the entire school. Then she fell asleep in the crook of Slade’s arm.

Finally Natalie allowed the conversation to drift from talking shop, and she discussed her next party. She eyed Slade with Landon-like subtlety and said, “Have you decided on a costume for our masquerade?”

“I haven’t even thought about it yet.”

Natalie’s eyes lingered on Slade’s physique. “You’d make a great Tarzan.”

Slade shook his head. “I should go as Shakespeare. Then maybe I could convince people I’m a writer.”

Landon turned to Clarissa. “What are you going as?”

“A nanny. I’ll have to babysit.” For a moment Clarissa wished Slade would contradict her statement. He didn’t, though.

Landon tilted his chin down, staring over at Slade in a silent appeal. “Come on. Let Clarissa go. You’re working her to death.”

“Of course,” Natalie added. “Just look at her, she’s withering away under the strain of her workload.”

“It’s all right,” Clarissa told Landon quickly. “I’m here to work.”

Slade grinned over at Landon. “He doesn’t understand. Work is a foreign concept to Landon.”

Landon looked down at his watch. “Actually it’s not.” He smiled at Clarissa, then the others. “I had better get going. I’ve still got some lines to work on before rehearsal.”

Clarissa waited until Landon had returned to the hotel and then motioned to Elaina to come out of the pool. As the little girl trotted up to her, Clarissa said, “I think you’ve had enough sun for the day.” She held open a towel, wrapped it around Elaina’s dripping body. “I’m going to take Elaina inside,” she told Slade. “Do you want me to take Bella too?”

“No.” He said the word too quickly, then recovered his casual manner. He ran a hand over Bella’s curls. “If we move her, she’ll wake up, and she probably needs the extra sleep, what with her stomachache and all.”

Uh-huh.

Clarissa smiled as she took Elaina’s hand and stood up. Natalie might have fame, fortune, and a figure that looked stunning in a white bikini, but she didn’t have Slade. All her conniving and flirting wasn’t going to change that.

And somehow, while Clarissa walked back up to her room, she felt better about the afternoon.

Chapter Nineteen

Slade stayed at the pool talking with Natalie for another hour, carefully measuring the minutes to give AJ enough time to read his screenplay. He draped his towel carefully over Bella so she wouldn’t burn and kept the conversation focused on Natalie. As long as she kept talking about herself, she wouldn’t bring up subjects he wanted to avoid: specifically he and she together in any way beyond sitting here by the pool.

It was easy to contain the conversation. He kept asking Natalie about her projects, and she happily ate away the time. She complained about her agent, the director of her last movie, and the media coverage of her career.

“Someday I’ll get a role where I’m not just another pretty face. You know, a role with meat to it.” She pulled her legs up on the lounge chair and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around her knees. “That’s the problem with being beautiful. No one takes you seriously.”

Poor thing. He could tell by the way she preened and postured how her beauty troubled her.

“You’ll find something,” he said.

He glanced at the clock on his phone. Surely AJ had had enough time by now to not only read the screenplay but to assign parts. Slade sat forward in his chair. “I ought to take Bella inside. Should we go check in with AJ?”

She picked up her skirt and towel from the side of her chair and stretched her arms. “Sure. We can drop Bella off at your nanny’s room first.”

He walked slowly back to the hotel, carrying Bella against his shoulder. He tried not to jostle her too much. Natalie walked beside him, wrapping her skirt back around her waist as she went.

“Do I look tanner?” she asked.

Slade glanced at her. “Sure.”

She eyed him over, coyly. “I don’t know how you can tell. You haven’t looked at me all day.”

Slade didn’t respond to her statement. They’d reached the hotel, and he opened the door for Natalie. They walked without speaking across the lobby to the elevator. As Slade pushed the button Natalie said, “Your nanny seems quite dedicated.”

“I think so.” He could feel Natalie’s gaze on him as he watched for the elevator doors.

“She’s a little stuffy, though.”

“She’s responsible,” he said.

“And her fashion sense is appalling.”

“Her fashion sense is normal. Not everyone lives on Rodeo Drive, you know.”

“But she is quite pretty.”

Although he knew it was pointless, Slade pushed the lighted elevator button again. “You don’t suppose this is broken, do you?”

“I noticed you didn’t disagree with me about that last statement,” Natalie said.

“What? About Clarissa being pretty? It would be pointless to disagree with the obvious.”

The elevator door opened, and Slade stepped inside and pushed the button for the eighth floor. Natalie followed him in and leaned against the elevator wall. “Your tastes have changed since I knew you.”

“A lot about me has changed since you knew me.”

As the elevator rose, Bella stirred, slightly lifting her head and then putting it back down on Slade’s shoulder. Natalie watched Bella for a moment, then moved from the elevator wall and walked around Slade. At first he didn’t know why she was circling him, then he saw her check Bella’s face.

“She’s still asleep,” Natalie said.

“She was playing hard.”

“Just like her father.” Natalie came around to face him. “He’s been playing hard to get all day.”

“Natalie—” he began.

“I know what you must think of me, I mean, being here with AJ and talking to you like this. The truth is things haven’t gone well between AJ and me for awhile. I just haven’t gotten around to breaking it off with him. I haven’t had a reason to until now.” She tilted her head and looked up at Slade, her lips slightly parted. “Seeing you again—Slade, you’re one of the few men I’ve ever really cared about, and here you are with me again.” She put her hand on his arm and ran caressing fingers up it. “That can’t be coincidence. Don’t you believe in fate?” She leaned closer to him.

Slade sighed and kept his voice low. “Natalie, you’re as beautiful and as persistent as ever. But it would never work out between us.”

She didn’t move away from him. “Why not?”

Because he wanted someone he could respect—a woman he could trust. Because of a dozen other reasons, all of which he couldn’t tell her without the risk of being slapped before they reached the eighth floor. “I’m seeing someone right now.”

“Oh.” She dropped her hand from his arm. Her voice suddenly sounded tight and crisp. “And to think I just heard on Entertainment Tonight that you are a confirmed bachelor.”

“You know how accurate those shows are.” He cleared his throat nervously. “Her name is Kim, and she’s flying in from England to see me on Wednesday.”

“England. How lovely.” Natalie drew her lips into something that was half smile and half scowl. “Such a warm, passionate people, the English.” The elevator door opened and they stepped out and headed down the hall. “Is she an actress?”

“No, actually, she’s a botanist,” and then because Natalie was staring at him in disbelief, he added, “She’s finishing up her PhD in botany at the University of Sheffield.”

“A PhD in botany?” Natalie repeated. “You can’t be serious.”

He wasn’t. “I am.” He hoped Kim would understand when he told her of these new developments in their relationship.

Natalie’s voice was all sharp edges. “Well, it’s become suddenly clear to me why no one knows you’re dating her. I’d hide something like that too.”

They’d reached Clarissa’s room, and Slade knocked lightly on the door. “Kim’s a lovely person,” he said. “And I’m not hiding her. In fact, I’m bringing her to your costume party.”

Natalie blinked coolly. “I can hardly wait to meet her. She can put on a lab coat and come as herself.”

Clarissa answered the door. She’d changed into a sundress and put on just enough makeup to emphasize her large eyes. Her hair had been brushed into soft blonde waves that lay on her shoulders. She looked both wholesome and beautiful.

“Are you ready for me to take Bella?” Clarissa’s eyes, though not as blue as Natalie’s, were brighter, clearer. And suddenly it struck him exactly how alike and yet how contrasted the two women with him were. It was as if someone had created Clarissa purely to make a point—not all beautiful women were like Natalie.

“Bella is asleep.” As soon as Slade said the words, he felt his daughter’s arms tighten around his neck. He walked over and tried to lay her down on the couch, but she wouldn’t let go of his neck.

“I want to stay with you,” she mumbled into his shirt.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he told her.

She didn’t let go of his neck, and then wailed, “Noooo!”

Clarissa came and helped peel Bella’s arms off him, repeating, “It’s all right, Bella, we’ll order some lunch, and then you’ll feel better.”

At last Clarissa was able to drag the little girl from her father’s arms. “She’ll be fine in a minute,” Clarissa told Slade over the wailing. “Just go.”

Slade hesitated, then turned and went with Natalie. The wailing was still audible, though faint, all the way down the hall.

Slade would have liked to change out of his swimming things before he talked to AJ. He didn’t suggest it to Natalie. It was better to limit his time with her as much as possible.

As they came to the room, Natalie put her hand on Slade’s arm. “You’re just walking me back to AJ’s room, and while you’re here we decided to see if he’s read the script.”

“Right,” Slade said, wondering why she felt the need to give him an alibi. After all, he was just walking her to the room to find out if AJ had read the script.

Natalie took out a key card and opened the door. AJ stood in the front room, his cell phone still pressed to one ear, looking exactly how Slade had seen him hours before. Natalie walked past Slade into the room and plopped down on the couch without saying anything. Slade stood in the doorway, watching AJ continue to nod and mutter things into the phone.

At last AJ said into the phone, “Hold on a minute.” He shook his head at Slade. “I’m sorry. I haven’t had a chance to get to your story. The production people messed up the props, and now I have a crate full of fake diamond necklaces somewhere in California, and nothing here.” He lifted a hand in frustration. “I’ve spent half the morning trying to track down the necklaces, and then when I told the writer to just cut the necklaces from the script, he got all defensive and brought up every grievance he’s had during his entire career. He told me he wants to renegotiate his contract. I spent the last half of the morning trying to convince our lawyer to kill him.”

AJ shook his head again, looked at the phone, and muttered, “Writers. They’re worse than actors, and that’s saying something.”

Well, yes, especially if you were both a writer and an actor. Slade decided not to bring up this point. “It’s fine. I understand how crazy things can get in this business.”

“I’ll find some time to go over it, though. Monday at the latest—maybe Tuesday. I’ll give you a call as soon as I’ve had a chance to go through it.”

“Great,” Slade said. “I’ll talk with you then.”

He turned around and walked back to his room, only realizing when he was halfway down the hallway that he’d forgotten to say good-bye to Natalie. But then, perhaps that was for the best.

He continued around the corner, and as he approached Clarissa’s room, he was glad to note that he couldn’t hear Bella wailing anymore. He knocked on the door, and after a moment Elaina, not Clarissa, answered the door. He didn’t have to ask where everyone else was. He could see Bella standing sullenly on the couch. Clarissa kneeled on the floor next to her picking up chunks of a broken lamp.

“Bella,” he said sternly, “you didn’t.”

Bella turned, looked at her father, and then let out a forlorn and desolate sob which made her entire body shake.

Despite his chastisement, Slade walked over to the couch and picked her up to comfort her. She buried her face into his shoulder and continued to cry as though her heart was bleeding from deep wounds.

Clarissa dumped lamp parts into a nearby waste basket. “It was an accident,” she said. “While I ordered lunch, Bella was jumping up and down, making sure I didn’t forget anything.” Clarissa dropped the last of the pieces of glass into the waste basket and then surveyed the floor. “I suppose we should have the maid service come up and vacuum up the little pieces. You did say you were tipping them well, didn’t you?”

Slade ignored Clarissa and rubbed Bella’s back. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, sweetheart.”

She mumbled something unintelligible into his neck.

“I’ll be with you for the rest of the day,” he told his daughter. “After lunch we’ll take a drive. Okay?”

Bella nodded, her tears ceasing. “And Elaina’s coming too?”

“Of course,” Slade said. “It wouldn’t be any fun if Clarissa and Elaina didn’t come along.” He looked over at Clarissa and realized he meant it. Spending time with Bella would be more fun with Clarissa around.

Clarissa understood about parenting.

It was just one more area in which she was the opposite of Natalie.

* * *

After lunch, Slade, Clarissa, and the two girls drove to the Polynesian Cultural Center in Laie. As they wandered through the exhibits and watched the performances, Slade was impressed by the way Clarissa balanced enjoying the shows with watching the children. Even though he was there, she kept an eye on Bella, making sure she never wandered too far away, and every once in a while said things such as, “Yes, that man is very talented, but you’ll never climb a tree with a knife in your mouth to retrieve coconuts, will you, Bella?”

And Bella, for the most part, was well-behaved. Aside from a couple of incidents where she ran close to the water to “see if there were fish in there,” she alternated between being carried by Slade and holding Clarissa’s hand. She also enjoyed being a tour guide for Elaina.

“The reason they wear grass skirts,” she told her friend in a serious voice, “is because pants don’t grow here.”

It was a relaxing outing, made even better by the fact that no one came up to Slade to ask for his autograph or chat with him about any and every movie he’d done. It might have been the sunglasses and baseball cap that hid his identity—or, more likely—because he was hauling two preschoolers around. He looked like a family man, a tourist dad, and people didn’t equate those with movie stars.

Once this idea came into his mind, it wouldn’t leave. Throughout the day he kept glancing at Clarissa. People probably thought she was his wife. It was the natural conclusion. She was walking close beside him and holding his daughter’s hand. As they strolled around the grounds talking, it almost felt as though she was his wife, like it would have been perfectly natural for him to reach over and put his arm around her shoulder and natural that she would turn and smile back at him, happy he’d done it.

He wished, periodically, that she was his wife, that this was a typical family excursion and that afterward they would go back to their home, tuck the girls into bed, and sit together on the sofa discussing the day’s events. And then perhaps not discuss the day’s events.

Each time these thoughts came, he dismissed them. Clarissa was a married woman. He wasn’t attracted to her; he was simply attracted to the qualities she had. She was responsible, good-natured, caring, and authentic. Things Evelyn hadn’t been. Things he’d never realized were so important until Evelyn left. Eventually he’d find those qualities in the right sort of woman. He just had to keep looking.

Chapter Twenty

At eight thirty, Clarissa buckled two tired little girls into the backseat of the car. It had turned out to be a relaxing evening, one that felt more like a vacation than work. Slade and she had talked easily, like friends. They had discussed everything from the shortcomings of western culture to bad job stories. She had found herself laughing at his Hollywood anecdotes, at the things that went wrong during films. Now she was sad the night was over and she would go back to being just another one of Slade’s employees.

They had left the show before the dancing ended because Elaina fell asleep and Bella, during the Maori dancers’ routine, kept yelling, “It’s not nice to make faces!”

They had barely pulled out of the parking lot before Bella’s head nodded against the car seat, and she joined Elaina in slumber. Neither Slade nor Clarissa spoke for a few moments as they drove, and then Clarissa asked, “Where do you keep the matches at your house?”

“In the kitchen cupboard. Why?”

“I’m not sure if Bella was paying attention during the fire dance, but you might want to lock up all your flammable devices to be on the safe side.”

Slade laughed and the smile stayed on his lips. “You have a knack for understanding my daughter.”

Clarissa stared out at the dark forms of the foliage growing along the road and debated whether or not she should pursue that subject. On one hand, she was Bella’s nanny—the person he was paying to take care of her. Clarissa was supposed to look out for Bella’s welfare. On the other hand, Clarissa knew that parents rarely looked at their children objectively, and Slade wasn’t likely to listen to anything she said on that subject. Alex had never listened to her when it came to parenting.

But then Slade wasn’t Alex.

She glanced over at him, at the form of his profile. Even in the dark, his jawline looked strong, his cheekbones, nose, and forehead all perfectly proportioned.

What had she been thinking about?

Oh, yes, Alex. How Slade wasn’t Alex. How Slade was so… Slade.

She turned her gaze back toward the window and thought of Bella instead of Bella’s father. She weighed the pros and cons of speaking. In the end the issue was decided by one thing. She honestly cared about Bella. “On one level I think I get her,” Clarissa said, “on another, I haven’t even begun to understand her.”

“That’s normal, isn’t it? After all, Bella is a female.”

“I’m serious,” Clarissa said.

“So am I. Women are the ultimate mysteries, followed closely by quantum mechanics.”

“She’s a delightful child,” Clarissa said, “confident, charming, and extremely precocious—”

“She takes after her father.”

“But do you think it’s normal for her to go from one scrape to another like she does?”

Slade shrugged. “She’s a kid. Kids get into scrapes. I’m sure you had your share of them when you were little.”

“Meredith says you have your own parking spot at the emergency room.”

“Only figuratively speaking.” Slade said. “Bella’s accident-prone. She’ll grow out of it.”

Once again Clarissa debated keeping silent. Once again she didn’t. “Haven’t you ever noticed there’s a pattern to her accidents?”

“Yes, most of them involve damage to expensive items.”

“No, I mean she’s the most accident-prone when you’re not paying attention to her.”

“Well, yeah. If I were paying attention to her, I could stop her from doing whatever it is she’s not supposed to do.”

Clarissa shook her head. “I was paying attention to her when she jumped into the pool and when she broke the lamp. Meredith was paying attention when she decorated the carpet with fingernail polish. It isn’t that she’s unsupervised, it’s that when you’re not around, she’s fast.”

“You’re saying she does everything on purpose?” His eyebrows furrowed together in disbelief. “She’s not even five years old yet. Trust me, she doesn’t have the planning or acting abilities to pull that off.”

Clarissa could hear the edge in his voice. She went on anyway. “I’m not saying it’s a conscious decision on her part. Doesn’t it seem peculiar, though, that when you’re around, when you’re around and paying attention to her, she’s not accident- prone?”

“So you’re saying I don’t give her enough attention?”

“No, I’m saying that’s what she thinks.”

Slade tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “I give her a lot of attention. I give her everything a kid could ever want. She has more toys than Mattel.”

“Indulgence isn’t the same as attention.”

“Oh, now I’m indulgent.”

Clarissa sighed and didn’t say anything else.

Maybe it wasn’t Alex after all. Maybe it was just men. Maybe they never listened to your opinions, never cared what you thought, and never thought you were smart enough to have any real insights. Maybe men always criticized you and thought everything was your fault and then always demanded more and more until you locked yourself in a room and spent the night crying.

And there she was, back in her marriage with Alex. How many times did she have to divorce herself from him before she finally left him completely?

Slade tapped his thumb against the steering wheel. When he spoke next his voice was softer. “Okay, maybe I am a little indulgent.” He held up one hand to concede the point. “Bella lost her mother. She deserves something to make up for that.”

“Bella doesn’t see her mother often?”

“Nope.”

“Was it a painful divorce?”

Slade glanced over at her, surprised. “I thought everyone knew about my divorce. It was a hot topic for long enough.”

“I saw your picture on the covers of magazines. I never read the stories, though.”

“I’ll fill you in then.” He leaned back against his seat and held onto the steering wheel with only one hand, as though it wasn’t a stressful thing to describe the breakup of his marriage. The edge in his voice, however, contradicted his nonchalance. “First, there were the pictures of Evelyn out with Brad Nash. He played the lead in her show, so I didn’t think much of it; I mean, she assured me it was all business.

“Then pictures of them kissing surfaced. That was harder to pass off as business, but she still tried. She kissed him a lot for her show. For all I knew, those pictures were taken on the set.” Slade shook his head. “Acting. It’s got to be the only profession in the world where you can see pictures of your wife kissing another man and still not know whether she’s being unfaithful to you.”

Clarissa felt a pang of sympathy for him. “So how did you find out?”

“I followed her. You’d think after two run-ins with the paparazzi, she’d have been more careful, but she wasn’t. And come to think of it, neither was I. There was an ugly scene at a restaurant, you know, a sort of yelling, screaming, punching Brad across the salad bar type of thing. The tabloids documented the event for posterity.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been awful.” Without thinking about it, Clarissa reached over and put her hand on Slade’s arm. And then a second later, when she realized what she’d done, she removed it.

Slade seemed not to have noticed either her gesture or her quick end to it. He shrugged. “You don’t need to be sorry for me. I’m better off without Evelyn.”

“Probably. But Bella got a whole new set of issues to deal with.”

Slade shrugged. “Bella is fine. She just needs more time to adjust.”

Well, so much for thinking Slade would listen to her. Clarissa turned and stared unseeing at the night scenery. “It’s all well and fine if you want to let her continue to break things. I’m sure you can afford it. But one day she might actually hurt herself, you know.”

“Bella is fine,” he said again, and then added under his breath. “And to think I thought getting a nanny with a family science background was a good thing. Next you’ll be telling me I discipline wrong too.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Clarissa said. “I have yet to see you discipline Bella.”

“Well, I do,” he said. “Sometimes.”

Clarissa pressed the point. “Children need to know where their boundaries are. They’ll keep pushing until they find them. I know you’d rather be nurturing than be a disciplinarian, but Bella needs you to be both. If you don’t teach her there are consequences for her actions, who will?”

Slade clenched his jaw. “It’s easy enough for you to dispense parenting advice. You’re not a single parent. Every time I punish Bella, she cries for her mother. I feel like I’m wounding her all over again. You wouldn’t be much of a disciplinarian either if you had to go through that.”

They were only a short distance away from the resort. Even that was suddenly exhaustingly far away.

For several moments Clarissa didn’t respond; she just sat watching the black ribbon of road in front of them. I know what your life is like, she thought. I know how hard it was to sit down and divide your possessions with someone who hurt you, to divide things that couldn’t be divided, so you ripped them apart. You ripped your whole life apart and then had to find some way to tell your daughter that the fabric of her life had been torn, inexorably tattered, and she couldn’t do anything about it.

The truth lay on her lips, waiting to be spoken. In another moment she would have told him everything. He spoke instead. “You have a way of making me say things I regret later.” He took his attention away from the road long enough to gaze at her. The darkness of the night made his gaze seem even more intense. “I know you mean well. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“Bella is a darling little girl,” Clarissa said. “She needs a father and not a Santa Claus to take care of her. Will you just promise me you’ll think about what I’ve said?”

“Sure. I’ll think about it.”

She knew he wouldn’t. His words were said to brush her off.

Still, she had tried.

When Slade and Clarissa got to the hotel, they carried their sleeping children inside. Clarissa held Elaina close, breathed in the smell of her—the fleeting scent of childhood.

An overflow crowd from one of the meeting rooms mingled in the hallway and dance music drifted into the lobby. A party. And by the looks of the people in the hallway, another not-so-undercover cast party. Clarissa pushed through the crowd without stopping, making her way to the elevator. A middle-aged woman who knew Slade waylaid him and insisted he come say hello to her daughter.

He glanced over the top of Bella’s head at Clarissa. “I’ll be a few minutes,” he said, then followed the woman into the room.

A few minutes? Did that mean he expected her to wait for him or was she done tending Bella? Clarissa stood in the lobby holding Elaina and debated the question. Then, because Elaina was growing increasingly heavy, Clarissa walked over to the elevator. If Slade needed her, he knew where to find her.

She reached for the elevator call button, trying to keep from bumping Elaina’s head in the process.

“That’s a heavy load you’re carrying,” Landon said, walking toward her.

“I’m used to it.”

“You’re about to fall over.” He reached out to take Elaina. “Here, let me help you.”

“That’s all right. You don’t—” Before she could get out anymore, he lifted the little girl out of her arms.

“See, isn’t that much better?”

“Thanks,” she said, feeling a bit awkward.

The elevator door opened, and she and Landon stepped inside. He pushed the button for her floor. Before the doors closed all the way, she caught a glimpse of Slade walking across the lobby toward the elevators. He’d seen her and Landon get into the elevator together and he didn’t look happy about it. Which meant she would hear about this later. She sighed out loud.

“Long day?” Landon asked.

“I guess.”

“You need more time to relax.”

“Don’t we all?”

“Why don’t you put your daughter to bed and come join our party?”

Clarissa shook her head. “I couldn’t leave Elaina alone like that. She might wake up and need something.”

Landon gave her a long, appraising look, then nodded slowly as though he’d figured her out. “You’re one of those women who worries too much, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

The elevator door opened and they stepped out. “Which room is yours?”

“Eight-twenty-one,” she said.

They headed in that direction, walking slowly in the brightly lit hallway. “You could check in on your daughter every once in a while, you know.”

“Thanks, anyway,” she said.

He made a tsking sound with his tongue. “There you go again, worrying too much.”

They walked the rest of the way to her room in silence. When they reached the door she held out her arms to retrieve her daughter. “Thanks for carrying Elaina for me”

Landon nodded at the lock. “You might want to open the door while your hands are free.”

It seemed silly to protest. After all, it would have been harder for Clarissa to retrieve her card from her purse, run it through the lock, and open the door while carrying Elaina.

Clarissa dug through her purse until she found her key card, then opened the door. Instead of handing Elaina to her, Landon pushed the door open farther and walked into the room.

“Where do you want me to put her?”

She bit back the response “In my arms” and followed him into the room. “How about on the couch?”

He laid her down gently. “She’s so darling. She really does look just like you.”

“Thanks.”

“It must be hard taking care of her by yourself.”

At that moment every struggle, problem, and worry she’d had since the divorce flashed through her mind. She stood before Landon still and breathless, wondering how he was so sure she was a single parent. And more important, what would he do with that information? Would he tell Slade?

Or perhaps he was only guessing, and she’d just confirmed his suspicions by standing here wide-eyed and gaping.

She stammered out, “What makes you think I’m raising Elaina by myself?”

Landon tilted his head sideways. “I didn’t say raising. I said taking care of.” And then, because he must have seen that she still didn’t understand, he added, “I meant here in Hawaii, on your trip, away from your husband.”

He walked over until he stood close to her. His gaze was penetrating. “Are you raising her by yourself?”

She held up her chin and wished she were a better liar. “No.”

“Are you sure you’re not using that husband story to scare men off?”

“If I were single, why would I want to scare men off?”

Landon smiled at her, but it wasn’t this smile she saw. It was the one he’d given Natalie while they sat at the pool. The one that said Clarissa was a challenge Landon was going to conquer.

He took a step nearer to her. Hardly any room separated them, and he leaned toward her to diminish that. “Maybe you’re afraid to let anyone get close to you.” His gaze went from her eyes to her lips, and she knew he was about to kiss her. She turned her head and walked a few steps away.

“See,” he held one hand out to her. “You’re afraid to let anyone get close to you.”

“Thanks for helping me with Elaina,” she said firmly. “I’d like to be alone now.”

“You still owe me a favor.”

“Well, I’m not paying it now.”

He walked toward her again. “You’re worrying about nothing again.”

She didn’t have to reply. A sharp knock came on the door. “Clarissa, open up. It’s me, Slade.”

“She wants to be alone now,” Landon called back.

Clarissa glared at him and went to open the door. Slade stood in the hallway without Bella and with his hands on his hips.

“Hello, Slade,” she said in what she hoped passed for a calm voice.

He walked past her into the room and stopped in front of Landon. “Landon,” he said flatly, “people down at the party are asking where you disappeared to.”

Landon tilted his chin down. “Is that what you came up here for? To tell me I’ve been missed?”

“Actually, I came to talk to Clarissa about the schedule for tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Landon nodded slowly. “I’ll let you get on with business.” He looked back at Clarissa with a wry smile. “See you later.”

“Thanks again for your help,” she called to him.

Slade held the door open for Landon and shut it behind him as he left. Then he turned back to Clarissa. “What was that about?”

“Nothing. He helped me carry Elaina up here.”

Now Slade came and stood close to her, frustration emphasizing his movements as much as seductiveness had emphasized Landon’s. “You let Landon into your room?”

“I didn’t let him into my room. He sort of pushed his way in here. But he was just leaving when you knocked. I had everything under control.”

Slade shot her a disbelieving look. “You had everything under control? You were the one that let him push his way into your room in the first place.”

“I asked him to leave, and he was leaving. You’re acting like you think Landon is dangerous.”

Slade stared at her, tight-lipped, and didn’t speak.

“He’s not dangerous, is he?”

“Only to people who insist on being naive. A group, I’m afraid, you belong to.”

“I’m not naive,” she said. “I’m a married woman with a child.”

“And that’s another thing,” Slade said, walking passed her. “Your husband is either as naive as you are, or he’s a fool to let you out of his sight. I can’t believe he agreed to let you come on this trip, and I can’t believe that suddenly I’m in charge of defending your honor.” Slade sat down in one of the chairs as though he were exhausted. “What a family man I’ve become.”

“You are not in charge of defending my honor,” Clarissa protested.

Slade held up a hand to stop her words. “We’re not arguing about this anymore. I want you to listen to me for a minute. Can you do that?”

Clarissa folded her arms. “I’m listening.”

“I want you to avoid Landon from now on.”

“I am.”

“Well, I want you to do a better job. You need to avoid him outside your hotel room.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You might think you’re just being friendly, but he’s bound to see it as encouragement. So from now on, don’t let anyone into your room. Anyone. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly. Get out of my room.”

Slade glared at her but got up and slowly moved to the door. “I’m glad you’re finally taking my words to heart.”

Chapter Twenty-one

Instead of going back to Meredith’s room, where Slade had dropped off Bella, he took the elevator down and went back to the party. He surveyed the room until he spotted Landon by the bar. Landon had a drink in one hand and the other resting on Sherry’s arm. He couldn’t have been with her long, still the two leaned toward one another, laughing, as though they were on a date. As Slade walked toward them, Landon lifted his hand and caressed Sherry’s long red hair. Typical.

Slade moved next to Landon, who ignored him. After a moment Slade called over the music, “Landon, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Landon turned from Sherry with a twinge of annoyance, then he sighed. “Sure.” He gave Sherry’s arm another pat. “Catch you later, babe.”

The two men walked silently from the room and headed outside, following the path that led to the golf course—Landon in an unhurried saunter, the drink still in his hand, Slade more quickly. “Why in the world do you call women babe? It’s the most irritating way you could possibly address a person.”

Landon let out a cough of disbelief. “I could think of a few things that are more irritating. How about hauling someone away from a beautiful woman”—he glanced down at his watch—“twice within the space of ten minutes?”

“That is exactly what I want to talk to you about.”

They walked past rows of hibiscus hedges and palm trees that bordered the beach. They were far enough away from the resort now that Slade felt they could talk without being overheard. “Look, Landon, I’m going to come right out and say this. I want you to stay away from Clarissa.”

There was no embarrassment, only amusement, in Landon’s expression. “Why? Am I bothering her?”

“You’re bothering me.”

“I see.” Landon nodded knowingly. “I’m encroaching on your territory and making more progress than you are. That’s what’s bothering you, isn’t it?”

Slade spoke slowly. “She’s a married woman, Landon. Since when did you take up home wrecking?”

Landon looked up at the sky and then back at Slade. “Oh, give up the married woman routine. She’s no more married than I am.”

“And how did you come to that conclusion?”

Landon took a sip of his drink. “You can tell when a woman is married. At least I can.” When Slade didn’t comment, Landon added, “It’s in those subtle signals they send out. The way they smile. The way they look at you. The interested body language. Clarissa can barely remember her husband exists. Married women don’t act that way. At least not happily-married women.” Landon took another casual sip from his glass. “One way or the other, her marriage is a sham.”

Slade considered the idea, and then rejected it. It was much more likely that Landon had misread the cues. Clarissa was no doubt star-struck with Landon’s attention and had smiled and blushed and done the other things that he was interpreting as interest. This explanation made sense, but in the next instant made Slade uneasy. If Clarissa was that enamored with Landon’s stardom, then she might be tempted to do things she’d regret later.

Slade let out a slow breath and looked directly into Landon’s eyes. “Whatever you think of her marriage, you shouldn’t be chasing Clarissa around. You don’t seem to be suffering from lack of companionship while you’re here.”

Landon shrugged. “You mean Sherry back at the party? She’s just a friend.” He took another sip of his drink, then waved his glass in the air to make the point. “Just someone to help ease the sting of rejection and the embarrassment of having a friend order me out of Clarissa’s room.”

“Don’t worry,” Slade said. “You’ll recover from the loss somehow.”

Landon grinned in a reminiscing sort of way. “I helped Clarissa pick out that swimsuit she wore today. I made a good choice, don’t you think?”

“I think your choices have all been questionable lately.”

Landon swirled the contents of his drink around in his glass making the ice cubes chink noisily. “Clarissa is so different from the women around here.”

“Exactly. She turned you down.”

Landon smiled. “Maybe that’s part of it.”

Slade had seen Landon take up this attitude before—this pursue-the-woman-at-all-costs mind set—and it had never particularly bothered Slade. With his carefree approach to life, Landon was a likeable guy. Slade had always viewed Landon’s attitude about women as an egocentric quirk of his personality. A machismo thing. Slade had laughingly told Landon that one day he’d lay a snare for someone and get caught in it himself.

Now Slade didn’t feel like joking. He felt like strangling the machismo right out of Landon. Slade thrust his hands in his pockets to keep them away from Landon’s neck. “Look,” he snapped, “if you want a challenge, take up hunting. That way you can stuff and mount your trophy’s head on the wall afterwards.”

Landon ignored him. “I don’t know why you’re concerned about it, anyway. I mean, it’s not like you’re giving your chauffeur marriage counseling, are you? You’re not checking up on Meredith to see who she dates. If Clarissa is interested in me, why don’t you let her make her own choices and keep out of it?”

“She’s not interested in you.”

“She must be, or we wouldn’t be here having this talk, would we? No point in saying these things to me if you know she’s going to shoot me down anyway.”

“She’s going to shoot you down, Landon. I’m just trying to spare you the smoke inhalation.”

Landon finished off the last of his drink. “Have you ever noticed that her eyes glow when she smiles?”

“No,” Slade said, “I haven’t.”

“Well, maybe it only happens when she smiles at me.” Landon flexed his shoulders, stretching. “Thanks for the fresh air. I’m going back to the party now.”

Slade didn’t follow him back. Instead, he stayed outside, hands still shoved in his pockets. He gazed across the resort grounds to the beach and the dark churning waves below.

He knew he’d just made things worse, and it bothered him how things always seemed to turn out that way lately. Every time he tried to do the right thing, it backfired. He tried to keep Clarissa from making mistakes, and she got angry at him. He’d tried to put an end to Landon’s pursuit of Clarissa, and had only thrown fuel on the fire.

In retrospect, he could see his mistake. He should have said, “Her brother is a high-powered harassment lawyer,” or “She’s a college grad student writing her thesis on egomania in Hollywood,” or better yet, “Only some of her multiple personalities like you.” But no, he’d upped the challenge. He’d said, “She’ll shoot you down,” absolutely ensuring Landon would try to see to it that she didn’t.

Well, there was no way to undo the damage now.

Perhaps the best thing to do would be to call Clarissa’s husband and see if he wanted to come to Hawaii for the rest of the trip.

Slade let this thought sit with him for a minute, but any way he thought about it, he didn’t like the idea. He intensely didn’t like it and spent the next few moments searching for a reason to reject the idea.

Clarissa had just told Slade she’d be more careful about encouraging Landon. That should take care of things, shouldn’t it? And besides, it would make problems between Clarissa and her husband if he thought she was behaving badly while she was here. Slade didn’t want to create more problems.

So for now the husband stayed put, and Slade would have to make extra sure he kept watch over Clarissa.

Chapter Twenty-two

Clarissa had planned on a low-key day for their fourth day at the resort. Maybe something educational like teaching the girls about sea life. Slade dropped by with Bella in the morning, and the little girl happily fluttered inside to see Elaina. “I’m wearing my princess slippers,” Bella said, and proceeded to show Elaina a pair of sparkly pink shoes.

Instead of leaving, Slade leaned in her doorway. He looked handsome and brooding. Sort of the way Hawk Hawthorn always did before he went out and set the world right.“I thought about our conversation last night,” Slade said, “and I think you’re right. I do need to spend more time with Bella. So I want to go out sightseeing today.”

“Oh,” Clarissa said, warmed by the fact that Slade had actually listened to her. She’d forgotten that men did that sometimes.

“So are you and Elaina ready to go?” he asked, eyeing the simple sundress she wore.

“You want us to come?” Clarissa asked.

“Of course,” he said.

“Okay.” She began mentally listing the things she needed to gather. “Where are we going?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Slade stepped inside and let the door close behind him. “Some place where Landon won’t find us.”

“Why are you avoiding Landon?”

“I’m not avoiding him, you are. I’m just driving.” Slade gave her a meaningful nod. “And your husband owes me a big favor for this.”

Clarissa rolled her eyes.

“You think I’m kidding, but I talked to Landon last night, and he thinks your marriage is a sham.”

“Really?” Clarissa half choked out the word.

“He said you’ve been sending him signals that you’re interested in him.” Without giving her a chance to respond, Slade added, “Did he really help you pick out a bathing suit?”

She picked up her large beach bag and began putting things inside. “Well, sort of. Although not because I asked him to. I ran into him while I was trying them on.”

“You ran into him in the dressing room?”

Clarissa dropped sunscreen into the bag. “No, I was wearing one out on the sales floor.”

It sounded perfectly legitimate to Clarissa, but Slade shook his head. “Clarissa, I don’t think you understand what I’m telling you about men, so I’ll put it this way: don’t talk to Landon, don’t look at him, don’t blush at him, and absolutely don’t use any interested body language around him.”

She rolled her eyes again.

“Which reminds me, let me see you smile.”

“What?”

He gestured to her. “Smile for me.”

She gave him a smile that felt more like she was baring her teeth than being pleasant.

“Hmm,” he said. “I didn’t see your eyes glow.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Was this in my job contract? Because I don’t remember anyone warning me about interrogations.”

He returned her gaze and when he spoke, his voice was completely serious. “Just promise me you’ll think carefully about what you do from now on.”

“I promise,” she said.

She had to remind herself of this promise over and over again throughout the day. Not that Landon was anywhere around. He didn’t even make an appearance in her thoughts. It was Slade’s presence that was plaguing her now. He smiled so easily at her, treated her like a friend and not the hired help, and kept distracting her whenever he stood close by.

They went to an outdoor aquarium so he could keep his baseball hat and sunglasses on. As they walked around, Slade held the girls’ hands, often lifting both girls up so they could get a better view.

Elaina cried at the sea lion exhibit because lions were “scary and going to get her.”

Instead of telling her she was being ridiculous like Alex would have done, Slade squeezed her hand and said, “You don’t have to worry. I can tell exactly what the sea lion is thinking.” Then Slade did a monologue in a Jamaican accent about how the sea lion only ate squid and the occasional Cheeto. Before long Elaina was laughing and Bella begged him to tell her what the starfish thought, and what the octopus thought.

Clarissa was glad he couldn’t tell what she thought.

If someone had asked her a few weeks ago what attracted her most in a man, Clarissa wouldn’t have said, “A good father.” And yet watching Slade with the girls, she couldn’t think of anything more attractive than the attention he paid to Bella and Elaina. That had to be the reason her frustrations with him melted, and in their place she felt a strange ache and a quickened pulse rate.

He was so down-to-earth. So openly casual. So horribly good-looking.

The last thought plagued Clarissa the most.

If she didn’t think carefully about what she did, she was bound to make a fool of herself by doing something rash— like, say, throwing herself at him.

Well, so much for her resolution to swear off men.

The group had lunch at seaside café, then walked along the beach so the girls could look for shells. Slade talked to Clarissa about all sorts of things. It felt like a date, and not just any date—the really good kind of date that left you breathless and hoping the guy would call you soon.

Clarissa had to tell him the truth. She knew that now. She had to find some way to tell him she was divorced, to tell him she was free if he was interested.

Would he be interested, though?

The thought brought a sharp pain to her stomach.

Of course he wouldn’t be.

It wasn’t even in the realm of possibilities. After all, at the employment center Mr. Peterson had told her that Slade wanted to hire a married woman. Slade wasn’t looking for a love interest in his nanny.

So Clarissa had to squelch these feelings, which kept popping up every time she noticed how perfectly rugged his features were. And how broad and muscular his shoulders were. And how his voice had a deep rich tenor that made something inside of her quiver.

If he had ever shown any hint he was attracted to her, she could have perhaps mustered the courage to tell him everything, but he hadn’t. Instead of attraction, he’d only shown annoyance that she was young and pretty. He wanted her to talk about her husband in sweet and loving tones so no one got the wrong idea about them.

Besides, Slade would be angry at being deceived. Clarissa didn’t want that, and she couldn’t afford it, either. So she would go on pretending to be married. In fact, if Slade extended the nanny position after they got back to California, she’d go out and invent a husband just to continue the facade. Maybe some time in the months to come, after she knew Slade well enough to feel secure in her position, she’d tell him one day that her husband had been inadvertently killed in a freak manhole accident. But only after she felt secure with the position.

* * *

On Monday morning while Slade went off to the Undercover Agents set to find AJ, Clarissa took the girls to the beach in front of the hotel. For a time, the three of them played in the water, edging toward the ocean as the water pulled back, then trying to outrun the waves as they came surging onto the shore. Several times the waves won, crashing into their legs and backs—once or twice toppling the little girls in the foamy water.

Clarissa quickly picked them up and set them right. She brushed wet sand from their faces, looking for tears, but never found any. Bella thought her face plants were especially funny. “Look ’Laina,” she said opening her mouth. “I got sand on my tongue!”

After a while the girls settled down to the less dangerous pastime of building castles, and Clarissa spread out her towel to watch them. She tugged at the front of her swimming suit as she sat down, wishing it weren’t so low cut.

She hadn’t noticed this about the suit when she bought it. All that business with Landon had distracted her, and she hadn’t looked closely at the suit until the next morning. And then it was too late to wear anything else. She’d already thrown out her old blue suit, and housekeeping had disposed of it along with the empty soap wrappers and used towelettes.

Clarissa stretched out her legs and watched the girls throwing sand over their shoulders. She didn’t even notice Sylvia walk up to her until the older woman set a folding beach chair down beside Clarissa.

Sylvia wore a different swimsuit than she had at the pool, a black one-piece with bright pink lines running from the shoulder to the waist. Her dark hair was still pulled back in a bun, this time wrapped in a pink scarf that exactly matched the shade of her lipstick. She wore the same dark sunglasses and surveyed the sky with a smile. “It’s another beautiful day in paradise, isn’t it?”

Clarissa folded her arms. “No comment.”

“Oh, you’re not mad about Friday, are you?”

“Slade is the perfect boss, and Bella is an angel.”

Sylvia laughed, but it held no humor. “You don’t have to worry about me, dear. As far as reporters go, I’m one of the good kind. I never make things up. I just get to the truth. That’s why I’m the top columnist at The Scoop.”

Sylvia took off her glasses and nodded down the beach. “See that man walking over there—the tall, blond one with the yellow towel? He’s the one you have to worry about.”

The man she referred to walked along the shoreline, hands in his pockets, surveying the people on the beach. He wore regular glasses, not sunglasses, and reminded Clarissa of a science teacher she once had. Stuffy and proper. “Why would I worry about him?”

“He’s Doug Rockwell, a reporter from the Celebrity Buzz, and he doesn’t share my respect for the truth.” As Sylvia looked over at him, her eyes narrowed. “Inside sources, my foot. I’ll tell you what his inside sources are: his wishful thinking, his wild imagination, and his delusions of grandeur.” She slipped her sunglasses back over her eyes with a humph. “You know that article he ran last week on Angelina Jolie? Pure fiction. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had never even talked to Angie. Just look at him.” Sylvia shook her head. “He’s over there scouting for some big name out on the beach, and that, my dear, is why I will always be a better journalist. I don’t wait for the stories to come to me—I dig, and I never overlook the small details.” Her attention suddenly turned back on Clarissa, and her pink lips curled into a smile. “You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this, aren’t you?”

Actually, Clarissa was simply letting Sylvia go on in the hope she’d talk herself out and leave.

“I’m telling you,” Sylvia continued, “because you are one of those small details of which stories are made.”

“I don’t have anything to tell you, and—”

“Oh, but you do,” Sylvia interrupted. “Some of my best sources are the worker bees around the great hive of the superstars. You’re the ones who see things as they really are.”

“My employment contract says I can’t talk to journalists, and even if it didn’t, I still wouldn’t. Slade has a right to keep his private life private.”

The pink smile didn’t falter. “Pity. Then I’ll have to go with my other story. The one about the nanny who is an old friend of Landon McKellips, the nanny who works for Slade Jacobson, the nanny who isn’t happily married at all.”

Clarissa felt her stomach tighten into knots. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Hadn’t Sylvia promised Landon she’d leave Clarissa alone if he gave her an interview?

Sylvia leaned toward Clarissa. “I did a little research and called your ex-husband. He wasn’t at all hesitant to talk to me. In fact, he had a lot to say about you. For example, he didn’t even know you were a friend of Landon’s, but it didn’t surprise him. He said you were always meeting men in your last job at the fitness center.”

“I handed them towels. That’s different than meeting men.”

“He said you taught yoga because you enjoyed prancing around in tight, skimpy exercise clothes.”

“I taught yoga because it paid better than checking people in at the front desk.”

“So you put on the tight, skimpy clothes for money?”

This wasn’t happening. Clarissa absolutely wasn’t sitting here talking to a reporter about her divorce and discussing the skimpiness of her exercise outfits.

“You’re twisting my words,” Clarissa said. “You’re probably twisting Alex’s too.” But the truth was, Clarissa wasn’t sure if Sylvia needed to twist Alex’s words. He had a way of twisting reality all by himself. Since the time things had gotten bad in their marriage, he’d made a habit of taking minor incidents, blowing them up, and throwing them back at her. Or rather, he’d thrown them at the marriage counselor. It was at counseling that Clarissa had learned she couldn’t keep a budget, was a hopeless flirt, an incurable slob, and that the occasional clothes she’d bought for Elaina constituted “running up a huge credit card bill every month.”

Sylvia smiled, catlike, surveying her mouse. “I’m not twisting Alex’s words. Actually, I’ve softened them to save your feelings. Men can be such cads, you know.”

Clarissa bit back her first response and focused her attention on the girls and their sand heaps. “I don’t think your readers will care about some unknown nanny’s divorce.”

“They will if Landon is in the middle of it.”

Clarissa’s gaze swung back to Sylvia. “He’s not in the middle of it. I didn’t even meet Landon until after my divorce.”

Sylvia tilted her head back in a relaxed fashion. “Then why would he tell me the two of you were old friends?”

Because he was doing Slade a favor. But Clarissa couldn’t tell Sylvia that. She didn’t want to bring up Slade’s name in front of this reporter.

Or maybe not. Maybe the best thing to do would be to come clean with the whole story. If she explained the whole situation to Sylvia, then certainly the woman would understand that nothing untoward was going on.

Or maybe it would just give Sylvia more information she could pounce on.

“You and Landon made quite the couple on the dance floor Friday night,” Sylvia went on. “It was certainly nice of Slade to bring you to the party and leave someone else to watch his daughter.”

“How do you know what went on at the luau?”

“Sources, dear. I have my sources.”

Yes, sources. The thing that was making the cast so edgy. And now whoever was dishing the dirt was aiming his or her shovel at Clarissa.

She clenched her fists so tight her fingernails dug into her palms. “Slade only took me because…” Clarissa didn’t finish the sentence. Instead she said, “I thought you promised Landon if he gave you an interview you’d leave me alone.”

“I said I wouldn’t quote you on your opinions about Slade and his daughter, and I won’t. Once you’re working for me, I won’t mention your name at all. You’ll simply be another one of my sources.” Sylvia crossed her legs so that her sandal dangled carelessly from her foot. “So, is it a deal? You give me a more interesting story, and I’ll never use the one about you and Landon.”

Clarissa matched Sylvia’s conversational tone. “That’s blackmail.”

“No, dear, blackmail is when you pay me money to bury a story. Reporting is when the magazine pays me to uncover a story. I’m just reporting.” She smiled at Clarissa, then stood up and collapsed her beach chair. “Think about your story, but don’t contact me. It wouldn’t do, you know, to have people see us talking together. I’ll contact you later.” With that, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Clarissa leaned forward and rubbed her temples. Her head pounded in dull aching throbs that matched the cadence of the waves hitting the shore.

She had only wanted a job where she could spend more time with Elaina, and now she was reporter fodder, eyed over by Sylvia like she was destined to be her next meal.

Clarissa let out a slow, jagged breath. She would have to tell Slade everything. There was nothing else to do. Then he’d order her to leave Hawaii on the next flight out, which all in all might not be such a bad idea.

And when the news story broke that Landon McKellips had somehow facilitated the breakup of her marriage, she’d have a good laugh about it with her friends. And hope that none of her friends believed it. And hope that Elaina never read those news clips when she got older. And hope that Alex wouldn’t get any ideas about making her life more miserable because of them. And hope that Sylvia would keep her word and leave Slade completely out of everything. Sylvia, she thought bitterly, one of the good kind of reporters. What did the bad kind of reporters do? Take hostages?

Clarissa let out a small groan. She knew Sylvia would drag Slade into this. And she couldn’t let that happen.

Would it really hurt to give Sylvia some sort of story? After all, she could think of one: “Natalie Granger finally pulls off an Oscar-winning performance—that of devoted girlfriend.” Or perhaps: “Natalie Granger thinks her boyfriend should change his initials from A. J. to H. C. As in, He’s Clueless.”

It was true. And Natalie deserved it.

Clarissa stared out over the ocean, the story forming in her mind. It would be so easy. The article almost printed itself. She could see the headlines on the covers of millions of magazines, propped on the shelves in grocery store checkout lines.

Clarissa knew she couldn’t do it. Not to Natalie. Not to anyone.

Clarissa inwardly groaned. So it was a trip home and goodbye to the chance of ever seeing Slade again.

There had to be another way.

Maybe she could find a nice story for Sylvia, a story that wouldn’t upset anyone. Maybe Clarissa would get lucky and Slade would rescue someone from a burning building. She would set the fire herself if it would help.

She swallowed hard, feeling like it was she and not Bella who had got a mouthful of sand. Sylvia said she’d check back with her later. Maybe Clarissa could put her off indefinitely. Maybe Clarissa could figure a way out of this. Maybe she really would stumble onto an upbeat story.

Maybe.

Chapter Twenty-three

After stopping by and talking to Landon and Sherry, Slade ran into AJ.

The producer pulled Slade aside and apologized for not getting back in touch with him. “I haven’t had time to read your script yet,” he said. “But I’ll get to it soon. I promise.”

Which could mean anything.

Slade went back to his room and spent some time running over the lines for his next movie. After a couple hours of listless recitation, he tossed the script down. He couldn’t muster the enthusiasm for work. He was in Hawaii. He wanted to be on vacation. Besides, hadn’t Clarissa told him he needed to give Bella more attention? He would. And he’d take Clarissa along to prove the point.

He walked to Clarissa’s room and knocked.

She answered, looking tanner despite all the sunscreen she constantly toted around. Or maybe it wasn’t a tan. Her skin just had a healthy glow to it. She always had a way of looking wholesome and fresh.

“Time Machine’s reading is still set in the future,” he said. “Let’s take the kids and go to Hanauma Bay. No point in sticking around here when we can go grind sand into our clothes.”

“Sounds fun,” she said. “Although I already took the girls to the beach this morning—”

She didn’t get to finish. Bella grabbed Slade’s pant leg, already jumping with excitement. “We get to go to the beach again?”

And so they went. Meredith came too. Her Idahoan banker had left the night before, and she didn’t want to be by herself. They snorkeled for a bit; then while Slade and Clarissa sat on towels watching the girls play, Meredith languished nearby on a low beach chair. She wore an oversized straw hat and sunglasses, and as she ran her fingers through the sand, she sighed a lot.

“It isn’t as though Idaho is that far away from California,” Slade told her. “I can give you the time off to fly over and see him.”

“I know,” Meredith said, “but everything is so difficult when you have a long-distance relationship. You have to decide whether you want to work at it. You have to figure out if it’s worth the commitment up front.” She picked up her hand and let a stream of sand pour through her fingers. “Speaking of long-distance relationships, your new girlfriend, Kim, e-mailed back.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, yet,” Slade said. “At least she doesn’t know she’s going to the party as my girlfriend, yet, so don’t mention it to her over the Internet.”

Clarissa cocked her head at him. “And when were you planning on telling her that she’s your girlfriend?”

“Don’t you start on me too,” he said. “I’m not being egotistical; I’m being cautious. It’s better to explain these things in person. I’ll tell her on the way to the party.”

Clarissa looked over at Meredith and mouthed the word egotistical to her.

Meredith nodded in agreement. “You’re far too sure of yourself, Slade, and it would serve you right if she’s as ugly as a troll underneath her Cat Woman costume.”

“Her Cat Woman costume?” Slade asked.

“Yes, she wrote back that she’ll bring her Cat Woman costume to Hawaii. On the night of the masquerade, she’ll be in the lobby of the Sunset Park Motel purring for you.”

“I bet she’s gorgeous,” Clarissa told Meredith with a conspiratorial air. “Gorgeous women are the only ones brave enough to purr.”

Meredith nodded again. “She’s probably tall, blonde, and stunning—and in that case I hope she’s eight months pregnant and Slade has to explain to everyone that she’s not really his girlfriend.”

“She’s brunette,” Slade said, “and I’m sorry to disappoint you two, but I don’t think they make Cat Woman maternity wear.”

Clarissa leaned toward Meredith. “He’s not at all worried. I bet they’ve been sending pictures to each other. She’s tall, brunette, stunning, and skinny.”

Slade had heard women use the same tone of voice that Clarissa used now, and it always meant one thing. Jealousy.

Part of him knew Clarissa wasn’t really jealous of Kim. Another part of him sat back and enjoyed the feeling anyway. “I’ve never seen a picture of Kim, and I wouldn’t know her if I walked past her on the street. In my mind’s eye she is still ten years old.” Then he smiled graciously at Clarissa and Meredith. “Some people, those who aren’t catlike—or catty—know there are more important things about people than their looks.”

“That’s us,” Meredith said, waving his words away with a flick of her hand. “Catty to the core.”

“Meow,” Clarissa agreed. “I think it’s time for me to go check on the kittens.”

She stood up and walked across the sand to where the girls were stockpiling their beach findings. Slade watched her go, letting his eyes trace the lines of her figure. Her long legs. The curve of her hips and waist. Had it only been this afternoon that he’d thought Clarissa always looked wholesome?

Wholesome wasn’t the word to describe that swimming suit.

He stared at it until he remembered she was married, and then he forced himself to look at Clarissa’s face instead. She sat down on the sand by the girls, and they both chattered up at her happily. She smiled back at them, exclaiming over each of their treasures. She had such a nice smile. Warm. Enthusiastic. It brightened her face and made you think of sunshine.

“You’re staring,” Meredith said.

Slade turned to her. “What?”

“You’re staring at Clarissa,” she said. “And smiling.”

“I’m happy I chose her. She’s a good nanny for Bella.”

Meredith nodded. “And Bella must like her because she hasn’t run her off yet.”

“Of course Bella likes her,” he said. “She’s kind, intelligent, patient, beautiful…”

“Beautiful?” Meredith asked. “What does beauty have to do with being a good nanny?”

“Nothing. I was just listing off her qualities.”

Meredith sat up a bit in her beach chair. “Slade, this would be a good time to stop and think about what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he said. “I’m not interested in Clarissa. I just want someone like her. I’m figuring out the criteria for my next girlfriend.” His eyes settled back on Clarissa. The wind picked up strands of her hair and blew them around her face. He was mesmerized by the way the sunlight glinted off it.

From beside him Meredith let out an unhappy grunt. “You’re smiling again.”

“I’m a happy person.”

Meredith pulled a newspaper from her beach bag. “I guess I’d better familiarize myself with the paper’s format,” she said. “That way it will be easier to spot the reports on your latest scandals.”

“There aren’t going to be any scandals.” He honestly meant it. Clarissa was off limits. He was simply admiring her. Just like he admired Serena Williams’s serve and Celine Dion’s vocal range. He wasn’t planning on making advances toward either of those women, just like he would never think of making an advance on Clarissa. He was only appreciating her good qualities. Some of which were accentuated by that swimming suit.

He reminded himself it was only admiration several times as the day went on. Like when he found himself watching Clarissa with the girls and daydreaming about how nice it would be if she were there for Bella all the time. And when Clarissa smiled at him in that easy, relaxed way. And when he was appreciating Clarissa’s legs. They were fine, fine qualities.

After a dinner of fish and chips, they drove back to the resort. The girls were dirty and tired by then, and Clarissa held their hands, guiding them as they walked into the lobby. “Careful not to touch anything,” she said, steering them around the couch. “And don’t bump into anything, either.”

The clerk at the front desk watched them come in and then called over. “Ms. Hancock?”

Clarissa looked up. “Yes?”

“Some flowers came for you. You weren’t in your room, so the delivery man left them here.” She pointed to a vase containing a dozen red roses.

“Oh.” For a moment Clarissa just stared at them.

Slade took Bella’s and Elaina’s hands. “I’ve got the girls,” he said. “Go get your flowers.”

Clarissa went to the counter, took the envelope from the flowers and read the card.

“Are they from your husband?” Slade tried to make the question sound casual, but even to him it had a sort of pointed sharpness to it. He didn’t want to see Clarissa go dreamy-eyed and start missing her husband.

Instead of answering his question, Clarissa handed him the card. He read out loud, “Clarissa, I’m sure you’re working like Cinderella. I doubt your fairy godmother will show up on the night of the ball. Expect a visit from Zorro instead.”

“I don’t think my husband sent the flowers,” Clarissa said.

Slade handed her the card. “Have you been encouraging Zorro again?”

“I haven’t even talked to Zorro since you chased him out of my room.”

Slade let out an unhappy grumble. “Well, you had better keep your door locked Halloween night. And for that matter, you’d better keep it locked every night.”

Meredith folded her arms. “I never get flowers anymore. You’d think Bill might have sent me some. But no. Only Zorro sends flowers. How can I have a long-distance relationship with a man like that?”

Clarissa handed Meredith the vase. “Here, on behalf of the Bills of the world, let me give you these flowers. The friendship of one sincere man is better than all the attention in the world from a Zorro.”

Meredith held the flowers to her face and inhaled the fragrance of the roses. “Yes, well, I suppose you have a point.” She smiled wistfully. “Still, flowers are lovely. I have half a mind to go after Landon myself.” She turned to Slade. “Do you think he’s my type?”

“No.” Slade herded Bella and Elaina across the lobby toward the elevator.

Meredith followed after him slowly. “I don’t see why not. Some men appreciate the maturity and grace of an older woman.” She took another whiff of the flowers as she walked. “Besides, you work me like a Cinderella too.”

“Not true,” Slade said. “I’ve barely seen you this whole trip.”

“That’s because you’ve had Clarissa to abuse.” Meredith looked over at Clarissa. “You know, dear, if you’d like to go do something tonight, I’ll watch Elaina for you.”

Clarissa smiled at her. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

Slade didn’t like it. He had visions of Clarissa taking a solitary walk around the resort and Landon suddenly intercepting her. Landon and his charm and his ulterior motives. It didn’t matter that Clarissa had been warned about him. That was the thing about Landon. Women knew he was a player and still succumbed to him anyway.

It would be better if they all stayed in and watched something on TV. He would have suggested it, but by this time Clarissa and Meredith were busily engaged in a conversation about masquerade costumes. At least he thought they were talking about masquerade costumes. When he heard two women using terms like “period clothing,” he just didn’t want to ask.

Chapter Twenty-four

Clarissa decided on a late-night swim. Swimming was healthy, free, and best done under the cover of darkness anyway. And it would give her time to think things over. If she racked her brain long enough, she could find some way out of this mess with Sylvia.

At eight o’clock she dropped Elaina off at Meredith’s room and then went back to her own room to change.

Clarissa was standing in the bedroom, her suit only halfway on, when she heard a knock at the door. She jumped, feeling awkward, and tried to shake the fear that whoever it was might have x-ray vision. “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Slade.”

Slipping the last strap over her shoulder, she called, “Just a minute.” Then she walked into the front room, grabbing her bathrobe as she went. She put it on, haphazardly tying the sash as she opened the door. “Come in.”

Slade’s gaze ran over her, then he walked past her shaking his head. “This is the sort of thing I came to talk to you about.”

“What?”

He held out one hand to her in an accusatory manner. “This.”

“What?” she said again.

“Haven’t you listened to anything I’ve told you over the last few days? You just invited a man into your hotel room, and you’re only wearing a robe.”

Her mouth fell open momentarily. “But it was only you.”

“Thanks. You don’t know what these little commentaries of yours do for my ego.”

She tilted her chin down in disbelief. “It’s not as though you haven’t seen me in this robe before. I wore it half of Friday afternoon. Nobody seemed to think it was particularly seductive then.”

Slade’s eyes took her in, from the polish on her toenails to her slightly mussed hair. “The difference is that when a man sees a woman in a robe sitting by a swimming pool, he thinks she’s covering up. When a man walks into a woman’s hotel room and she’s wearing a robe, he thinks about what she’s wearing underneath, which is probably some skimpy little negligee thing. It’s almost an invitation.”

“Wrong again. I’m wearing exactly what I wore at the beach.” She undid the tie and held open the sides of her robe. “See, no negligee. I’m on my way swim—”

Before she even finished her sentence he was standing in front of her. “Would you stop that!” He took hold of the sides of her robe and pulled them together. “I can’t believe you just did that. You really don’t listen to anything I say, do you?”

“But it’s only my swimming suit.”

“Exactly. You don’t flash a man your swimming suit while you’re alone in a hotel room.” He pulled the robe even tighter closed until nothing below the top of her neck showed. “You need to button this thing up.”

“It doesn’t have buttons.”

“Then use safety pins.”

She laughed. She hadn’t meant to, but couldn’t stop herself.

He still held the front of her robe closed. “You can think this is all very funny now, but I’m warning you, you can’t be so… If I were a different sort of man…” He suddenly let go of her robe. “Just trust me. You need to be more careful.”

She nodded, and although she tried to look serious, she knew she didn’t reach the desired effect. “May I go swimming now?”

“No. Not by yourself.” And then after giving her another harsh stare, “And not in that suit.”

“What’s wrong with my swimming suit?”

“You obviously haven’t noticed the attention it’s gotten you.”

“The only attention I got was when I jumped into the pool wearing my robe to save your daughter, who could already swim.” She walked to where her sandals lay on the floor and slipped them on.

His gaze followed her. “I came over to suggest we stay in and watch something on TV.”

“Sorry, I want to go swimming.”

“Cards? Monopoly?”

She took her key card from the coffee table and slipped it into her bag. “I’m going now.”

“All right, all right, you can go swimming.” He walked to the door and put his hand on the knob. “But I’m going with you. Just give me a minute to tell Meredith I need her to watch Bella.”

He left and she finished gathering everything she needed. A few minutes later Slade knocked on her door and called, “We can go now.”

Clarissa walked out of her room and was surprised to see him still dressed in his clothes. “Aren’t you going to swim?” she asked.

“No, I’m going to sit by the pool, read, and chase off scoundrels when necessary.”

She rolled her eyes, then walked down the hallway. “Suit yourself. Literally in this case.”

He didn’t say anything else, and so neither did she until they stood in the elevator. Then she noticed the book he carried.

“You’re reading A History of Greek City-States?”

He tucked the book under his arm. “It’s the perfect book for a trip to the pool with you. It will keep my mind where it’s supposed to be, and it’s big enough to make a useful weapon in case I have to throw something at Landon.”

“It will keep your mind where it’s supposed to be?” she repeated.

His gaze slowly took her in. “Bathsheba probably didn’t have such nice legs.”

Clarissa looked down at her legs, then back at him skeptically. “Oh, right, and I thought Landon was one for handing out lines. If you’re going to use flattery, you could at least pick a believable feature.”

“Mrs. Hancock, not only is your husband a fool, apparently he’s also very negligent in the compliments department. If you were my wife, there would be no doubt in your mind as to the appeal of your legs.” He looked quickly away from her again. “But you’re not my wife, so I’ll be reading while you swim.”

She blushed and once again had the urge to blurt out that she wasn’t married. She couldn’t do it. At this moment it would be as good as blatantly telling him she wanted a relationship with him. That was such a big step, such a huge risk to take, all because he’d made an offhand comment about her legs.

He probably thought Natalie had nice legs too. But when Natalie had told Slade she was interested in him, he’d immediately done everything possible to avoid even being in her proximity.

What would he do if he thought his nanny was after him too?

Clarissa shifted her weight around uncomfortably in the elevator and clutched her beach bag closer to her. How much rejection did she need in life? Wasn’t Alex enough? Did she need to go out and look for extra opportunities for men to shred her ego?

Slade was one of those men who spoke his mind. Even Meredith said so. It didn’t mean he was flirting, let alone actually interested in her.

They got off the elevator and walked silently to the pool. No one else was there, and Slade pulled a deck chair over next to one of the decorative light posts that lighted the area. It must not have thrown off enough light, however, because he held the book up close to his face.

Clarissa took off her robe, threw it onto a chair, then walked to the deep end of the pool. Without hesitating, she dove in. The water was colder than she had expected. It felt good as it slid over her skin. It felt cleansing, as if she could wash away all her thoughts. She swam a dozen laps, and when she tired of that, she floated on her back, gazing up at the stars.

Nothing occurred to her about her predicament with Sylvia. In fact, it was hard to think of Sylvia at all when she knew Slade sat nearby watching her. At least he said he’d be watching her. She never actually saw him look at anything except his book. And she checked often enough.

She peered over at him again. His elbows rested on his knees, and his dark eyes were completely engrossed in his book.

Handsome and studious.

Perhaps her husband’s freak manhole accident could happen soon.

She swam over to where Slade sat and hung onto the side of the pool. “So are you a history buff, or do you have some other reason for reading about Greek city-states?”

“I’ve got a part as a Spartan warrior,” he said without looking at her. “I like to know about my characters’ cultures. Right now I’m reading about the Peloponnesian War.”

“Oh,” she said, “That stuff is all Greek to me.”

He smiled but kept his attention on the book. “I guess that’s the point.”

The moonlight made lazy ripples across the water. Nearby plumeria trees drenched the night with their scent making everything feel exotic and sensual. Clarissa caressed the water with her hand, letting it run through her fingers. “Why is it that Hollywood loves Sparta so much? It’s like one big laconophilia club.”

Slade looked at her with surprise. “Laconophilia? I’d never even heard that word until I started this book, and you use it casual conversation?”

“My high school’s mascot was a Spartan. The name of our yearbook was Laconophilia—the love of Spartan things.”

Slade absently tapped his fingers on the cover. “I don’t know what impresses me more: that you know the term laconophilia or that you remember the name of your high school yearbook.”

“They had slaves, you know, and didn’t mind killing them.” She made lazy kicks in the water. “It’s stupid that society idolizes them. Would anybody name their high school mascot: the brutal-slave-holding-plantation owners?”

Slade went back to reading his book. “According to this, women got better treatment in Sparta than they did in most places in Greece.

“What—other places didn’t capture their brides or make them shave their heads when they got married?”

“You know those details too?” Slade looked up at her again, considering her more closely. “Somehow I doubt those facts were part of your high school yearbook. How did you know that?”

She shrugged. “You’re not the only one who reads.”

His gaze went over her again, scrutinizing her. “You were one of those girls that got straight A’s in school, weren’t you?”

She ran her fingers through a patch of light on the water. “Learning is fun.”

He kept staring at her with a look of curiosity, like she was a species of mermaid who had suddenly appeared in the water.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re really different from Evelyn.”

“Right. I’m not famous, rich, or on daytime TV.”

“No, I mean, she never would have said that learning was fun.” Slade shook his head as though remembering. “I couldn’t even convince her that being married was fun. And mothering? She still doesn’t think that’s fun.”

“Why did you marry her?” As soon as Clarissa asked the question, she wished she could take it back. She shouldn’t pry. Enough of his personal life had already been laid out for the public.

Slade didn’t seem to mind, though. He leaned back in his chair. “I was stupid. I was as wowed by her fame as anybody else. I thought marrying Evelyn meant I’d have someone who would understand me—you know, understand my schedule and the hassles involved with being a celebrity. And she did understand those. She just didn’t understand things like commitment or working on a relationship.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarissa said.

“Next time,” he said. “I’ll look for someone who thinks the role of spouse is more important than the role of star.”

But did he still want a star? She couldn’t ask.

Slade lifted his book again, done with the subject. “Live and learn. I won’t make those same mistakes again. Although,” he added with a grumble, “if I had it over to do again, I’d still send Brad Nash into that salad bar.”

Clarissa stared at the pool decking and thought about her own divorce. Would Slade think she was the type who didn’t understand commitment and didn’t want work on her marriage because she had been the one to leave? If Alex had shown up with some bimbo at a salad bar, at least she would have had an easy and understandable excuse for her divorce. But how could she explain to Slade what her marriage to Alex had been like?

Alex had lived a charmed life, a perfect life. All through school he’d been popular, sought after, and revered. He’d played football in college and had been recognized around campus. When he and Clarissa had married during his last year of college, things were good for a while. Things changed when he took his first job.

Alex suddenly became just a junior accountant in a big firm that didn’t care how popular he’d been in high school or whether he could catch a football. He wasn’t surrounded by adoring women. He only had Clarissa, and she’d grown less glamorous every day with a new pregnancy.

Clarissa could see the transformation in him happen, could almost see his dissatisfaction becoming tangible. He complained about everything she did. She was supposed to be always beautiful, organized, and cheerful. The house was supposed to be spotlessly clean, dinner always ready, and Elaina completely under control.

That way, at least part of Alex’s perfect life could continue. No matter how hard Clarissa tried, she hadn’t been able to meet his expectations.

She stayed with Alex longer than she wanted to, hoping Alex would find a way to be happy. On the day they married, she’d made a commitment, and she felt bound by it.

As Elaina grew older, though, Alex turned his unrealistic expectations on her. Clarissa had been willing to put up with Alex, but she wasn’t about to let him drain the joy from her daughter’s life. She gave him an ultimatum: he needed to change, or both she and Elaina would leave. He chose the latter. And he chose it without much struggle or regret. That part still stung.

“Live and learn,” Clarissa said softly. “That’s the key to life, I guess.”

He looked up from his book to study her one more time. “Are you happy?”

She paused for a moment, perhaps too long. “For the most part.”

“Good. Then your husband is lucky. Even if he is a fool.”

She hadn’t realized Slade had been asking about her marital happiness, but she didn’t correct him. She stared off at the empty chairs surrounding the pool.

Slade said, “I think you’re good with Bella.”

“Thanks.”

“Meredith probably told you I start work on a movie in a few weeks. I’ll need someone to care for Bella then. Would you be interested?”

Clarissa ran her hand along the tile on the edge of the pool and considered how to respond. She couldn’t accept the offer without first telling him the truth, without telling him Sylvia had a warped version of the truth she was threatening to print.

“You’re hesitating,” he said. “That’s not a good sign.”

She glanced up at his face, found his gaze heavy, and looked at the tile again. “I’m not sure that I’m…” She didn’t know how to come out and say it. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes on this trip.”

“Listen, I’m sorry about the way I yelled at you that first night. I’ve been meaning to tell you that. I know it wasn’t your fault that Bella ran away.”

“I wasn’t talking about the first night. I’ve made mistakes since then.”

He didn’t let her finish. “You’re the best nanny Bella has had. You’re doing great.”

His praise made it that much harder. Her gaze flickered back to his. “I’m glad you think so. I mean, I really do care about Bella.”

“And Bella likes you. That’s what matters. Say yes, and I’ll have Meredith make up a new contract.”

“That’s not all that matters. You said so yourself. Remember back when you told me how I didn’t understand Hollywood?”

He leaned forward in his chair. His response came quickly, overlapping her words, not listening to what she’d said, and yet there was a softness in his voice and an urgency in the way he spoke. “I don’t want to let you go after this trip. That matters too.”

She pulled herself closer to the pool’s edge. His gaze was warm and intense on hers, and she completely forgot about her explanation.

Perhaps she’d been wrong to remain silent in the elevator. Perhaps none of Sylvia’s threats to expose her mattered because perhaps Slade wouldn’t care when he found out she was single. Perhaps he’d even be glad.

“All right,” Clarissa said.

Slade smiled and relaxed. “If my work schedule picks up, I’ll need you a lot; if not, then maybe a few times a week. Maybe a couple of evenings here and there, if I have a date or something.”

“Oh.” The inside of her mouth suddenly felt like dust. She’d been right to remain silent. She’d been right the first time when she told herself not to read anything into his compliments. She hoped her voice sounded normal as she spoke. “Of course. You probably have a girlfriend, don’t you?”

“No, but I think I need to get one.” He looked out across the pool. “I can always hope.”

“Oh, right,” she forced herself to smile, even though it felt like her lips couldn’t maintain the position. “I’m sure it’s terribly hard for you to find interested women.”

“Finding women isn’t the problem. It’s finding the right kind of women.”

“Maybe you’re not looking in the right places.”

“Probably not.” His eyes rested on hers. “Where did you say you came from?”

“Woodland Hills.”

“Well, there you have it. I’ve never looked in Woodland Hills.” He took his gaze from her and looked at something beyond her in the darkness. “It’s a pity too.”

Her racing pulse and pounding heartbeat were instantly back. Say something more, she thought. Say anything that will give me a reason to tell you I’m single.

“Are you finished with your swim?” he asked.

“I guess so.” She pulled herself out of the pool, toweled off as much water as she could, then slipped into her robe. But even so, the night air felt uncommonly cold against her wet skin. As they walked back to the hotel, she began shivering.

* * *

Elaina was asleep when Clarissa picked her up from Meredith’s room. As she walked into her hotel room, she noticed a pale green envelope lying on the floor on the entryway, as though it had been slipped under the door. After she tucked Elaina into her bed, she went back to retrieve it.

The envelope bore no writing, and the piece of pale green stationery folded inside was also empty. Strange. She turned it over in her hands a couple of times and then checked the floor to see if she’d missed something. Nope. The floor was empty too.

She was about to toss the envelope in the trash, when the room’s phone rang. She answered and heard Sylvia’s voice on the other end of the line.

“I noticed your lights come on and knew you had come home.”

Clarissa’s gaze flew to the sliding glass door that led to the balcony. She hadn’t pulled those drapes closed before going for a swim. Apparently Sylvia was out there somewhere watching her hotel room.

“What do you want?” Clarissa asked, half tempted to hang up. Not only was the woman blackmailing her, now she’d turned into a stalker.

“I’m just telling you about my system, dear, now that you’ve had a chance to think about some stories.”

“I don’t have any stories for you.”

“On the floor by your door, you’ll find a green envelope and paper. Write what you have to tell me on it. I’ll call you back in a day or two and tell you where to leave it for me.”

A click followed. Sylvia had hung up. Clarissa slammed her own receiver back down on the cradle and stormed to the balcony door. After yanking the drapes closed, she turned, threw the envelope on the floor, and sank into the couch.

She rubbed one hand over her eyes, then stared at the envelope.

The woman was absolutely insane.

Pushing things underneath her door? Watching her hotel room? Telling her where to leave her information as though it was some sort of cloak-and-dagger affair? Sylvia didn’t think she was a reporter; she thought she was an underworld operative. Next she’d be asking Clarissa to murmur passwords to strangers on park benches: The sly dog howls at the full moon. I have a delivery for you, comrade.

Clarissa wasn’t going to do this. She’d tell Slade everything first chance tomorrow. And then when Sylvia called back, Clarissa would tell her exactly where she could put her envelope.

But instead of throwing it away, Clarissa picked up the envelope and put it in her purse.

Chapter Twenty-five

Slade woke to the shrill ringing of the phone beside his bed. He reached for it, still half asleep, and knocked it off the nightstand. He felt around the floor until he’d retrieved it and said a sleepy “Hello?” into the receiver.

“Hi, Slade,” Natalie’s lush voice said back. “Did I wake you?”

“No, it’s only—” He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. “12:15. Why would I be asleep?”

“Don’t be mad at me. AJ finally read your script, and I wanted to talk to you about it.”

Slade pulled himself up on one elbow and tried to shake off the remaining sleep that muddled his mind. “Okay, shoot.”

She gave a throaty laugh. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to hear AJ say those words?”

It took Slade a moment to understand what she meant. “Are you telling me he’s interested?”

“I’m not telling you anything right now. I want you to meet me out on the restaurant terrace so we can talk about it.”

He thought of Bella. “Can’t this wait until morning?”

“No. Definitely not. I need to talk to you before AJ talks to you.”

So that was it. The news about his script wasn’t good, or at least not entirely good, or Natalie wouldn’t be scheduling meetings with him in the middle of the night.

He rubbed his forehead. He nearly said, “I can’t leave my daughter. Why don’t you come up here?” But it was better to meet with Natalie out in public—someplace where she’d be more inclined to show up in clothing instead of seashells.

“Okay,” he said. “Give me a couple minutes to get there.”

He hung up the phone, got out of bed, and slipped on the nearest clothes. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Bella alone, especially since she sometimes woke in the night, but he didn’t see any alternative. It was too late to call Meredith or Clarissa, so he would make sure his meeting with Natalie was short and hope he didn’t come back to find Bella wailing in her bed.

When Slade walked onto the terrace, he immediately spotted Natalie. No one else was around. She wore a halter top under a sheer white blouse and a miniskirt that was so short it should have been classified as a micro skirt. It covered a little more of her body than the seashells had, but not much. She sat at a table, sipping a drink in the moonlight.

As Slade approached, Natalie smiled and gestured to a glass on the table. “I ordered you a piña colada.”

“Thanks.” He sat down, ignoring the drink. “So what news do you have about my script?”

She sighed and ran her finger around the outside of her glass. “AJ read it this afternoon. He said there wasn’t enough action.”

“Action? It’s a story about relationships.”

“And parts of it were unrealistic.”

“It’s science fiction. It’s supposed to be unrealistic.”

Natalie held up her hand to silence him. “Not the time machine, the people. You have a boyfriend and girlfriend who barely kiss. There’s no sex appeal.”

“I wanted to keep it a PG rating. It has wider viewer appeal that way.”

Natalie leaned toward him and laid one of her hands softly on his arm. “I understand why you wrote it like you did.”

“You do?”

“Sure. A lot of actors reach a point in their careers where they want to do a movie they can take their children to. Then they start endorsing kids’ products and showing up on Sesame Street. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Natalie ran her hand back and forth across Slade’s arm. “I think it’s sweet.”

“But AJ doesn’t see it that way.”

“AJ only thinks about making a profit, and,” she said slowly, “me.” Her manicured hand moved down his arm until it rested on the back of his hand. “I could change his mind.”

“How?”

“I could tell him I read it and loved it. I cried, in fact. I could tell him I think it will appeal to women. He trusts my judgment where women are concerned.”

Slade looked at her hand, which still rested on his. “Yes, well, heaven knows he’s not the best judge of women.”

She took her hand off his and reached for her drink. “Don’t be mean, Slade. I’m trying to help you.”

“You’re trying to make a deal with me.”

She brought her drink to her mouth, caressing the rim of the glass with her lips. “Deals are what this industry is all about. You know that.”

Deals. And compromises. Was there some way to take Natalie’s help without becoming a notch on her belt? He knew the answer to that question, and yet he hesitated anyway. She probably could convince AJ to take the script. It was the best shot he’d had so far at turning his goal into a reality. He could almost envision the people lined up in front of the theaters to see his movie—not someone else’s that he was acting in—his.

Natalie pushed her drink aside and leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, her chin supported by her hands. “You know, I’m not so sure you’re the best judge of women, either. You’re dating a woman with a PhD in botany. I mean, honestly Slade, could you possibly have found a more boring person?” She put her hand back over Slade’s, gently teasing his fingertips with hers. “I can’t believe you’d rather spend time with some stuffy little scientist than with me.”

Slade took Natalie’s hand and placed it back on the table. “I think I’d better go now.”

“Slade,” she said, “I won’t give you my help unless you ask for it. Nicely.”

Slade stood up, then paused. He looked into Natalie’s face, and as he did her mouth curled into a smile. She thought she’d won.

For a moment he saw Evelyn sitting at this table instead of Natalie. Was this the sort of thing Evelyn and Brad had done while he’d been off sleeping?

Slade pulled his wallet from his pocket and put some money on the table for the drink. “Go back to AJ,” he said. “If he cares for you half as much as you say, you need to stop doing things to risk losing him.” Slade turned and walked through the maze of empty tables across the terrace.

Instead of going back into the hotel, he turned toward the beach.

At this late hour, the beach fronting the hotel was deserted. Illuminated by the moon, long lines of waves rolled toward the shore, each mounding up until it broke, flooding the sand with its foam. Slade didn’t notice the beauty, though. He noticed the darkness.

With every step he took, he considered his screenplay. AJ thought it didn’t have enough action and was unrealistic—not enough skin. The words stung. Maybe AJ was right. After all, his agent had given his script to half a dozen producers. None of them had wanted it.

When it was rejected before, Slade had told himself it hadn’t been given the proper attention—that it had most likely been passed off to overworked, underpaid, indifferent readers who had barely done more than glance at it before rejecting it.

But this time he’d put the story into the hands of the producer himself.

So perhaps it just wasn’t any good.

Perhaps it was a blessing it had been rejected. Perhaps if it were made, it would turn out to be one of those cinematic bombs that would be derided by movie critics all year and end up crippling his acting career.

So maybe this was a good thing.

Only it didn’t feel like a good thing. It felt like a kick in the stomach.

Slade had put a good distance between the hotel and himself. He didn’t slow his pace. His muscles were charged with anger. He was angry at AJ for not liking his script. And angry with all the other producers for not liking his script. And angry at himself for not being a good enough writer to find a way to write around their objections.

Did movies really need car chases and shoot-outs to be successful? Would the audience refuse to come if there wasn’t a set number of sex scenes?

Was that realistic?

Realistic, realistic. He said the word in his mind over and over again. Didn’t he want something more uplifting than reality? Wasn’t the whole point of stories to encourage a better reality?

So how could he ever write around that?

Maybe he was doomed as a writer. Maybe the time for his kind of writing was over and now people just wanted to watch naked women and exploding cars.

He wasn’t sure how long he walked and didn’t even remember retracing his steps back to the hotel. Eventually he climbed into the elevator and pushed the button for the eighth floor.

He still wasn’t tired and doubted he’d be able to sleep. Perhaps he could turn on the TV and catch a late-night movie. Instead of counting sheep, he could count exploding cars.

When the elevator door reopened, he trudged down the hallway. As he neared his room he suddenly remembered that Bella was by herself, and he felt a sense of panic. He should have hurried back to her. Still, he didn’t hear any wailing emanating from the room, so she must not have wakened.

He slipped his card through the lock and opened the door. He always left the bathroom light on for Bella. It threw enough light into the room that he didn’t flip on any others. He kicked his shoes off while and walked into Bella’s bedroom. The covers on her bed were rumpled and wadded as they always were, but she wasn’t laying there among the blankets and the stuffed animals. The bed was empty.

He checked the floor first to see if she’d rolled off. No Bella. Panic hit him like a hammer. Where had she gone?

He went back into the living room and put his shoes on.

Bella must have awakened, seen he wasn’t there, and gone to find him. Even now she was wandering around the hotel in her nightgown, sobbing uncontrollably. He had to find her.

No, he’d call security first, then go search for her.

It was during this moment of indecision that he noticed the shape in the recliner by the door.

He first saw Clarissa, and then noticed Bella in her lap, half covered by a blanket. Both were fast asleep.

How the two had gotten there only briefly occupied his mind. Relief was his first reaction, and then staring at them quickly took precedence. Bella’s delicate head and wild curls lay nestled on Clarissa’s chest, and Clarissa’s head rested softly against the back of the chair. In the dim light he studied Clarissa’s every feature—her dark lashes, her half-parted lips, her hair cascading everywhere.

It didn’t matter how many times he told himself otherwise, he wanted Clarissa and not just someone like her.

He sat down on the couch, still staring at her, and digested this information. His first thought was that he would just take what he wanted. Isn’t that how the world worked? Divorces happened. And it was too bad for Clarissa’s husband that one was in store for him. The guy seemed like a jerk, anyway. Clarissa deserved better.

And then, pained that he’d even thought about it, Slade rejected the idea. How could he think of tearing apart a family because he’d fallen in love with someone he shouldn’t have? That would be his gift to the woman he loved? He’d destroy her marriage and the home life of her daughter? Slade had already lived through that sort of pain with Bella. Of course he couldn’t do it.

Still he stared at Clarissa. It would be hard, horribly hard, but he wouldn’t let her know how he felt. He would never do anything to jeopardize their professional relationship. He would stay as far away from her as good judgment required.

After convincing himself of these things, he got up from the couch and went to the recliner. He would put Bella back to bed and then awaken Clarissa. He leaned forward. Before reaching for his daughter, he paused, contemplating Clarissa. I’m so close to her, he thought. I’m close enough that I could lean over a little more and let my lips brush across her cheek. She’d never know. No one would ever know—except for the devil, and he’d immediately make reservations in hell under my name.

Stepping back, Slade called softly, “Clarissa.”

She didn’t move.

He reached out and touched her lightly on the shoulder. Her eyes opened, and she stared blankly at him. “What are you doing in here?”

“This is my hotel room,” he told her.

She blinked in confusion, and then seemed to remember. “Oh,” she said, drawing out the word huskily.

That was probably how she sounded after she kissed someone. Husky and half dreaming.

He was going to have to work on reining in his thoughts.

Slade reached for his daughter. “Let me have Bella. I’ll put her back in bed.”

Still seated, Clarissa helped lift the sleeping girl into his arms. He took her into the other room, laid her on the bed, and pulled the blankets around her. She didn’t stir at all.

When Slade returned to the living room, he switched on one of the lamps. Clarissa stood by the door, beautifully disheveled. She wore an old T-shirt and a pair of flannel shorts that looked like boxers. He found the combination somehow more alluring than Natalie’s micro skirt and halter top. He made himself stop staring at her legs.

Clarissa ran a hand through her hair sleepily. “Bella heard your door close, so she got up to look for you. When she couldn’t find you she came and pounded on my door. I figured if I kept her in my room, you’d worry. And since I had your key…” She glanced over at the recliner where he’d found her. “I only meant to sit with her until she went back to sleep. I guess I fell asleep instead.”

“I guess so.” He suddenly thought of Goldilocks. She’d run away when the bears had come home and found her sleeping in their bed. There was probably a good reason for that. Run away, he thought. Run away before I decide to eat you up.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong.” Except for everything.

“Where were you?”

He nearly sat down on the couch, then decided against it. Sitting down would encourage more conversation. He remained standing and thrust his hands in his pockets. “It was another one of Natalie’s stupid ploys. Apparently making my life difficult during the day is no longer enough.”

Clarissa looked at him, her head tilted in a thoughtful way. “You know, for all the lectures you’ve given me about Landon, you’d think you’d be the last one to jaunt off for a midnight rendezvous with a woman of questionable moral character.”

“Oh, there’s no question about Natalie’s moral character,” Slade said. “That’s already been established.”

“The point is,” Clarissa continued, “you need to be careful too. If anything happened between the two of you and it got out—AJ would blacklist you and Sylvia would blast the news to the entire world.” Clarissa sent him a serious look. “Temptation can pop up even when you think you’re impervious.”

“Oh, really?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He must have said the words too harshly, because her brows furrowed together in frustration. “You’re impossible.”

“So you’ve told me.”

“Yes, well, I was right then too.”

Go ahead and be mad at me, he thought. I’ve just saved you from a broken marriage and myself from hell. As he watched her leave the room, he still wasn’t sure he had made the best choice.

Chapter Twenty-six

The next morning when Slade brought Bella over to Clarissa’s room, his face looked drawn. The lines on his face were too sharp. Probably from lack of sleep.

“I’ll only be an hour or two,” he told her at the door. “I need to go over some things with Meredith and talk to my agent. I’ll call you when I’m done.” Then he turned and stalked off down the hallway.

Clarissa shouldn’t have been disappointed that he didn’t stay longer. She was, though. She’d gotten used to talking to him and now felt vaguely empty and restless.

Instead of ordering room service, she took the girls to restaurant for breakfast. It probably wasn’t the best cure for restlessness—trying to keep two preschoolers seated and well-behaved for the duration of a meal.

As they left the restaurant, Bella asked, “Can we go swimming?”

Clarissa took hold of Elaina’s hand. “I don’t think we have enough time before your dad comes for you.”

Bella shuffled her feet as she walked. “Can we play hide-and-seek then?”

“Sure. We’ll play in my room.”

Bella hurried her pace at this, skipping across the lobby past Clarissa. She stopped in front of the elevator and pushed the button. “I get to hide first.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll never find me.”

Clarissa smiled down at her. “We’ll see.”

The elevator door opened and Meredith stepped out, looking crisp and professional in a business suit and heels. “Oh, hello,” she said. “Are you out for a stroll?”

“We just finished breakfast.” Clarissa reached over to stop Bella from going into the elevator, and the door slid closed. “Is Slade done with his business already?” If he was, perhaps Clarissa should take Bella to his room instead of starting new games.

“Only his business with me,” Meredith said. Then she leaned toward Clarissa and lowered her voice. “And I don’t know when I’ve seen him in such a bad mood. Trust me, steer clear of him today.”

Okay. So maybe this wasn’t the best day to tell him about Sylvia.

“I don’t think he got a lot of sleep last night,” Clarissa said.

“He’s upset about something,” Meredith said. “Honestly, the man needs to work on his vacationing skills.”

Clarissa pushed the elevator button again. “I’ll let you suggest that to him.”

It was then she noticed that Bella was gone.

Clarissa looked around the lobby for some sign of her. “Did you see where Bella went?” she asked Meredith.

Meredith shook her head and joined Clarissa in casting glances in every direction.

“Bella?” Clarissa tried to quell the panic that gripped her. Not this. Not again. Not when Slade was already in a bad mood.

“Bella, come out here right now. We’re not playing hide-and-seek yet.”

“Hide-and-seek?” Meredith asked. “Oh, no. You’ll never find her.”

Clarissa turned to Elaina. “Did you see which way Bella went?”

Elaina nodded and pointed down the hallway where the conference rooms were. Clarissa gave Elaina’s hand to Meredith, and with a sickening feeling that she was reliving her first night at the resort, ran to the hallway. Her feet felt heavy, and her purse thunked wildly against her side as she went.

The hallway was empty. She hurried down it, peering into a couple of open rooms. No Bella. Clarissa ran to the end of the hallway and pushed open the door to the stairwell. She looked up it. Bella wouldn’t have gone up there, would she? She listened to hear the echo of little feet against the steps. Nothing.

Clarissa turned and hurried back to the conference rooms, this time opening the doors that were closed. The first was filled with businessmen, a few of whom turned to stare at her as she stood in the doorway.

Okay, Bella probably wasn’t in that one.

She only found rows of empty chairs in the second room. No four-year-old. She called out, “Bella!” and looked behind the podium anyway. Where was that little black dog when she needed him?

When Clarissa came out of the room, she saw Meredith walking down the hallway with Elaina in her arms. “I’ll check up the stairwell.”

“Thanks.”

“We’ll find her.”

Clarissa didn’t answer. An assortment of frightening scenarios had entered her mind. What if Bella had been abducted? What if Elaina had been wrong about where Bella went? After all, Clarissa was taking the word of a three-year-old to determine her search area. What did Elaina know about directions? She couldn’t even find her way home from the mailbox yet.

Clarissa pushed these thought away. No one had taken Bella. She was here, somewhere, playing hide-and-seek and proving the point that no one could find her.

Clarissa darted into the third room and found it full of tables and chairs. A few silk plants lined the wall. She hadn’t noticed those the first time. Now she checked behind each of them, feeling her heart pound more intensely with each moment that passed.

She pushed open the door to the fourth room. It was set up for some sort of luncheon. Round tables dotted the room, surrounded by chairs on all sides. Two long buffet tables sat end to end in the back with bird-of-paradise centerpieces on them. As she circled around the tables in the middle of the room ,Clarissa called out, “Bella, I need you to come out now.”

She got no answer.

Tears stung the back of her eyes.

On her trip around the third table, she stopped and looked at the tables against the back wall more closely. They were draped with long tablecloths, just like Bella’s dining room table back home.

Clarissa walked to one and lifted the edge of the tablecloth. In the far corner, Bella sat huddled against the wall. She let out a shriek of laughter.

Clarissa stood holding up the cloth, torn between relief and anger. Part of her wanted to cry the other part wanted to abandon everything she’d learned in her family science classes and pull Bella out by her feet and spank her.

“Come here, right now, Bella!”It sounded harsh, even in Clarissa’s ears.

The smile immediately dropped from Bella’s face. She gaped at Clarissa, wide-eyed, and didn’t move.

And then Clarissa’s relief suddenly outweighed her anger. “Listen, Bella…” she said more softly. The change in tone had no affect on Bella. Her bottom lip trembled, a preamble to tears.

Clarissa had handled this wrong. All those years of training had been undone in one moment. She sighed, got down on her hands and knees, and crawled underneath the table, dragging her purse across the floor as she went.

Once she got to Bella, she lay down on her stomach and looked at the little girl. “Listen,” she said, this time so softly it was no more than a whisper. “I was so worried about you that I felt sick. I was afraid you were hurt.”

Bella gulped and blinked at Clarissa. “Like when you jumped into the pool?”

“Just like at the pool.”

And then without thinking about it, Clarissa gathered Bella into her arms and held her close. Bella hugged her back, burying her head into Clarissa’s shoulder.

They remained like this for awhile, Clarissa afraid to let the moment end, enjoying this piece of love she felt.

Then she heard the conference room door open and quick footsteps crossing the floor.

Meredith.

Clarissa reached over to the tablecloth, lifting it in order to call out to her, then dropped the tablecloth back down.

It wasn’t Meredith. It was Sherry, glancing tentatively around the room, but thankfully, not under the tables. Clarissa had no idea why Sherry had come into the room or why she was headed to the back wall, back toward their hiding place.

This was bad. How was Clarissa supposed to explain to a near-stranger why she was hiding under a buffet table in an empty room?

Wasn’t it bad enough that the woman had already seen her jump into a pool wearing a robe?

Clarissa turned to Bella and held one finger against her lips. “Shhh,” she whispered. “We’re playing spies now.”

A smile lit up Bella’s face, and she slipped one of her hands into Clarissa’s, clearly pleased to be a coconspirator in this new game.

Please don’t come near this table, Clarissa thought. Please be passing by and on your way out.

Sherry’s heels stopped at the far end of the table.

Even worse. Every moment this was getting harder to explain. Well, you see, Sherry, I was giving Bella an educational lesson on how tables work. And we study in silence; otherwise, we would of course have said something to you when you walked in.

The corner of the tablecloth by Sherry’s heels lifted up. Next—although Clarissa wasn’t sure why—Sherry would look under the table and discover them.

Clarissa hoped Sherry wasn’t the type who screamed loudly when startled.

Clarissa looked toward Sherry, with what she hoped passed for a casual expression, and willed a plausible explanation of her situation to come to her lips. But only Sherry’s hand came under the table. She thrust it under the cloth and pressed a pale green envelope onto the underside of the table. It stuck there. The next moment the tablecloth dropped back down, and the sound of Sherry’s heels clicked away from the table and back across the room.

Clarissa stared at the envelope, too surprised to even be relieved that they hadn’t been discovered. When she heard the conference room door close, she crawled to the envelope and peeled it off the table.

So Sherry was one of Sylvia’s sources.

As she ripped the envelope open, Clarissa wondered what sort of horrible story Sylvia had on Sherry that would make her turn over information about her own cast.

“Is it a clue?” Bella whispered.

Clarissa pulled out a pale green piece of stationery and unfolded it. “I think so. Let me read it.”

Written in a hurried scrawl were the words:

Parker Wentworth came to the set with such a big hangover on Monday that had he been carrying a real gun, he would have shot half the cast. Crew members are beginning to grumble about his unprofessionalism on the set.

Natalie Granger is on another of her odd diets. For the third day in a row, she’s eaten only lettuce and raw fish for lunch.

Landon McKellips and Sherry Reynolds spent a good portion of the evening together on Saturday at a party, fueling talk of an offscreen romance between the two.

Nice of her to include herself in the muckraking.

Landon’s trademark carefree attitude may soon be changing. Rumor has it that Landon’s father is drinking so heavily that he needs an intervention. Landon may ask for a leave from the show to help get his father treatment.

Clarissa took a sharp inward breath.

Apparently Landon shouldn’t have spent so much time with Sherry on Saturday. She was not the woman to discuss your life with.

Clarissa held the paper in her hand and reread the last entry. Was it true? She supposed it didn’t matter, not to Sylvia, not to Sherry, not to the millions of people who would read it. It mattered only to Landon and his family, to those who would be wounded by the report.

Clarissa hoped for Landon’s sake that the talk of a romance with Sherry was just a red herring. Landon deserved better than that in a girlfriend.

Clarissa ripped up the letter, then looked at the ragged strips of pale green paper lying on the floor and wondered what to do next. She hadn’t solved the problem. If Sylvia didn’t get her report from Sherry now, she’d get it in a different way later.

So Clarissa would march right up to Sherry and tell her she knew who was feeding Sylvia information. If Sherry ever told Sylvia anything again, Clarissa would let the entire cast of Undercover Agents know who was turning over their personal information to the tabloids.

And the cast would, of course, take the word of some unknown temporary nanny over one of their own.

“Why did you rip up the clue?” Bella asked.

“Um, the clue said I was supposed to,” Clarissa answered.

“Oh,” Bella said. She cautiously picked up one of the strips.

Clarissa stared at the paper shreds too. If Sherry told Sylvia that Clarissa was threatening to out her, Sylvia would be so mad at Clarissa, who knew what type of story she’d print about her.

Well, she could at least warn Landon about what type of person Sherry was. Although, now that Clarissa thought about it, she realized she didn’t even know Landon’s room number. And the front desk wasn’t likely to pass out information. Slade knew, but she couldn’t ask him for it without some really good explanation. A really, really good explanation.

Nope.

After the way Slade had insisted Clarissa avoid Landon, there wasn’t an explanation good enough to get Slade’s help. She would have to wait until she saw Landon again. He had said he would show up Halloween night—tomorrow night. She could tell him then.

Bella handed Clarissa the piece of paper she’d been fingering. “What else did the clue say you were ‘posed to do?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Why don’t you write back?” Bella asked.

Clarissa looked down at Bella, about to put her off, and then realized she had given Clarissa the perfect answer.

“I think you’re right.”

She opened her purse, pulled out the green envelope of her own, and smoothed out the folds in the stationery. As she did so, she noticed her cell phone. It was only then she remembered Meredith in the stairwell, still searching for Bella. By this point Meredith had probably reached the eighth floor, told Slade, and enlisted him in the hunt. Most likely they were both half panicked and about to call security.

Clarissa called Slade.

“Hello?” He sounded sharp and impatient.

“Hi,” she whispered, “I wanted to let you know I found Bella.”

“Found Bella?” he asked. “Was she lost?”

Oops. He didn’t know, and now she had admitted to losing his daughter again. Why hadn’t she called Meredith instead?

“We were playing hide-and-seek.”

There was a pause and then Slade’s voice, sounding tight. “Clarissa, my agent is on the other line, and you’re calling to report the results of your game of hide-and-seek?”

This wasn’t getting any better. “Well, she plays really well, and Meredith and I were afraid she might be lost. Sorry to bother you.”

“Clarissa, why are you whispering?”

Because I’m hiding under a banquet table in a conference room and I’m about to do something devious. “Bella and I are playing spies now.”

“Great,” he said slowly. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Clarissa called Meredith next, taking a pen from her purse as they spoke. When she was done with the call, she matched Sherry’s skinny scrawl as well as she could.

Mob activity is suspected among the cast of Undercover Agents. Several of the cast members wondered why AJ insisted on spending the time, money, and effort to take the cast and crew to a remote Hawaiian location. Now suspicions have been answered. The crate full of assault rifles marked props—the one AJ hasn’t let cast or crew near—are all real. They’re apparently part of an illegal weapons ring, waiting for mob operatives to pick them up.

Clarissa folded the stationery, put it into her envelope, then used the tape from Sherry’s envelope to stick it back on the underside of the table. She smiled. She wasn’t sure who would face the greater consequence for this story, Sherry or Sylvia, but somebody’s credibility was about to crumble.

Clarissa quickly gathered up the shreds of torn paper and stuffed them into her purse. Stretching to relieve the cramps in her legs, she took hold of Bella’s hand and whispered, “Come on, Bella. It’s time to report back to spy headquarters.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Slade had just hung up with his agent when he got a call from AJ. “Let’s meet in the restaurant for dinner and talk about your screenplay.”

Slade agreed with forced enthusiasm. It was hard to be enthusiastic about a dinner-long rejection.

He walked to Clarissa’s room to pick up Bella. She, Clarissa, and Elaina had made a tent in the bathroom and the three of them were sitting in the tub discussing spy strategy. Bella didn’t want to leave.

It figured.

He was trying to take Clarissa’s advice to spend more time with Bella, and now Bella didn’t want to be with him.

Still, he dragged her from the room and drove her to the Sea Life Park. He tried to get into the spirit of the thing—buying her dolphin-shaped balloons and a starfish hat. He’d purposely planned time away from Clarissa but found himself incessantly thinking about her.

He wanted to tell her about the screenplay. Her blue eyes would fill with concern, and she’d try to comfort him. Maybe she’d put her hand on his arm like she’d done the other day in the car.

He could imagine her fingers against his skin… imagine himself taking her hand in his and not letting it go.

Instead, he escorted his daughter around and grew crosser as the day wore on. He never should have offered Clarissa the job of watching Bella during his next movie. It would be excruciating to see her all of the time. He was bound to do something stupid, make some unwanted advance—or worse yet, a wanted one. Everyone would end up miserable. He should probably do the smart thing: pay Clarissa a fee for breaking his contract, wish her the best, and hire a fifty-year-old nanny.

How come doing smart things always seemed so hard?

By midafternoon Slade was snapping at Bella and feeling horrible for not controlling his temper. Finally he decided to call it a day and drove back to the resort.

On the way there Bella folded her arms and scowled at the window. “I want to go home.”

“We are going home.”

“I want to go home to my house,” she emphasized.

Slade grunted, then considered the idea. “Maybe we should cut this trip short. There isn’t much point in sticking around.” He started mentally arranging the details of leaving the next morning and then remembered Kim.

Kim.

He couldn’t leave on the day she arrived. Not after he’d already made plans with her. They were supposed to go to that stupid costume party.

So it was one more day. He’d endure one more day of this vacation and then go back to California.

Slade dropped Bella off at Clarissa’s room, told her of his dinner plans with AJ and his plans to leave Hawaii early, and then left before he could spend any time talking with her. She stood in the doorway of her room, looking very much like she wanted to talk to him.

He didn’t stay, though. The time for conversations with Clarissa was over. Conversations led to familiarity, to intimacy, to him taking hold of her hand and not letting go.

He went back to his room to work on his lines. They all came out sounding angry.

At six o’clock he went down to the restaurant to meet with AJ and Natalie. Slade donned a pair of casual slacks, a Christian Dior shirt, and his best acting style. He was acting like a man who didn’t know the outcome of this meeting, who hadn’t had a midnight rendezvous with AJ’s girlfriend, and who wasn’t in love with a woman he couldn’t have. In short, he was acting like the man he was before he came to Hawaii.

The hostess showed him to the table where AJ and Natalie were seated. AJ wore alligator skin cowboy boots and a western shirt. Natalie wore a tight red dress spangled with sequins. The two of them greeted him warmly.

After they’d ordered, Slade asked AJ how the Undercover Agents shooting was going. AJ recounted the show’s many problems and the trials of a producer in general until the waitress came with their orders.

They ate silently for a few minutes, and then AJ brought up the subject at hand. “Well, Slade, you have more writing talent than I expected. Good characters, good dialogue, and a decent plot.” AJ cracked one of his lobster claws. “I see two major problems with it. First, it’s a nice story, but it doesn’t have enough action to be a movie.”

“It’s a love story,” Slade said. “People still go to those, don’t they?”

AJ waved his words away with a flick of his fork. “It doesn’t have enough passion for a love story. When the hero realizes he loves the girl, he has this great epiphany. They’re alone in the waiting room, and what do they do? They talk about life. No way. In real life he takes her in his arms and gives her a kiss that makes the entire audience blush.” AJ took a bite of lobster. “I’m sorry. If you can hype up the story a bit, I might reconsider.”

Slade took a drink of his water. “Thanks for your time, AJ.”

“And a shoot-out scene at the end couldn’t hurt.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Slade put his glass down and noticed Clarissa standing at the front of the restaurant. She held Bella by one hand and Elaina by the other and was talking to the hostess. Which meant at any moment Bella would see him, insist on joining him, and inevitably turn the rest of dinner into a zoo.

Why in the world had Clarissa brought the girls to the restaurant when he had specifically told her he would be here?

And then Slade remembered he hadn’t. He’d only told her he was going out to dinner with AJ. In his haste to get away from her room, he hadn’t told her where. She must have thought he meant “out” as in out of the resort.

The hostess picked up menus and escorted Clarissa and the kids into the dining room. That’s when Clarissa glanced over and saw him. A look of surprise and then apprehension crossed her face. He could tell Clarissa had also anticipated the outcome of dinner and was now rethinking the situation. She called to the hostess, shook her head, and said something while redirecting the girls back out the way they had come.

They were almost to the door when Bella saw Slade. Over the clink of dishes and hum of conversation, he heard the word, “Daddy!”

He pretended he hadn’t heard Bella, and a moment later they were gone. Bella would probably wail all the way back to Clarissa’s room.

“Did you decide on your costume yet?” Natalie asked, bringing his attention back to the table. “What mask will you be wearing tomorrow night?”

“Batman,” Slade said.

“Oh?” she asked, intrigued. “Thinking of vying for that part?”

“No, Kim wanted to be Cat Woman.”

Natalie smiled. “With a doctor of botany on your arm, I would think the Joker costume would be the most appropriate.”

AJ poured more butter on his lobster. “Just because a woman is a scientist doesn’t mean she can’t also be charming.” He winked at Natalie. “Although it certainly raises the probability.”

Slade cut a piece of his fish. “I like smart women.”

AJ made a shooing motion. “We’re just messing with you. We can hardly wait to meet her.”

“Oh, yes,” Natalie said. “I’m dying to meet her.”

From across the restaurant, Slade heard Bella call out, “Daddy!” He turned and saw her running toward him. She climbed onto his lap and threw her arms around his neck. “I knew you were in here,” she said breathlessly.

Slade looked for Clarissa, expected to see her coming in for the recapture. She was nowhere in sight.

“Bella,” he said sternly. “Did you run away from Clarissa?”

She shook her head slowly. “No, Daddy. I didn’t run. I just got out of the elevator.”

“And where are Clarissa and Elaina?”

“Still in the elevator,” Bella said.

Slade tilted his head back. He could suddenly envision the entire scenario. Clarissa had taken the girls into the elevator in an attempt to go back to their room. Bella, in her usual stealth fashion, pulled away from Clarissa’s grasp and stepped off the elevator right before the doors closed.

“Isabel Jacobson,” he said in a low voice, “that was a very naughty thing to do.”

Bella’s bottom lip quivered, and he could tell she was on the verge of another wail. In order to salvage dinner he added, “And we will discuss it as soon as we go back to our room.”

Bella laid her head against Slade’s chest. “I wanted to be with you,” she said sadly.

Slade gave an apologetic smile to AJ. “This is my daughter, Bella.” To Bella, he said, “Do you remember Natalie from the pool?”

Bella nodded solemnly and kept her face pressed against her father’s chest.

AJ bent over to be closer to Bella’s eye level. “I’ve heard about you, Bella Jacobson,” he said. “You seem to have a habit of breaking sets.”

“You break things too,” Bella said.

AJ’s eyebrows rose. “Is that so?”

Bella nodded. “When we were in the elevator, Natalie said she was going to break something with you.”

“What are you talking about?” Slade asked. “Natalie never talked about breaking things.”

He realized his mistake too late. Before he could stop her, Bella said, “She did too. She said she was going to break it off with AJ.”

A silence, the kind that isn’t really silent at all but is loud with the sound of hearts stuttering, descended on the table.

Slade opened his mouth to speak, to explain. No words came to him. It probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway. AJ and Natalie weren’t paying attention to him. They stared at each other— one turning red, the other turning pale.

“What did you say?” AJ asked stiffly.

“I was just joking,” Natalie said.

“You were joking with a four-year-old about breaking up with me?”

“Yes,” she said, and Slade could see her acting persona spring to life. “I told her I had the perfect boyfriend and was teasing her about stealing him away from me. It was a joke.”

AJ eyed Bella. With a sort of forced lightness, he said, “So you’re looking for a boyfriend, huh, kid?”

“She said Daddy was playing hard to get,” Bella said, “but he wasn’t playing. He was carrying me ‘cause I was pretending to be asleep.”

Another awful moment of silence ensued. Natalie’s paleness crept back into her face.

Thankfully no one had to say anything else. Clarissa had pushed her way through the tables and now, holding Elaina, stood before them. “Bella,” she said firmly, “it’s time for you to come with me.”

Under any other circumstances, Slade would have handed Bella to her nanny and put up with the ensuing scene. Now he saw Bella’s resistance as the perfect excuse for him to exit the restaurant. He started to rise and was about to say, “I’d better take her back to our room.”

He never got the chance. Apparently Bella thought he was transferring her into Clarissa’s arms. Bella yelled, “No!” then grabbed onto the tablecloth with both hands. As Slade stood, the tablecloth came up with him.

Plates, glasses, and the rest of AJ’s lobster tail migrated to the other side of the table and then tumbled to the floor.

AJ jumped out of the way in time to miss most of the food. Natalie wasn’t so lucky. A glass of wine and a plateful of salad splattered onto her sequined dress. She stood up, gasping, and wiped bits of salad dressing off her sequins.

“I’m so sorry,” Slade said, and then couldn’t say anything else because Bella’s wailing had begun.

Chapter Twenty-eight

The girls were bathed, in their pajamas, and watching TV in Slade’s room when he finally came back. He looked tired, and his hair was mussed, like he’d run his hands through it repeatedly. Without saying a word, he collapsed on the couch, leaned his head back until it touched the wall, and stared at the ceiling.

Clarissa sat next to him so they could talk. “Did the restaurant manager accept your check?”

“They’re going to take account of everything and send me a bill.”

Clarissa nodded. Neither of them said anything for a moment. “I think your big mistake,” Clarissa finally said, “was letting go of Bella’s hand to help Natalie wipe off her dress.”

Slade dropped his gaze from the ceiling and looked at Clarissa. “How was I supposed to know Bella would run off crying underneath the salad bar table?”

“Experience.”

“You’d think they’d use a sturdier table for all of that salad stuff.”

Clarissa shook her head sadly. “It probably would have held up fine if I hadn’t crawled under there to retrieve Bella. But, you know, I was so worried she would bump it and send everything crashing to the floor.”

“Yes, well, that’s irony for you.” The beginning of a smile tugged at the comers of Slade’s mouth. “How is your head doing now?”

“Don’t smirk at me,” she said. “I’d like to see you wrestle with a five-year-old under a table and see if you can keep it from toppling over.”

“She’s only four,” he said.

“She’s nearly five, and she’s as strong as a wildcat.” Clarissa ran her hand over the top of her head, where a small bump had formed from ramming it into the underside of the table. It still hurt. “Besides, my head is the least of my wounds.”

His eyebrow quirked upward. “Did you get other injuries when the seafood platter fell on you?”

“I’m talking about my pride,” she said. “I was covered with cocktail sauce—and by the way, I noticed you didn’t jump over to wipe off my clothes like you did Natalie’s.”

“I was holding onto Bella,” he said and then added, “besides, the way you were hopping around, I would have been hard pressed to catch you, let alone wipe off anything.”

Clarissa tilted her head and gave him an aloof stare. “You would have jumped around, too, if you’d gotten shrimp down your shirt.”

The smile was back on Slade’s lips, but he tried to suppress it. “It’s not like it was alive.”

“Exactly. It was dead fish, and it was sliding down my back and stuck in my bra.” She gave an involuntary shiver. “I’ll probably smell like a wharf for days.”

He reached out and patted her hand as though she were a child. “Well, it’s over now, and if the restaurant staff works hard, I’m sure they’ll have the place cleaned up by the breakfast shift.”

Clarissa glanced over to where Bella and Elaina lay watching TV. “At least the girls don’t seem any worse for the trauma. Although I think I’ll always remember the sight of Elaina standing there crying in the middle of the Jell-O salad remains.” Clarissa shook her head again. “Poor thing. I think all the people screaming frightened her.”

“It’s amazing what will make people scream,” Slade agreed. “Most of them only got a little splattered when the table tipped over.”

“Except for that one lady,” Clarissa said with a wince. “She got the full brunt of the potato salad.”

Slade looked back at the ceiling and sighed. “You know, about the time the condiments went up in the air, I started having flashbacks to the whole Evelyn-and-Brad-Nash affair.” He ran both hands through his hair as if to shake off the memory. “Man, I hope no one had a camera going. That’s all I need—another restaurant scandal.”

Clarissa felt a wave of sympathy for Slade and reached over and rested her hand on top of his. “Did it ruin your deal with AJ?”

“No, that was ruined before Bella even walked into the restaurant. Which, of course, now seems like a blessing since it saves me the humiliation of being officially banned from all of AJ’s sets.”

“But none of the mess was really your fault,” Clarissa said. “Surely AJ won’t hold it against you.”

Slade let out grumbling noise of disagreement. “I still haven’t lived down the tropical fish fiasco from Mermaid Island.”

“Oh? What happened there?”

“A Tonka truck and a fifteen-hundred-gallon aquarium. Suffice it to say, at that point I began encouraging Bella to play with Barbie dolls, because no matter how hard you throw one of them, it won’t break glass.”

Now Clarissa smiled and tried to hide it.

Slade sighed again and rested his head back against the wall. “What am I going to do with Bella?”

Clarissa glanced at Bella and then back at Slade. “Was that a rhetorical question, or do you really want my opinion?”

He leaned toward Clarissa and lowered his voice. “If Bella really is doing this on purpose, I need to know how to help her.”

It wasn’t something Clarissa had thought about in clinical terms, and yet she knew exactly how Bella felt. She knew it because she felt it herself. She knew it because she’d seen the shadows of the same emotions flicker around her own daughter. Now she struggled to explain it to Slade.

“I don’t think Bella necessarily plans it. She’s just frightened and angry. She lost control of her world, so she’s trying to control what’s left of it the only way she knows how. With every scrape she gets into, she gets more attention and love from you.”

“I wasn’t very loving to her tonight,” he said.

“Well, you weren’t when you were barking out new rules. And by the way, I don’t think she even heard rule twenty-two or twenty-three; but after that, you held her in your arms like you always do. That’s what she wants. I might rip off a tablecloth or down Miracle Grow if I knew it would get me more love.”

“So I’m supposed to comfort her less?”

“Less after her accidents and more beforehand. Reward good behavior positively and enforce consequences for negative behavior.”

He didn’t say anything. She went on anyway. “And be grateful Bella still wants love. Some people cope with divorce by turning off their emotions altogether. They refuse to open up or trust anyone because they don’t want to be hurt again. It’s easy to turn off the trust. It’s harder to turn off the anger. That stays with you.” Clarissa suddenly stopped because she realized she was talking about herself and didn’t want Slade to realize it too.

Perhaps he already did. He was looking at her intently, as though trying to figure something out.

“Well,” she said, “I guess I’d better go back to my room and take a shower—you know, make sure I’m rid of the dead-fish smell.”

“Wait a minute.” He turned toward the girls. “Bella, come here.”

Bella got up and trotted over to him.

“I’ve been thinking,” he told his daughter. “And I’ve decided we ought to go downstairs and help clean up in the restaurant.”

Bella frowned. “But I’m not allowed to touch broken glass, Daddy. It’s rule number fourteen.”

“We’ll clean something besides the glass,” he said.

Her brows furrowed together and she glanced back at the TV. “I want to stay here with ‘Laina.”

Slade took hold of her chin and turned her face so she looked at him again. “When you made that big mess, you made a lot of people unhappy. Now we’ve got to set it right.”

The brows were still furrowed. She pulled away from Slade and stared silently at the floor.

“The restaurant manager was sad that so many of his things got broken,” Slade went on, “and the people who got showered with salad were sad too. Clarissa got a bump on her head. I think that made her very sad.”

Bella’s lip quivered, then the tears came. Instead of throwing her arms around her father, she went and pressed her face into Clarissa’s side. “I’m sorry I ran under the table!”

Clarissa picked her up, held her close, and rubbed the little girl’s back while she sobbed. Clarissa suddenly understood Slade’s dilemma much better. It took everything she had not to completely absolve Bella of wrongdoing. “I still love you,” Clarissa said. “I just hope next time you’ll make a better choice.”

Bella took a shaky breath and nodded. With her arms around Clarissa’s neck she said, “Are you going away?”

“No,” Clarissa said, “of course not.”

“Not even if I’m naughty?”

“You’ve already been naughty,” Clarissa said, “and I’m still here.”

Bella seemed to consider this. “Then will you take me to kindergarten when I’m big enough?”

Clarissa smiled at the odd request. “If that’s what you and your daddy want.” She looked over at Slade, expecting he’d be smiling or wearing a puzzled expression. Instead, his features were stern and pained.

So perhaps she had overstepped her bounds. Perhaps Slade didn’t expect she would still be working for him by the time Bella went to kindergarten.

Clarissa held Bella for another minute and then reluctantly gave her to Slade. He put her on her feet, keeping hold of her hand. “Let’s go down to the restaurant and see what we can do.”

She nodded, and then the two of them left the room, hand in hand.

* * *

The next morning Slade called Clarissa and said he’d decided to spend the day alone with Bella. “I figure we could use some more father-daughter time.”

Clarissa commended him and said she hoped they’d have a good time and then felt sorry for herself. It was their last full day in Hawaii, and she would spend it without Slade.

She and Elaina went for a walk along the beach, went to the pool, had lunch, then went back to their hotel room. While Elaina took a nap, Clarissa straightened up the room, repacking what she could. Then, because she decided she should do something educational with her daughter, Clarissa used the hotel stationery to cut out the letters of Elaina’s name. When Elaina woke up, Clarissa would give them to her to color. She was trimming the top of the letter L when a knock came at the door.

She opened it and found Meredith there, her cell phone in hand. “Is Slade with you?”

“No, he decided to spend the day with Bella.”

Meredith walked into the room and sat down on the couch dejectedly. “I can’t get a hold of him, and I just had a call from Kim. She’s in Mexico.”

Clarissa picked up the scissors and started on an N. “In Mexico? Why?”

“There was an algae bloom off the gulf. She went to examine it.”

“Oh,” Clarissa could muster only mild disappointment. “Slade won’t be happy about that.”

“Well, he’s going to look like a fool in front of Natalie and the Undercover Agents cast. I mean what sort of weak excuse is that? My girlfriend had an emergency come up—she had to study an algae bloom.” And then Meredith eyed Clarissa with a peculiar expression.

“What?” Clarissa asked.

“I’ll watch the girls tonight so you can go as Kim.”

“What?” Clarissa said again.

“You’ll be in a Cat Woman costume. No one will even know it’s you.”

“Well, not unless I also pretend I’m mute. They have heard my voice.”

“You could fake an English accent, couldn’t you?”

Clarissa shook her head. “It would never work.”

“Why not?” Meredith said.

Clarissa eyed her, trying to tell how serious she was. “I don’t know why not. I just know it won’t. Besides, Slade wouldn’t want me to try a stunt like that. He can come up with an excuse—make up a dying relative or something.”

Meredith sighed and seemed to concede the point. “I suppose you’re right. I just hate to think of Natalie Granger being smug about the whole thing.” Meredith stood up then, her visit finished. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. Slade has lived down worse things. Last night’s dinner, for example.”

Meredith moved to the door and then as an afterthought said, “You’ve told your husband we’re coming home early, right?”

“Yes,” Clarissa said.

“Good. I got the impression he was feeling neglected when he called.”

Clarissa felt, very quickly, that her blood had all dropped to her feet. “He called?”

“Oh, that’s right, I never told you. He called your room the night when you were at the pool. I was in your room getting Elaina’s stuffed dog.”

He called? How did he get the hotel’s phone number? He didn’t even know where she was. And then with a sudden rush of dread, Clarissa realized he did. She had sent that information to Renea by e-mail, and Renea had undoubtedly given it to her brother. It would have been easy for him to look up the phone number of the Mahalo Regency Resort.

“What did he say?” Clarissa asked.

“Not much. He asked if you were in, and I said you were swimming. Then he said to tell you that Alex called. I said, ‘Oh yes, you’re her husband.’ And he said, ‘Her ex-husband.’ So you see, I think he’s feeling a little put out.” Meredith gave Clarissa a smile. It dropped from her face, replaced by a look of concern. “Clarissa, you’re as white as a sheet.”

“Am I?” Why couldn’t she pull off a laugh? A laugh would have hidden everything. She should have been able to say, “Yes, he likes to threaten when he’s in a bad mood.” Instead, she sat on the couch trying to control her shaky hands.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.” Clarissa picked up her scissors and busily cut the paper again.

Meredith remained silent for a moment, and then when she spoke her voice was even and serious. “Alex is your husband, isn’t he?”

The paper fell from Clarissa’s hands and with it her whole facade. Had she wanted to, she couldn’t have forced any sort of fabrication from her lips. “Not anymore. We’re divorced.”

Meredith came back to the couch and sat down heavily on it. “Why on earth did you lie about it?”

“I didn’t mean to. I mean, at first it was an oversight at the employment agency, but I needed the job, and I didn’t think it would really matter.”

“I think it will matter a great deal to Slade.”

The words hurt. “I know. Dishonesty in an employee is the last thing he wants.”

“Is that how you think he thinks about you? As an employee?”

Clarissa slumped down farther on the couch. “No. I mean, he also thinks of me as a friend—and that’s even worse—to deceive a friend.”

Meredith opened her mouth to say something, then shut it instead. She surveyed Clarissa with a calculating gaze. “Let me ask you a question. What do you think of Slade?”

“I think he’s a caring father, and he’s generous to the people around him—he’s great.”

“And?”

“What can I say beyond great?”

“How does he make you feel when you look at him?”

Clarissa didn’t answer. She felt her face flush bright red.

Meredith nodded. “I thought so.”

Clarissa swallowed hard. “Please don’t tell him.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. That’s your job.”

Clarissa shifted uneasily on the couch. “I’m not going to tell him.”

“Why not?”

“Because it wouldn’t matter to him. I’m just his nanny. He doesn’t see me as anything more than that.”

Meredith tilted her head with a thoughtful expression. “You’re wrong, of course, but I’m not sure how to prove it to you.”

“I know he’s flirted with me a little in the past, but that’s because he felt safe doing it. He knew I’d never reciprocate. If he knew I was unmarried, he’d feel awkward and uncomfortable around me.”

Meredith tapped the couch with her fingertips and didn’t answer.

Clarissa leaned back into the couch in a big mournful lump. “Slade could have his pick of anyone he wanted. He wouldn’t choose me. He’s going to choose some famous supermodel or Nobel Peace Prize winner.”

Meredith still didn’t answer.

“Why should I put myself through any more pain and rejection? It’s easier to let him go on believing I’m married. At least that way he won’t be afraid to be my friend.”

Meredith nodded solemnly, as though agreeing to a conversation she held within herself. “I think I will go rent a Cat Woman outfit,” she said. “The shop still had a couple when I went to pick up the Batman suit. You’ll put it on and meet Slade at the Sunset Park Motel at seven o’clock.”

“What good would that do?”

“Well, you want to know if he likes you, and you want to do it in such a manner as to guarantee you won’t be hurt. What better way to find out than to be costumed as someone else? While you’re talking, ask him…” Here Meredith faltered for a moment, rolling her hand in the air as she thought how to phrase it. “Ask him what type of things he looks for in a woman. Ask him what he thinks of his nanny. That way if he doesn’t like you, you can return to being Clarissa Hancock, his nanny, and he’s none the wiser. If he does like you, then you pull off your mask and tell him the truth.” She smiled triumphantly and waved a hand in Clarissa’s direction. “Cinderella, you’re going to the ball after all.”

“As an English botanist dressed in a Cat Woman suit? I don’t think so.”

Meredith checked her watch and stood up. “Speaking of that suit, I’d better get to the costume store. I’m not sure when it closes.”

“Wait.” Clarissa stood up. “I can’t do this.”

“Nonsense,” Meredith said. “You’ll be fine. Simply drop your H’s and remember to complain about the royal family every once in a while.”

“You just want me to do this because of Natalie,” Clarissa said, but it was no use. Meredith left the room with a cheery wave and called out, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Clarissa sank back to the couch, exhausted. “It will never work,” she said again.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Clarissa didn’t move from the couch for a good twenty minutes. She sat watching the waves from her window and feeling her stomach chum. Now that Meredith had found out the truth, Clarissa would have to tell Slade everything. Tonight. She couldn’t ask Meredith pretend she didn’t know about the divorce.

The churning grew, and Clarissa wished for the thousandth time she had told Slade the truth at the beginning.

How much would it matter to him that she’d lied? Would he ever trust her again? The thought of losing the job was hard. The thought of never seeing Slade again, never talking with him again, was even harder. Perhaps if she didn’t tell him how she felt now, she’d never have the chance.

And then again, perhaps that was for the best.

She tapped her foot nervously against the side of the couch.

Well, at least if she went out as Cat Woman she’d go out in a big way.

Still, she didn’t think she could do it.

If she was going to lose Slade, she ought to lose him with her dignity intact. If he didn’t know how much she cared about him, it would hurt less when he fired her.

And after this was over, she’d make sure nothing like it ever happened again. She’d never lie under any circumstances; and more importantly, she’d never care again about anyone enough to be hurt when she lost them.

This thought left her cold.

Could she do that? Could she cut herself off from the good emotions in order to escape the bad?

Instead of thinking about it further, she went to the computer and turned it on. Before she called Alex, she wanted to see if he’d emailed her.

He hadn’t, but Renea had. Three times. The first email said: “Clarissa, I saw your newspaper article. Where did you meet Slade Jacobson? And do you think it’s wise to go off to Hawaii with him when you’re in this vulnerable state? You ought to wait a while to make these kinds of decisions. I hope you’ll take a good look at what you’re doing.”

The second e-mail said: “Is Slade carrying Elaina in the newspaper article? I printed out the picture and showed it to the entire family, and no one is sure whether it’s her because her hair looks so much darker in the picture. Maybe it’s the lighting. Anyway, I can’t believe you brought your daughter along on this little nervous breakdown of yours. I mean, I realize Slade Jacobson is gorgeous, but do you think this is good for Elaina?”

The third e-mail just said: “My friends want to know if you really know Landon McKellips. And if you do, can you introduce him to us when you get back?”

Clarissa deleted the messages, then turned off the computer. The e-mails told her two things. First, Renea was an idiot. She’d known that all along, however, so it wasn’t helpful. Second, Alex’s entire family thought she’d run off with Slade for some sort of torrid affair. They undoubtedly now thought her an unfit mother, and were probably congratulating Alex on getting rid of her.

Clarissa sighed heavily, exited the Internet, and turned off the computer. She’d brought it on herself, she knew. She’d been led by her pride when she e-mailed that picture to Renea. Clarissa had wanted to prove to Renea that she didn’t need Alex anymore, that she was capable of attracting someone like Slade Jacobson. But it wasn’t the truth.

Was it?

Meredith had as much as said that Slade was interested in her. But maybe Meredith was just a romantic. Or hopelessly optimistic. The memory of every single middle school crush suddenly flooded into Clarissa’s mind. How many times had a friend told her, sworn to her, that a certain boy liked her, and then the next day the same boy would be hanging out with some other girl?

You couldn’t depend on a third-party opinion when it came to love. Which was another reason to hate the whole dating thing.

Maybe it would be best to be disguised as someone else. It would give her the information she needed to decide how to go about telling him the truth.

Clarissa got out her phone and fingered it while she ran through possible scenarios with Alex. He was probably upset she’d run off for a wild fling with Slade, thought she was unstable, and thus no longer a capable mother. In this case, Clarissa would swallow her pride and tell Alex the truth. She wasn’t Slade’s girlfriend; she was his daughter’s nanny.

And from now on she wouldn’t let her pride lead her into making foolish decisions like sending things to Renea.

What an educational trip this was turning out to be. She had now committed to shun both dishonesty and pride. Before she boarded the plane for California, she’d most likely be dispensing with all her sins.

Clarissa punched in Alex’s work phone number.

A moment later she heard his voice. “Hello?”

She waited for the stream of emotions that always came when she heard his voice. The hurt, the anger, the hollow sadness. None of them came this time. It was just Alex’s voice.

“This is Clarissa,” she said. “I heard you called.”

“Yes,” he said, and the word alone was an accusation. “What is going on with you? First I get a call from a reporter, and then I see this picture of you and Elaina off with Slade Jacobson in Hawaii—”

“That wasn’t Elaina,” Clarissa cut in, and suddenly it all seemed so ludicrous. He didn’t even recognize his own daughter. “Elaina has straight blonde hair, not curly light brown hair, and she’s a year younger than the girl in the picture.”

“If Elaina isn’t with you, where is she?”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t with me. I just said that wasn’t her in the picture. I thought you might want to know.”

“My point is still the same,” Alex said. “I gave you half of everything I own, and I’m paying child support. If you’ve taken up with some rich guy, I don’t think I should have to give you anything. You’re probably better off now than I am. You ought to be paying me.”

It wasn’t the hurt that made her take a deep inward breath, it was the surprise. He wasn’t upset about her running off on a fling with a movie star or her failings as a mother or even about Elaina. It was about money.

She thought about telling him he paid hardly anything as it was. She thought about accusing him of all the ways he wasn’t a good father. She thought about bringing up how she’d worked two jobs over the last few months in an attempt to make ends meet. Somehow, as she held onto the phone, she realized it was a useless waste of emotional energy.

I am better off than you are, she wanted to say, but not in the way you think. I’m better off because somehow I’m going to get through this a better person.

She kept her voice calm. “The judge made a decision, and you’re obligated to it. If you don’t like it, you can discuss it with your lawyer. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Maybe I will call my lawyer,” he said, and then hung up the phone.

She knew he wouldn’t. The fees he’d have to pay his lawyer to take the case to court again would exceed anything he’d get in reduced child support. Alex was just being nasty—which didn’t bother her as much as the fact that he hadn’t been concerned about Elaina. He hadn’t asked to speak to her. He hadn’t even asked how she was.

Clarissa put down the phone, then went and peeked in on Elaina sleeping. The little girl lay on her bed, her blonde hair haloing her head. She looked so serene, so precious.

She needed a father who cared about her. Someone who wanted to play with her in the swimming pool and talk with her on the phone. Just like Clarissa needed a husband, someone who would love and support her.

And the only way she’d ever get either was if she opened herself up enough to care about someone, even if it meant getting hurt in the process. Without risk, there couldn’t be love.

Chapter Thirty

Slade and Bella didn’t stay long at the Aloha Tower. Bella found it only a mildly-interesting building and wanted to walk around the harbor instead. At lunch they stopped at a seafood restaurant. Slade couldn’t eat his shrimp cocktail without remembering the way Clarissa jumped around the hotel dining room, shaking her shirt while pieces of fish fell to the floor.

He momentarily considered not leaving for California in the morning. It would be nice to stay here vacationing with Clarissa. He pictured her on the beach, her hair fluttering in the breeze and her swimsuit hugging her curves. Then he erased the image from his mind. This was exactly the reason he needed to go back to California. Then Clarissa would be safely home with her perfectionist husband, and Slade would stay as far away from her as he could.

He had it figured out. When Clarissa tended Bella, he would leave before Clarissa came and not come home until after she left. Meredith would be there during the transition times and could take care of the payments and correspondence. That way Bella would still have the nanny she wanted, and he’d be out of temptation’s reach.

After lunch Slade and Bella walked around the marketplace, looking at shells and tourist items. He bought her a Hawaii T-shirt, a child-size grass skirt, and a shaved ice.

“Are we gonna get something for Elaina and Clarissa?” Bella asked as they walked along.

“I think that would be a good idea,” he said. “Why don’t you pick out something for Elaina, and I’ll pick out something for Clarissa.”

Bella quickly found a shell necklace she thought Elaina would like. Slade couldn’t find anything to give Clarissa. He wanted something that would tell her how much she meant to him, and somehow a T-shirt just didn’t convey that message.

After looking for awhile, Slade decided to forget tourist items, and they drove to a jeweler’s. “You can help me choose,” he told Bella as they walked in. Because, after all, Clarissa couldn’t turn down a gift Bella had picked out.

He wanted to get her a ring. Instead, he settled for a pair of black pearl earrings with tiny diamond accents. He would tell her they were for going above and beyond the call of a nanny by subjecting herself to a shirt full of dead fish in order to retrieve his child from underneath the salad bar.

She couldn’t refuse that, could she?

He picked up a pearl brooch for Meredith. She liked brooches, and if he gave her a gift too, it would make his gift to Clarissa seem less inappropriate.

A little after five o’clock they headed back to the resort. Bella was overly excited to show Elaina her gift, and as soon as they arrived at the hotel, she insisted they take it directly to Clarissa’s room.

Meredith, not Clarissa, opened the door. She smiled at the two of them. “Did you have a nice day?”

“Yes,” Slade said. “Where’s Clarissa?”

“I gave her the evening off. I thought it would be better if I watched the girls, you know, in case Zorro showed up.”

Slade smiled despite himself. “Better for Clarissa or better for you?”

Meredith returned his smile without missing a beat. “I’m still deciding.”

Bella ran into the room and over to where Elaina sat in front of a coloring book and crayons. Without waiting another second, Bella pulled her gift from its bag and put it around her friend’s neck.

“Isn’t it pretty?” Bella asked.

“Ooooh,” Elaina said with wonder.

Slade walked over to the girls. “It’s a present for you,” he told Elaina. “Bella picked it out.”

Bella bobbed her head. “And I helped picked out the earrings for Clarissa too.”

Slade frowned at his daughter. “Hey, that was supposed to be a surprise.” Then to Elaina he said, “I want to show them to your mom before anyone tells her about them. So can you keep it a secret?”

Elaina nodded and held the shell necklace up to look at it better. “I’m good at secrets. I haven’t told about the D force at all.”

“The D force?” Slade asked. “What’s that?”

“That’s why we don’t live at Daddy’s house anymore.”

Slade stared at her, letting the words sink in. “You don’t live with your father anymore?”

“Nope,” Elaina ran her fingers across the shells. “But he still loves me.”

“Your mother is divorced?” Slade asked again.

Elaina held a finger to her lips. “It’s a secret.”

Clarissa had lied to him? Why would she have lied to him about being married? He turned to Meredith. “Where is Clarissa? Is she at the hotel somewhere?”

“She’s out sightseeing,” Meredith said calmly.

“Could you be more specific?” He pulled his cell phone and his car keys from his pocket. He wanted to talk to Clarissa about this, but he would do it in person.

“You can’t go looking for Clarissa now,” Meredith said. “It’s a big island, and you’re in no mood to talk to her about it anyway.”

“I’m in exactly the mood to talk to her about it,” he said back.

Meredith glanced over at Elaina, then walked closer to the door and motioned Slade to follow her. When they were far enough away from the children, she whispered, “It’s always shocking to find out someone has lied to you, but I’m sure Clarissa had her reasons. If you talk to her about it now, you’ll just end up yelling at her, and I don’t think that’s what you want to do.”

“It’s exactly what I want to do,” he whispered back. “I trusted her. I tried to protect her from Landon. I thought I was going to hell for wanting a married woman. The least she owes me is a really good explanation.” He pressed her number into his cell phone. A phone on Clarissa’s end table rang. She hadn’t taken it with her. He scowled and swore.

“You need to calm down before you talk to her,” Meredith repeated.

Slade noticed the time displayed on his phone and he swore again. “No, actually I need to get ready to pick up Kim.”

“Kim,” Meredith said, considering the word.

Slade narrowed his eyes at Meredith. “You don’t seem terribly surprised by the whole divorce thing.” His eyes narrowed even further. “Did you know all along that Clarissa was single?”

Meredith put up one hand as though pledging. “I can honestly say that before today I thought she was a married woman.”

He grunted, then opened the door to leave.

“Slade,” she called after him. “Wait.”

He didn’t want to. “When Clarissa comes in, tell her I need to talk to her. Tonight.” He let the door close behind him and stalked down the hall to his room.

Chapter Thirty-one

Clarissa sat on a cheap plaid couch in the lobby of the Sunset Park Motel and changed her mind every thirty seconds as to whether she should stay or not.

It was ridiculous. The whole scheme was ridiculous, and the sooner she called it off the better. She needed to get up, walk out of the building, go back to her rental car, and find some service station where she could change back into normal clothes.

The lobby clock read 6:50. She still had ten minutes to escape. Or ten minutes to sit here while every passing person gawked at her.

Why couldn’t Kim have wanted to be something normal for Halloween? A surgeon or an Arabian princess, perhaps. But no, it had to be Cat Woman, and now Clarissa was stuck on a couch in a skintight leather and spandex outfit, looking like a hooker with an identity crisis.

The only saving grace of the whole thing was that none of the people who were now staring at her would ever recognize her again. Except for the holes around her eyes and lips, the costume covered every inch of her skin. And just to make the outfit complete, she had worn blood red lipstick and dark gray eyeshadow. When she had looked in the mirror earlier, she’d hardly recognized herself. Certainly no one else would.

Of course, that still didn’t mean she would be able to pull off the whole charade. Clarissa had no idea how to act like a botanist, let alone an English one. Meredith had let Clarissa read Kim’s undeleted e-mails. There weren’t many of them, and they weren’t very informative. All Clarissa knew about Kim was that she was specializing in something called systematics and that she thought the inevitable extinction of a quarter of Hawaii’s natural plant species was a tragedy of epic proportion. She just had to hope Slade never actually brought up the subject of botany.

The English accent was another thing to worry about. As Clarissa sat tapping her cat claws against the couch, she thought of British terms. In England elevators were lifts, apartments were flats, gas was petrol, policemen were bobbies, and flashlights were torches. Something on a car was a boot, and something else was a bonnet, although she couldn’t remember which was what. Probably none of these things would come up in the conversation anyway.

Why hadn’t she watched more of those educational British shows?

Clarissa looked up at the clock again. It read 6:54. If she got up right now and ran all the way to the parking lot, which she vaguely remembered was called a “car park” in England, she might make it to her rental without Slade seeing her. He would never know what she’d done. It still wasn’t too late.

Clarissa shifted on the couch but didn’t get up. For all the horrible images she had of the night, another image, a better one, kept replaying in her mind. In this scenario everything went fine. She and Slade had a wonderful time talking and dancing together. Then as Slade drove her back to her hotel, she asked him about his nanny. He hesitated for a few seconds, then told her how much he cared about Clarissa. A look of longing filtered through his eyes, and he murmured, “If only…”

Then the moment of Clarissa’s bravery came. She said, “Slade, you once told me that we all wear masks. Since then I’ve thought a lot about the masks I wear. Some are for politeness— but I have other masks—masks I use to protect myself.

“I have a self-reliant mask, so I won’t have to need anyone. I have a cynical mask, so I won’t have to trust anyone. And I have a victim mask that allows me to wallow in self-pity, so I won’t have to move on with my life. Being with you makes me want to take the chance of unmasking myself.” Then she would reach up and peel off her mask.

In this fantasy scenario, her hair was still lush and beautiful after taking off her mask, not stuck to the back of her neck in a sweaty clump, as it undoubtedly would be. In the fantasy, Slade always wore an expression of pleasant surprise.

In real life it might be very different. Well, if she took off her mask at all.

She looked up at the clock: 6:57. Maybe he’d be late. Maybe he was stuck in traffic somewhere, or lost, and wouldn’t show up. Maybe she still had hope for an escape.

And then she saw him walking through the lobby doors. Slade always had a powerful presence. As he strode into the lobby dressed in black, a cape flowing behind him, Clarissa didn’t know whether to laugh or to gasp and stare. He strode over to her. “Kim?”

She stood. “You must be Slade. Either that or the masked crusader has finally tracked me down.” The accent didn’t come out as well as she would have liked. She sounded like a nervous Eliza Doolittle, and now she was stuck with it.

He cocked his head, smiled at her, and said nothing.

“What?” she asked. “Are my ears on straight?”

“Yes, it’s just that…” His smile grew. “You’re much… taller than I remember.”

“Well, I should hope so. I was only ten when you last saw me.”

He looked her up and down, shaking his head. “You don’t look ten anymore.”

No, she thought, now I look like a streetwalker with a personality disorder. She smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”

He held his hand out to her. “Shall we go?”

“Let’s.” She took his arm, and they walked out of the lobby. Slade smiled all the way to his car. In fact, Clarissa couldn’t remember when she’d seen him so uncommonly happy.

During the car ride he asked her about her flight, the weather in Sheffield, and how she liked her motel. Then he said, “Tell me about what you’re doing here in Hawaii.”

“I’m studying the plant life,” she said, tapping a claw against her knee.

“I’ve always found plants so fascinating,” he said. “What exactly is it you do?”

“Well…” she shrugged as though not even she found it interesting enough to talk about. “Basically, I gather plants and examine them under a microscope.”

“What do you look for?”

That would have been a good thing to research before this date. “Different things,” she said. “Cell structure. Disease. Photosynthesis. That sort of stuff.”

“Photosynthesis? You can see that happening under a microscope?”

Umm. Maybe not. She had no idea.

She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “If you have the right type of microscope.” She should have brought her cell phone, she realized. If she’d brought a phone she could have faked some sort of emergency and insisted he take her back to the motel. She hadn’t brought it, though, because she didn’t have a place to put things, and she’d had the fear that Slade would call her—Clarissa—and grow suspicious when Kim’s phone suddenly went off. But now she was trapped in the car trying to remember the difference between chlorophyll and chloroform and hoping she didn’t have to use either of those words in the near future.

“I’ve never understood how photosynthesis works,” Slade said. “Could you explain it?”

No, not really. She glanced over at the dashboard and faked a gasp. Slade looked first at her and then at the dashboard. “What?”

She let out an exaggerated sigh. “For a moment I thought we were out of petrol. And wouldn’t it be horrible to be stuck out here without even so much as a torch? Or what if we had some other car trouble? I mean, can you see us crawling around the boot or the bobbie dressed like this?”

“The bobbie?” he asked.

“Bonnet,” she said. “I meant bonnet.”

He nodded. “Oh, right. Bonnet means hood in England, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s what I meant.” She cleared her throat again. “A bobbie is a policeman. And I can tell you, there’s never a bobbie around when you need one, so it’s a good thing we have enough petrol.”

“You were telling me about photosynthesis,” he said.

“Oh, you don’t want me to talk about my work.” She turned slightly toward him. “Why don’t you tell me about your job? How have things been in Hawaii?”

He shook his head. “I pitched a script, and the producer rejected it.”

“I’m sorry.” And then because he didn’t say anything else she added, “What will you do with it now?”

“I don’t know. I’ve gone through about every producer I can think of.” He took his gaze from the road long enough to look at her. “What do you think I ought to do with it?”

“Could you produce it yourself?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Movies cost a lot of money, though. It would be the equivalent of putting all my eggs in one basket. If the film bombed I’d be—”

“Chickenless?”

“Exactly. And I’d have to find the right actors and actresses.” He glanced over at her again. “Perhaps that wouldn’t be so hard though. These days it seems everyone is trying their hand at acting.”

She smiled back at him weakly, feeling more trapped by the second.

“Besides,” he went on. “I don’t know that I have the stamina to do the whole movie. I’m not sure it’s worth it to try.”

“If you believe in something, then it’s always worth it to try, even if you fail.”

He shrugged. “You may be right. But it would take a lot of my time, and I don’t have the best luck balancing work and my daughter.”

Just the segue she needed. “Don’t you have someone to help you?” she asked.

“I have a nanny.”

“Is she a good nanny?” Clarissa asked. “I mean, do you like her?”

Slade smiled. “She’s a good nanny. Although…”

“Although what?”

“Although sometimes she does things that make me wonder what in the world she’s thinking.”

Clarissa ran her hand along the door handle absentmindedly. “That doesn’t sound like you get along well.”

“Sometimes we get along very well.”

“Oh.” She tried to analyze what this meant, but couldn’t quite grasp its meaning. “So you consider her a friend?”

“Yes, except that friends listen to you more. Sometimes Clarissa refuses to listen to me.”

The friendship part was good to hear. She didn’t listen to the rest of his comment. She just ruminated about friendship and wondered if he meant “friends” as in the same way he felt about Meredith or “friends” as in there could be more to it. Before she could devise a question that would help her find out, the resort came into view.

Slade pointed it out. “There’s the Mahalo Regency. Isn’t it beautiful? You drive up to it and get the feeling you’ve been here before.”

Clarissa shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “Um, yes, you do.” He knows, she thought. Somehow he knows, and any moment now, he’s going to reach over and unmask me.

Slade pulled into the parking lot. “I need to talk to you about something before we go inside.”

“Oh?” She braced herself for the accusation.

“You see, while I was avoiding a certain woman, I gave some people the impression that you were my girlfriend. If it isn’t too much to ask, could you play along for tonight?”

“Sure,” Clarissa said. “I mean, if it will help you out.”

He slowed the car down as they drove up to the front of the building. “It will be our own masquerade within a masquerade,” he said and winked at her.

She smiled back at him and fiddled with her claws.

So he didn’t know.

Of course he didn’t know. How could he have known? She was just being paranoid, and if she didn’t start acting with more confidence, she’d end up giving herself away.

Slade put the car in park, and a valet came and opened the door for her. She stepped out, then waited for Slade to join her. When he did, she held out her arm for him to take. Instead, he put his hand around her waist and drew her close.

“Remember,” he said, “you’re my girlfriend.”

He guided her through the lobby and to the ballroom with his arm around her waist the entire time.

The room was decorated with pumpkins, fake spiderwebs, and cornstalks, but it was the people who caught her attention: Robin Hood, Rapunzel, The Grim Reaper, Marie Antoinette, and a couple of Klingon warriors all mingled in the crowd. She also noticed Zorro. He stood in a corner with one arm around a girl in a red devil’s miniskirt and the other around a buxom genie. She wore her bottle around her neck and very little else. He seemed quite engrossed with both women and not at all concerned with what Cinderella might be doing. Which is why, Clarissa supposed, he hadn’t dressed as Prince Charming.

Slade saw her staring in that direction. “You’ve noticed Zorro at work.”

“Is that who he’s supposed to be? I thought he was Don Juan.”

Slade laughed. “No, Don Juan is who he is in real life. As Zorro he gets to ride a horse—” Slade suddenly stopped himself. “I’ve forgotten—Landon is one of your favorite actors. I should introduce you.”

She wanted to talk to Landon, but not like this—not as Kim, and not with Slade beside her.

Slade took a step in Landon’s direction. Clarissa didn’t move. “That’s all right. I think I know him well enough right now.”

Slade grinned at her. “Yes, I suppose you do.”

He led her in a different direction, introducing her to the people he knew. He always kept his hand on her waist—except for the times he ran his hand slowly up her back and put it on her shoulder. It was hard to breathe during those times.

He was the model boyfriend as he made the introductions, calling her “hon” and telling people they’d met while he was researching some plants for a possible script idea. “It was love at first sight,” he told everyone. “I knew I was hooked when she spoke, and suddenly I thought mold and spores were the most interesting things in the world.” Here he always ran his hand up and down her back. “Yep, since then I’ve been likin’ lichen.”

Clarissa just smiled and said as little as possible.

They danced a few dances. Clarissa enjoyed the break, enjoyed not having to worry about what to say while the music played. And she enjoyed being so close to Slade. He smelled of some rich cologne that was probably made with large doses of testosterone.

When the two of them went to the refreshment table, Landon and Sherry sauntered up. Sherry wore a Wonder Woman costume and held a golden lasso, which she swung against her thigh absentmindedly.

Landon looked from Slade to Clarissa. “Well, look at what the cat dragged in.”

Slade rested his hand between Clarissa’s shoulders. Even through her costume she could feel the heat from his hand. It felt soothing and strong. “Landon, Sherry, this is my date, Kim Jones.”

Clarissa stuck her gloved hand out to shake Landon’s. He took her hand and kissed it instead. “You look beautiful enough to make me want to take up a life of crime.”

“You better not say that too loudly,” Clarissa told him. “After all, you’re standing next to Batman and Wonder Woman.”

Landon’s gaze went from her hand to her eyes, and his look held hers for a second longer than normal. Clarissa thought he suspected something, but the next moment he turned back to Slade. “Zorro can take on Batman any day. Anyone who needs a boy wonder to help him fight crime can’t be a serious superhero.”

Slade picked up a donut. “You’re just jealous because I have a cool car, and all you have is a horse.”

Sherry put her hands on her hips in Wonder Woman style. “Hey, I’m the coolest. I’ve got an invisible jet.”

“What’s cool about that?” Slade said. “It just means you can never find where you parked the thing.”

Landon elbowed her. “And the people on the ground get an interesting view as you fly overhead.”

“Watch it,” Sherry told him. “Or you’ll find yourself lassoed to the refreshment table.”

Clarissa put one claw to her lips. “I don’t have any cool gadgets or gizmos. I don’t even have a horse. How does Cat Woman ever get anything done?”

“She has magical dancing powers,” Landon said and reached out and took hold of her hand. “I’ll prove it to you.” Then he pulled her from Slade’s side and out towards the dance floor.

Slade stood, donut still in hand, shaking his head. He didn’t try to stop Landon from dancing with Clarissa. Clarissa didn’t stop him, either. Somehow, seeing Sherry right next to him, joking as though they were friends, bothered her.

A slow song was playing, and as Landon held her in position he asked her where she was from and how she knew Slade. She responded with the Kim answers she’d rattled off all night. In the back of her mind, however, she tried to formulate the right way to bring up Sherry.

So I was wondering if you’ve ever told Sherry any personal secrets that might embarrass you if they were printed in the tabloids.

This wasn’t going to be easy. Perhaps she could fake some psychic powers or something.

The song was nearing its end before she got up her courage. She leaned close to him. “This is going to sound peculiar, but I have a message to pass on to you from a friend.”

Landon’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “Really?”

“Never trust a woman who was named after an alcoholic beverage.”

He nodded with a smile. “And I thought you were Cat Woman. You’re actually the Riddler, right?”

“I’m serious.”

He glanced back to the refreshment table where Slade and Sherry were talking. “You’re wondering about Wonder Woman?”

Clarissa almost forgot her English accent and caught herself just in time. “She sold you out, Landon. She tried to tell Sylvia about your father’s drinking problems.”

Landon actually stopped dancing. He stood there, staring at Clarissa with complete seriousness. It struck her as she watched his expression that it was probably the first time she’d ever seen him not acting, not putting on a performance. “How do you know about my father?”

“I told you. I’m only delivering a message from a friend.”

Landon still stood without dancing. “Who?”

Who, yes, and then the next questions would be why and how. Maybe she should have gone with the psychic powers after all.

“Is the message from Slade?” he asked.

“No, not Slade. Don’t mention it to him.” She pulled at Landon’s hand to move him forward a bit. “People will wonder why you’re just standing here.”

Landon moved his feet and hands in a poor imitation of dancing. “What exactly did Sherry do?”

The music ended. Slade was watching them expectantly.

“I can’t tell you right now. We’ll talk later.” But only if she couldn’t find a way to avoid Landon for the rest of the night.

She took his hand and pulled him back to Slade and Sherry. Slade held two drinks, and as Clarissa walked up, he handed her one. “I think Zorro was right. You do have magical dancing powers.”

Landon didn’t say anything. He stared at Sherry.

Slade gestured at two uniformed police officers who walked through the door not far from them. “It seems like law enforcement is the costume of choice tonight,” he said. “You picked the wrong time to be a criminal.”

The officers stopped a passing Bo Peep, talked with her for a few moments, and then headed across the floor toward AJ.

“I don’t think those are costumes,” Clarissa said.

“Of course they’re costumes,” Slade answered. They all watched silently as the men reached AJ.

Decked out in cowboy boots, spurs, vest, hat, and holster, AJ turned to the officers. One of them said something to him, and AJ’s jaw dropped. The officers gestured toward the door, and AJ stormed across the room with the officers following close behind him. As he walked past Clarissa, she heard him growl out, “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”

AJ disappeared into the lobby, continuing his verbal assessment of the situation and using increasingly colorful adjectives. Slade took a sip of his drink. “I don’t think those were costumes.”

“What would AJ be in trouble for?” Landon asked.

So she wouldn’t have to offer an opinion, Clarissa took a drink from her glass.

Sherry stepped sideways and craned her head to get a better view out the door where AJ had gone. “It’s probably a security problem or something,”

Without moving the glass from her lips, Clarissa surveyed the room. Sylvia was here somewhere. Clarissa knew it.

Chapter Thirty-two

Clarissa looked around the room for a costume that could plausibly conceal the reporter. A witch maybe.

Sherry was still staring out the door after the policemen.

“Do you see anything?” Slade asked her.

“Just a few people waiting in the lobby,” Sherry said. “AJ went down the hallway.”

Clarissa scooted forward in order to see out the door too. Along with a few miscellaneous people, Sylvia and the other reporter, Doug Rockwell, stood in the lobby. They stared expectantly down the hallway.

So, not only had Sylvia taken the bait, she’d taken the police out fishing with her.

Clarissa glanced around the room again, wondering if S.W.A.T. team members were close by, scaling the resort walls in commando fashion. Then she took another sip of her drink.

Landon walked over to the door to better see what was happening. The rest of the group followed. For several minutes there wasn’t any activity in the lobby, unless you counted Sylvia pacing around.

Then AJ and the police officers came back down the hallway. AJ had the swagger back in his step and laughed as he walked. “Well, officers,” he said in a booming voice, “you’d be hard-pressed to shoot anyone with those guns, but if anyone else complains, direct them to me and I’ll try.”

One of the officers gave him a curt nod. “I’m sorry we bothered you, sir. Thanks for your cooperation.”

The officers turned toward the front door, one talking into his hand-held radio.

Sylvia swept over to them. “You didn’t find anything?” she asked incredulously. “Did you check all of the crates? He’s probably hiding the real ones.”

The police officer gave her a patient look. “We examined the prop weapons, ma’am. We have no reason at this point to issue a warrant.”

Sylvia took a few steps forward until she stood between the officers and the door. “That’s it? You’re going to let him get away with weapon smuggling because the rifles weren’t sitting out in the open where you could see them?”

The police officer said something back to her. His voice didn’t have nearly the volume of Sylvia’s, so Clarissa couldn’t tell what. After a moment the officers stepped around her and went out the door. Sylvia stood glaring after them with clenched fists.

AJ put his thumbs through his belt loops, stepped sidewise so his feet were slightly apart, and for a moment actually looked like a cowboy about to take down a heifer. “So that’s what you’ve sunk to. Now you’re making up accusations and trying to get the police to believe them.” AJ nodded to her. “I think you’ve stepped over the bounds of reporting and into the field of harassment, Ms. Stanfield. I wonder what my lawyer will have to say about all of this.”

Without waiting for a response, AJ turned and strode back into the party.

Doug walked toward Sylvia, smiling. “And to think I was afraid I wouldn’t get a story on this trip. How does this sound…?” He held one hand up as though showing her something suspended in the air. “Celebrity Reporter Has Paranoia Attack and Calls In Police to Search Props.” He laughed, then held up the other hand. “Or how about: ‘Sylvia Stanfield Reassigned to Cover Cultural Issues in Borneo’?”

Sylvia shook a finger at him, her lips pursed into a scowl. Then she caught sight of Sherry standing in the doorway. Her finger and her scowl immediately turned to the actress. “You,” she spat out. “You set me up!”

Sherry took a startled step backward, shaking her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sylvia’s face flushed red, and her eyes narrowed into tiny slits. “Yes, you do, and don’t think I’ll let you get away with this.” She turned and stormed across the lobby.

As she heaved open the glass door, Doug called out to her, “What are you going to do about it, Sylvia? Call the police?”

Sherry stepped away from the doorway and back into the ballroom. She was shaking. Her face looked pale against her red lipstick. “I don’t know what she was talking about,” she said again. “I don’t know why she said those things.”

“You should sit down,” Slade said, concerned. “You look like you’re about to faint.” He took hold of Sherry’s arm and led her to a chair. She went with him without protest.

As Landon followed, Clarissa reached out and took hold of his arm for a moment. “Do you hear that sound?” she asked.

He stopped and listened. “What sound?”

She leaned closer to him. “It’s the sound of a favor being paid off.”

He looked at her more closely. “What do you know about all of this?”

“It has to do with blackmail, or in this case, greenmail. Maybe Sherry will explain it to you.”

Slade returned then, taking Clarissa’s hand in his as though it were a natural thing. “Do you know what the funny thing about tonight is?”

She shook her head.

“This won’t even make the list of top ten memorable things that have happened at AJ’s parties.” He turned to Landon, expecting some sort of commentary. Landon shrugged and didn’t respond.

Slade squeezed Clarissa’s hand. “You haven’t met AJ yet. I’ll introduce you.”

She would have liked to protest on the grounds that AJ needed time to recover from his police visit, but he was clearly fine. He stood in the middle of a group of people, waving one hand in the air in reenactment and laughing uproariously.

Natalie stood beside him, quietly watching him with her arms folded. Clarissa was half surprised they were together. Perhaps they had worked things out. Or perhaps Natalie had found a way to convince AJ that Bella hadn’t told the truth. Maybe they just hadn’t decided to make their breakup official yet.

Like AJ, Natalie wore a cowboy hat and boots. Her black jeans were so tight they were probably one size away from being classified as a tourniquet, and her black halter top, equally tight, was covered with silver studs.

“So,” Slade said as they approached the couple, “you’ve gone from a gunslinger to a gun smuggler?”

AJ grinned. “I figured it would be less stressful than the TV business.” He reached out his hand to Clarissa. “And you must be the botanist we’ve heard so much about.”

Clarissa took his hand in hers and tried to shake it without gouging him with her claws. “Kim Jones. Lovely party. Absolutely brilliant.”

Natalie’s gaze slid over Clarissa. “You’re a doctor of botany?”

“That’s right.”

She raised one eyebrow. “So what exactly do you do?”

“Oh, well, I specialize in systematics.”

“Systematics? What does that mean?”

“That means I do what I do systematically.” Clarissa laughed as though it was meant to be a joke and then desperately looked around the room for a reason to change the subject.

“What kind of plants do you like to study?” AJ asked.

She could only think of one offhand. “My favorite is the algae bloom. Over in England we like to say there’s nothing like a bloomin’ algae bloom.”

Natalie smirked. “Really? That sounds absolutely fascinating.”

AJ surveyed the room. “Chuck from props is a Brit too. You ought to introduce them, Slade. Chuck loves talking about England stuff.” He craned his head around and then his gaze stopped suddenly. “Oh, there he is—over by the hors d’oeuvres.”

Slade looked at Clarissa. “Shall we?”

“Not right now,” she said. “They’re playing our song.” She waved a clawed good-bye to AJ and Natalie, and pulled Slade onto the dance floor.

Slade walked with her slowly. “Our song is ‘The Monster Mash’?”

“Sorry. I didn’t want to meet anyone else. I’ve hardly had a chance to talk to you all night.”

Even though it wasn’t a slow song, Slade didn’t let go of Clarissa’s hand. He pulled her closer to him. “Sorry to be so forward,” he whispered into her ear, “but people are watching, and this is part of our masquerade.”

It occurred to her as he held her, his body moving just inches away from hers, that she was supposed to find out what he felt about his nanny. She couldn’t think of a suitable way to bring up the topic, though. Standing close to Slade made everything else seem muddled. It was easier to sway to the rhythm of the music next to him. Here, like this, she could pretend that nothing else mattered, that there were no masks or masquerades.

“This Batman costume is really hot,” he said.

“I thought so the moment I saw you in it.”

He laughed. “You know what I mean. That Cat Woman suit has got to be just as stuffy. I’m going to take off my mask. Do you want me to help you take yours off?”

“No.” She said the word too quickly. “I mean, I don’t want to mess up my makeup. I’ll wait until I’m in front of a mirror.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, “literally, in this case.”

She jarred at the phrase. She’d said the same words to him the night she’d gone swimming. The fact that he’d repeated them now didn’t mean anything, though. She was just being paranoid again.

The music ended, and he bent his head toward her ear. “Seeing as this is our song, I ought to give you a kiss—for appearances’ sake.”

“All right.”

He tilted her chin up, then kissed her lightly on the lips. It was only the whisper of a kiss, the suggestion. Afterward, he continued to hold her closely. “Of course, seeing that we’re in love and you’ve flown in from England to see me, I probably should give you a better kiss than that.”

“Probably,” she said.

He pressed his lips to hers again, more ardently this time. His arms engulfed her and she felt a dizzying sort of breathlessness. When he broke their embrace he said, “It’s too hot to dance. Do you want to go for a walk outside and cool down?”

She nodded. “Sure.” It wasn’t a very British word but kissing Slade made it hard to think straight.

“Good. Let’s go.” He took her hand, and they walked out of the room and to an exit. Once outside they turned down the path that led to the resort’s garden. Slade still held her hand, dropping it only while he peeled off his Batman mask.

After his mask was off, he ran a hand through his still-wavy hair. “That thing is awful. I don’t know how George Clooney and Christian Bale stood it.” Slade turned his attention back to Clarissa. “Are you sure you don’t want to take yours off? You’ll feel better.”

No she wouldn’t. “Maybe in a bit.”

Even though they didn’t have to keep up appearances out here, he took her hand back in his, and they continued down the path. It was the perfect time to say something. Clarissa tried to think of some casual way to bring up women, relationships, or nannies and wished he’d say something so she wouldn’t have to.

He didn’t.

They walked in silence for a few more moments, and then she decided on the direct approach. “You probably know a lot of different types of women.”

“I suppose so,” he said.

“And you probably know exactly what type of woman interests you.”

“I suppose so,” he said again, this time with a slight smile on his lips.

“So what kind is it?”

He glanced around, saw they were alone, then leaned up against a half wall that ran beside the path.

“You really want to know?” He pulled her slowly to him. He looked into her eyes, intently, then bent down and kissed her.

It was a strong kiss, an insistent one, completely without the pretense of being for anyone else’s benefit. And Clarissa wondered, as she wound her arms around his neck, if it was wholly appropriate for someone to hold her this way when he hadn’t seen her since she was ten years old. Perhaps he moved fast when it came to women. Or perhaps this meant he wasn’t interested in his nanny. Or maybe the two of them just had good chemistry. Kissing him made it hard to figure things out.

He ran his hand up her back to her neck and left it there, doing his best to caress her neck through her costume. When he ran his fingers under the back of her mask, she pulled away from him, putting some distance between them.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“We still don’t know each other very well.”

He let her go and leaned back against the wall, surveying her. “I feel like I know you really well.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, and the funny thing is, you’ve changed so much since we were kids.”

“Oh? In what way?”

He folded his arms, cocked his head, and looked at her lazily. “Well, for one thing you used to be black.”

His words hit her like a gunshot.

He’d known all along, and all along had been laughing at her.

Or perhaps he didn’t quite know everything. He knew she was an impostor, but he couldn’t know who she was. He wouldn’t have kissed her if he’d known who she was. Without another word, Clarissa turned and started back up the path. She was prepared to jog back to the Sunset Park Motel if need be. She got only two steps away before he called after her.

“Clarissa, don’t you dare run away from me.”

So it was worse than she thought. He knew everything—no, not everything. Just enough to make her look despicable. She wanted to say, “I can explain.” But how could she? Instead, she turned and asked, “How did you know it was me?”

One of his eyebrows lifted. “Besides the fact that you’re white?”

“There are a lot of white girls who could fit into this costume.”

“I’ve been looking into your eyes for almost a week now. You thought I wouldn’t recognize them?”

“Oh.” She would have been flattered by this comment if she didn’t know that every other sentence in this conversation would be in the form of harsh criticism.

“You’re probably wondering why I kissed you,” she said.

He said something low under his breath, then walked over to where she stood. “I’m wondering why you lied to me about being married.”

“You know that too? How long have you known?”

He glanced at his watch. “For about three hours. Elaina told me how well she keeps secrets. She hasn’t told anyone about the ‘D force’.”

Was it anger she heard in his voice? Disappointment? Clarissa closed her eyes in an attempt to shut everything off. “I didn’t mean to lie to you. I just needed the job, and the only reason the job interviewer even sent me to your house was because he knew Alex. I couldn’t tell him what a jerk Alex had turned out to be.”

“And you couldn’t tell me because?”

“I knew you’d be angry.”

“You knew I’d be angry?” Slade repeated like it didn’t make any sense.

“And because I wasn’t sure it would matter to you in the way I wanted it to matter.”

He nodded, although she wasn’t sure if that meant he agreed it didn’t matter to him, or only that he understood why she’d done it. He held out a hand to indicate her costume. “And you decided to have a night out as Cat Woman because…?”

“I wanted to find out how you felt about me.”

“You were going to accomplish that by pretending to be a completely different woman?”

“Well, it made sense when Meredith suggested it.”

“And exactly what did you do with the real Kim? Is she tied up in a coat closet or something?”

Clarissa couldn’t tell whether he was teasing or not. “Um, no. She had to attend to an algae bloom off the Gulf of Mexico.”

Slade folded his arms and stared at her with an expression she couldn’t discern.

“I was going to tell you eventually,” she said. “I was just waiting for the right time.” Then, because she really longed to be free of it, she unsnapped her mask from where it attached to the rest of the suit. She pulled it off and ran her fingers through her damp hair in an attempt to revive it. Softly she said, “I’m sorry, Slade.”

He watched her, arms still folded, and didn’t speak.

“Will you please say something?” she asked.

“All right,” he said. “I can’t believe it, but I think AJ was right about my script. At this moment I have absolutely no desire to discuss the meaning of life.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Clarissa said. And then a bit more defensively added, “But would you like to comment on the fact that you knew who I was and kissed me several times anyway?”

He stepped slowly toward her. “Those were for each of the times over the last week that I wanted to kiss you and then went back to my room and told myself I was going to hell.”

“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry. I mean, I’m sorry about deceiving you. If it’s any consolation, I can’t tell you how many times I went to my room feeling miserable because I had lied to you.”

He still stared at her, a smile on his lips. “Come here,” he told her. “I’m still about seventeen kisses short.”

And so she came to him and set the balance straight.

* * *

By the time Slade and Clarissa walked back toward the hotel, she felt light-headed and enveloped in happiness. She had to keep herself from giggling and acting like a teenager out on her first date. Before they went into the hotel, they both put their masks back on. Slade helped her tuck stray pieces of hair into hers, kissed her again, then took her hand and they went inside.

“Do you want to skip the rest of the party?” he asked.

She gazed around at the people in their costumes. It was too noisy and there were too many people around. “Yeah, I think I’m done wearing masks for awhile.”

Her comment made him smile.

Once they were in the elevator, Slade said, “Let’s change and take a walk on the beach.”

It sounded like a perfectly romantic thing to do, and she still couldn’t quite believe that Slade wanted to do it with her. “What about my rental car?” she asked. “It’s still at the Sunset Park Motel.”

He squeezed her hand. “The nice thing about being me is that I have super powers. Well, actually what I have is staff—in this case, the hotel staff that I can pay to drive your car to the rental company.”

She squeezed his hand back. “It’s awesome to be you.”

“I’ve always thought so.” His smile dimmed a little then. “Although I probably should warn you what it’s like to date a celebrity.” He sighed and didn’t speak for a moment. The door of the elevator opened and they walked out, making their way to their rooms.

“I know you have a busy filming schedule,” Clarissa said. “Meredith told me.”

“That’s not what I meant.” His fingers were casually intertwined with hers, as though they had been holding hands all week. “Once people know about us, you’ll constantly have to worry about who might be taking your picture, what the entertainment sites will say about you—and I’ll tell you right now, it doesn’t matter what you wear, somebody will hate it.”

“I’ll manage,” Clarissa said.

“That’s not the worst of it,” Slade said. “People will come out of the woodwork wanting favors from you. Anybody you ever knew who has any interest in acting, celebrities, or who needs money for their cause will contact you asking for something.” They had reached her room, but she didn’t get her key card out. She took her mask off again, still listening to Slade’s list. “Then when those people are done, complete strangers will start asking. Trust me, you’ll be better off if you just get an unlisted phone number right now.”

“You haven’t scared me off yet.”

He peeled off his mask. “You’ll also have to be on the lookout for paparazzi. You have no idea what some people are like.”

“Um, actually I do.” Clarissa filled him in about Sylvia, telling him everything down to her fake note.

Slade listened to her, incredulous, and then couldn’t stop laughing.

“So anyway,” Clarissa finished up. “I know how bad reporters can be. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Well, somebody has,” Slade said and bent down to kiss her again.

They were still standing like that when Landon’s voice interrupted them. “Sure, she’s just the nanny.”

Clarissa turned and saw him down the hallway walking toward his room. “I knew all along that wasn’t the truth,” Landon called to them, then went in his room shaking his head.

Epilogue

The next fall when Bella started kindergarten, she had a mother to drop her off. Her father came too, as well as Elaina, who was teary-eyed because Bella was a big girl now and Elaina still wasn’t.

“You get to go to preschool, though,” Slade told her brightly. “Preschool is lots of fun.”

“And you get to be mommy’s helper around the house,” Clarissa added.

Elaina frowned, unconvinced.

Bella flitted around her desk, looking at the things. “And you get to help mom wait for the new baby,” she told Elaina.

Slade glanced around the room to see who had overheard that statement. The kindergarten teacher and several parents were smiling approvingly. “Bella,” Slade said in a low voice, “we weren’t going to say anything about the baby for awhile, remember?”

Clarissa just laughed. Slade had been right during their first meeting when he’d told her that people with children couldn’t have secrets. But that was okay. She didn’t need a mask anymore.

The End

Other Works by Janette Rallison

Playing The Field

Blue Eyes and Other Teenage Hazards

My Double Life

A Longtime (and at One Point Illegal) Crush

All’s Fair in Love, War, and High School

Life, Love, and the Pursuit of Free Throws

Fame, Glory, and Other Things on my To Do List

It’s a Mall World After All

Revenge of the Cheerleaders

How to Take The Ex Out of Ex-boyfriend

Just One Wish

My Fair Godmother

My Unfair Godmother

Slayers (under pen name CJ Hill)

Slayers: Friends and Traitors (under pen name CJ Hill)

Erasing Time (under pen name CJ Hill)

Echo in Time (under pen name CJ Hill)

About Janette Rallison

Janette Rallison (who is also sometimes CJ Hill when the mood strikes her) writes books because writing is much more fun than cleaning bathrooms. Her avoidance of housework has led her to writing 21 novels which have sold over 1,000,000 copies. Her books have been on the IRA Young Adults’ Choices lists, Popular Picks, and many state reading lists. Most of her books are romantic comedies or urban fantasies (with romance) because hey, there is enough angst in real life, but there’s a drastic shortage of fantasy, humor and hot guys who want to kiss you. She lives in Arizona with her husband, kids, and enough cats to classify her as eccentric.

Read more about Janette and her books at JanetteRallison.com.

Running Barefoot

by Amy Harmon

For Shauna,

The first to read and love my book

And because she loves Levan

Prelude

I’ve lived all my life in a small town in Utah called Levan. Levan is located right in the center of the state, and people from the town like to joke about how Levan is navel spelled backwards. “We’re the belly button of Utah,” they say. Not very distinguished, I know, but it seems to help people remember the name. Generations of my family have lived in Levan, all the way back to the first settlers in the late 1860s, when the settlement had the nickname Little Denmark. Those first few families that settled the town were Mormons, trying to find a place to finally call home and be left alone, to raise their families and worship in peace.

Most of the people in the town were descendants of the fair-haired Danes. My Jensen ancestors were among those early settlers from Denmark, and my hair is still a pale blonde all these many generations later. My mom, with her rich brown hair, was the only non-blonde in the family, and she had no chance against a very stubborn Danish gene. My dad, my three brothers and I all share the same fair hair and sky blue eyes as my great, great Grandpa Jensen who crossed the plains as a very young man, settled in early Levan, built a house, and built a life.

Many years ago, Levan was a thriving little town, or so my dad said. Along Main Street there was Shepherd’s Mercantile Store and an ice cream parlor where the ice cream was homemade from the blocks of ice cut and stored during the summer months in a big ice pit covered with earth, salt and straw. There was a healthy elementary school and a town hall. Then the new freeway was built, and it bypassed Levan by a few miles. The town had never been built to draw attention, but it began a slow death as the trickle of new blood slowed to a stop. The ice cream parlor was long gone by the time I was born, and then the mercantile had to close its doors.

The grade school fell into disrepair, shrinking to a one-room schoolhouse as the younger generation grew up and left without anyone to fill the desks they vacated. The older kids rode a bus for half an hour to a neighboring town called Nephi for junior and senior high school, and by the time I was old enough for elementary school there was one teacher for the kindergarten through 2nd grades and another for the third through sixth grades. Some people moved away, but most of the families that had been there for generations hung on and stayed.

All that remained along Main Street was a small general store where the townsfolk could purchase anything from milk to fertilizer. It boasted the name Country Mall. I have no idea why—it was the furthest thing from a mall there ever was. Long ago, the owner added a room on each end of the store and rented out the space for some locals to set up shop.

On one end it had a few tables and a little kitchen that served as a diner where the old men sat and drank their coffee in the morning. “Sweaty Betty” Johnson (we called her Mrs. Johnson to her face) ran the diner and has for longer than I can remember. She’s a one-woman operation. She cooks, waitresses, and manages it all on her own. She makes fluffy homemade donuts and the best greasy french fries on the planet. Everything she makes is deep-fried, and her face has a permanent sheen from the grease and the heat, which is how she got the nickname Sweaty Betty. Even cleaned up for church on Sundays, her face glows, and sadly, it isn’t from the Holy Spirit.

On the other end, my Aunt Louise provided cuts, color, and good company for most of the women in Levan. Her last name is spelled Ballow, but it’s pronounced Ba LOO with the accent on Loo. So she called her shop Ballow’s ‘Do, but most people just called it Louise’s.

Out in front of the “mall” there were a couple of gas pumps and a snow cone shack called Skinny’s that Louise’s kids (my cousins) run in the summer. Louise’s husband Bob was a truck driver and was gone a lot, and Louise had five kids she needed to keep busy while she cut hair. Louise decided it was time for a family business. Skinny’s Snow Cone Shack was born. Bob built a simple wooden shop that ended up looking a little like a tall skinny outhouse, hence the name Skinny’s. The general store sold blocks of ice so they had a convenient source for their snow. Louise bought an ice shaver and some syrup from the Cola distributor in Nephi, along with some straws, napkins, and some Styrofoam cups in 2 sizes. It was a pretty simple business model with a very low overhead. Louise paid the kid on duty $5 a day, plus as many snow cones as they wanted. My cousin Tara, who is the same age as me, ate so many snow cones one summer that she made herself sick. She can’t stand them to this day; even the smell of snow cones makes her gag.

There was a tiny brick post office down the street and a bar called Pete’s right next to the church—interesting location, I know—and that was Levan. Everybody knew which skills each person possessed, and we had a blacksmith, a baker, even a candlestick maker. My dad could shoe a horse better than anyone; Jens Stephenson was a great mechanic, Paul Aagard, a handy carpenter, and so on. We had talented seamstresses, cooks, and decorators. Elena Rosquist was a mid-wife and had delivered several babies who had come without much warning, leaving no time to make the drive to the hospital in Nephi. We made do by trading on our skills, whether we had an actual sign out front or not.

Eventually, a few new families moved to Levan, deciding it wasn’t all that far to commute to the bigger cities. It was a good place to settle in and a good place to have and create roots. In very small towns the whole town helps raise the kids. Everybody knows who everybody is, and if something or someone is up to no good, it gets back to the parents before a kid can get home to tell his side of it. The town wasn’t much bigger than a square mile, not counting the outer-lying farms, but as a child it was my whole world.

Perhaps the smallness of that world made my early loss more bearable, simply because I was looked after and loved by so many. It made my later loss harder to recover from, however, because it was a collective loss, a very young life snuffed out on the brink, a shock to the sleepy community. No one expected me to move on. Like a shoe that has lost its mate is never worn again, I had lost my matching part and didn’t know how to run barefoot.

The early loss I refer to was the death of my mother. I was just shy of nine years when Janelle Jensen, wife and mother, succumbed to breast cancer. I remember clearly how terrified I was when her beautiful hair fell out and she wore a little pink stocking cap to cover her baby smooth head. She laughed and said she would get a blonde wig to finally match the rest of the family. She never did; she was gone too soon. She had been diagnosed with cancer just after Christmas. The cancer had already spread to her lungs and was inoperable. By the 4th of July she’d already been dead for two weeks. I remember hearing the first sounds of celebration commemorating our country’s independence, hating the independence that had been suddenly forced upon me. The jarring crack, boom, and whiz of neighborhood fireworks had my dad’s lips tightening and his hands clenching.

He had looked at us, his four somber tow-heads, and tried to smile.

“Whaddaya say, J-Crew?” His voice had cracked on my mother’s favorite family nickname. “You wanna drive into Nephi and see the big fireworks?”

My dad’s name is Jim, and my mother thought their names starting with the same letter was just further proof that they belonged together. So she named each of her babies a J name to fit the mold. She wasn’t terribly original, because in Levan you’ll find families with all K names, all B names, and all Q names. You name the letter, we’ve got it. People even have themes for their children’s names, giving them monikers like Rodeo and Justa Cowgirl. I’m not kidding.

So in my family we were all J’s—Jim, Janelle, Jacob, Jared, Johnny, and Josie Jo Jensen. The “J Crew.” The only problem with that was that whenever my mom needed one of us she had to run through the litany of J names before she stumbled on the right one. I don’t know why I remember this, small as it was, but in the days and weeks before my mom died, I don’t ever remember her tripping over any of our names. Perhaps the distracting details of daily life that had once made her tongue-tied dissolved in their insignificance, and she gave her rapt attention to our every word, our every expression, our every move.

We didn’t go see the big fireworks that year. My brothers and I wandered out to watch the neighbors set off bottle rockets and spinners, and my dad spent the night in the barn trying to escape the mocking sounds of revelry. Hard work became my dad’s anecdote to depression; he worked endlessly and let alcohol blur the cracks in between.

We had a small farm with chickens and cows and horses, but farming didn’t pay well, and my dad worked at the power plant in Nephi to make a living. With three brothers who were much older than I, my duties on our little farm were minimal. My dad did need a housekeeper and a cook though, and I expected myself to fill my mother’s shoes. Jacob, Jared, and Johnny were 7, 6, and 5 years older than I was. My mom always said I was a beautiful surprise, and when she was alive I had relished the fact that I was the baby girl, doted upon by the whole family. But with Mom gone everything changed, and nobody wanted a baby anymore.

Initially, we had more help than we knew what to do with. Levan is the only town I know where no assignments are ever made to feed a family after a funeral. Traditionally, we have our viewings the day before the funeral and then again for an hour right before the service. After the funeral and the burial, the family and friends come back to the church for a huge meal served up by the good women of the town. No one ever says “I’ll bring a cake,” or “I’ll supply the potatoes.” The food just arrives—a plethora of meats, salads, and side dishes, cakes, pastries and pies. The women of Levan can make a spread unlike anything you’ve ever seen. I remember walking along the tables laden with food after my mother’s funeral, looking at the beautiful assortment and not having any desire to eat a single bite. I was too young to understand the concept of comfort food.

The bounty continued for days on end after the funeral. Someone different brought dinner every night for three weeks. Nettie Yates, an older woman from down the road, came over almost every other evening and organized the food, putting most of it in containers and freezing it for later. No family could possibly eat the amount of food we received, even a family with three teenaged boys. But eventually, the food trickled to a stop, and the people of Levan moved on to other tragedies.

My dad wasn’t very accomplished in the kitchen, and after months of peanut butter sandwiches and cereal, I asked my Aunt Louise to show me how to make a couple of things. She came over on a Saturday and showed me the basics. I made her outline in minute detail how to boil water (Keep the lid on ‘til it boils, pull it off once it does!) how to fry eggs (You gotta keep the burner on low to cook eggs!) how to fry hamburger (Keep turnin’ it ‘til there’s no more pink). I wrote everything down very carefully, making Louise describe each step. I wrote out recipes for pancakes (Turn them over when they get big moon craters in them), spaghetti (A touch of brown sugar in the sauce was Louise’s secret), and chocolate chip cookies (It’s the shortening that makes them soft and puffy). Louise was frazzled at the end of the day, but I had lists and lists of very detailed instructions, written in my childish hand, taped to the fridge.

After a month everyone was sick of pancakes and spaghetti—my brothers never get sick of chocolate chip cookies, and Louise said her head would explode if she “ever had to do that again,” so I started asking women from church if I could come over and watch them make dinner. I did this every time I needed a new recipe. The women were always kind and patient, taking me through the process, describing the ingredients and where to find them in the store or in the garden. I even drew myself pictures of the cans and the cartons so I wouldn’t forget what everything was. I made myself a vegetable chart with colorful depictions of what the TOP of the vegetable looked like (ie.carrots, radishes, potatoes) so I would know what to pull out of the ground. We didn’t have our own garden the first couple of years after Mom died, but Nettie Yates let me raid her garden whenever I wanted. Eventually, she helped me plant my own little vegetable patch that expanded every year. By the time I was in high school, I had a good sized garden that I planted, tended, and harvested by myself.

I learned how to do the wash, separating out the whites from the darks, the grease-stained work pants from the regularly soiled clothing. I kept the house straight, imagining I was Snow White mothering the seven messy dwarfs. I even pedaled down to the old post office and picked up the mail every day. We didn’t have mailboxes in front of our houses in Levan. Instead, everything was delivered to the post office, and each person in the town had a box and a key. Dad would lay out the things that needed to be sent, and I would make sure they had stamps and were taken to the post office. By the time I was twelve, I knew how to balance a checkbook, and my dad opened a household account for me. From that point on, I handled the utilities and the groceries from my account. Dad took care of the farm, and I took care of the house.

The only thing I did not want to do was look after the chickens. My mother had always taken care of the chickens, feeding them, gathering their eggs, and cleaning up after them. I had always been deathly afraid of the chickens. My mom told me once, when I was just a toddler, the boys had gotten distracted when they were supposed to be watching me. I wandered out to the barnyard and a particularly ornery red hen cornered me, and I was frozen in terror by the time Mom found me. Mom said I wasn’t crying, but when she picked me up I was as stiff as a board, and I had nightmares for weeks afterwards.

Chickens are hard to form attachments to. They are aggressive and ill-tempered and quick to peck and squabble. The first time I gathered eggs after Mom died, I almost hyperventilated I was so terrified. Little by little, the conquering of my fear made me feel powerful, and I began to take pride in caring for the unlovable birds. I named each one and talked to them as if they were my naughty children. With every task I mastered, the more in control I felt, and I became very adept at trudging along in my mother’s footprints.

Maestro

I liked having a purpose, I liked being needed, and I found that serving my dad and my brothers made me love them more. Loving them more made it easier to live without my mom. I had been a serious child before, more content to be alone than with playmates, but my mother’s death made my solitary nature more solitary still. The more independent I got, the harder it became to act my age; I didn’t climb up in my dad’s lap or demand to be hugged and kissed. I didn’t throw fits when I had been ignored too long. I suppose I acted like a very small grown-up. Loneliness wasn’t something I minded all that much. It was better than other people’s sympathy pressing at me all the time.

There were times, especially the year after my mom’s death, when the grief in our house felt like putting a heavy quilt over your head and trying to breathe. The weight of our combined sadness was claustrophobic, and I found myself grieving away from home as much as I could. When I wasn’t busy with chores, I would get on my blue bike and pump my legs as hard as I could until I reached the little cemetery at the bottom of Tuckaway Hill, about a mile from my house. I would sit by my mom’s grave and let the silence loose the blanket of unshed tears until breathing became easier. I would bring my books and read with my back pressed up against the stone that bore her name. My books were my friends, and I devoured everything I could get my hands on. All my favorite characters became my heroes. Anne of Green Gables became my best friend, A Little Princess, and Heidi, sources of strength and example. I relished happy endings where kids like me triumphed in spite of hardship. There was always hardship in the stories, and this realization comforted me. I was inspired by sacrifice in The Summer of the Monkeys, and planted a red fern at my mother’s grave for Dan and Ann after reading Where the Red Fern Grows.

It was on one of these days, reading alone in the cemetery, a little more than a year after Mom died, when a long, white Cadillac slowly slid its way down the dirt road that ran along the west side of the cemetery. There were no white Cadillacs in Levan; actually, there were no Cadillacs at all in Levan, white or otherwise. I watched as it made its way towards me, kicking up dust and drawing my attention from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, which I had read twice before. It purred by and climbed the lane that led to the Brockbank summer homes on Tuckaway Hill. Maybe a new family had moved in. I was suddenly, overwhelmingly, curious to see where that car was going. I figured I could be sneaky, using the sagebrush as cover if I felt exposed when I got close. The lane was steep, and my skin was itchy with sweat and dust as my bike leveled out on the top of the hill.

Three beautiful homes had been built on Tuckaway Hill, all owned by a wealthy family named Brockbank. Apparently, the Brockbank sons, who dabbled in contracting and development, had had the idea that the hill would make an ideal summer retreat for the wealthy family and had built an impressive little compound. The Brockbanks and their grown children had visited the different homes at various times, but the houses had been empty now for several years. They had named the hill Tuckaway, but apparently it was too tucked away, because none of them ever came for very long.

The door to the garage of the largest home stood wide open, and the white Cadillac was parked demurely inside. I couldn’t see anyone around—no boxes or moving van, no children’s toys abandoned haphazardly on the walk.

I didn’t dare knock, and peeking through windows when someone was home was far too brazen for my cautious nature. I turned to go when a violent noise startled me into dropping my bike and yelping in surprise. Belatedly, I realized someone was playing the piano with serious gusto. I didn’t recognize the song, but it wasn’t pretty. It was crashing and intense and reminded me of the kind of music that would be in a scary movie—a scary movie where the little girl who is snooping on someone else’s property gets murdered by the crazy owner. I was seriously spooked and picked up my bike, only to discover that the chain had come off when I dropped it. I squatted down and quickly began trying to force the greasy chain back around the sprocket. This had happened to me before, and I knew how to get it back on.

As I worked, I listened nervously to the powerful music pouring out of the house. All at once, the music changed and morphed into something equally powerful, but infused with joy in every note. The music swelled in my heart and had tears filling my eyes and overflowing onto my cheeks. I wiped at them in amazement, leaving a streak of grease down the side of my face.

Music had never made me cry before. And these weren’t sad tears. The music I was hearing made me feel the way I sometimes felt in church when I sang songs about God or Jesus. But it made me feel that way without any words. I loved words. I was surprised that the music could talk to me without speaking. I listened as long as I dared, and when the song seemed to near its soaring conclusion, I picked up my bike and sped away, pedaling in time with the music that now filled my head.

* * *

“It’s a retired doctor and his wife,” my dad told me at dinner that night when I relayed the story of the white Cadillac. “Name’s Grimwald, or something or other.”

“Grimaldi,” Jacob corrected with his mouth full of mashed potatoes. “Rachel and her mom helped clean the house before they moved in.”

Rachel was Jacob’s girlfriend. Rachel’s mom was the president of the women’s organization at our little church, and duty made her a busy woman. It also provided an opportunity for firsthand knowledge of all the town’s goings-on, although she wasn’t the type to abuse her position.

“Rachel said the doc’s wife insisted on paying them,” Jacob continued. “She got kinda feisty when they refused. Rachel said her mom kept saying they were glad to help and wanted to serve. The doc’s wife finally gave in, but said that if Rachel wanted to come back she would pay her to clean once a week.” Jacob settled back with a satisfied burp.

“Why did they move to Levan?” I questioned. “Are they related to somebody?” Levan was a far cry from St. George three hours south, where retirees commonly moved to soak up sun and enjoy easy winters.

“Rachel says the old man is writing a book and he wants peace and quiet,” Jacob said matter-of-factly. “The doc’s wife said they are old friends of the Brockbanks, and Levan seemed like a good place to find it.”

I thought of the loud and passionate music of earlier that day. It definitely hadn’t been quiet then. I resolved to wheedle Rachel into taking me along when she went to clean again. And that was how I met Sonja Grimaldi.

* * *

Rachel was a tiny, pretty redhead who was good-natured and very hardworking. She was always moving and doing. She referred to everything as a thingy or a dilly, and she would probably never gain a pound, as she worked as fast as she talked and never seemed to tire. I loved her, but too much time in her presence made me long to sit down and drown in a deep book. She was a perfect complement to my laid-back, slow talking oldest brother, and I was grateful that someday she would probably be a Jensen, and I would have a sister.

That Saturday she was happy to let me tag along to the Grimaldis, and I found myself looking forward to hearing more music, hoping that whoever had played before might do so again. The Grimaldis were nowhere to be found when we arrived, though Rachel didn’t seem concerned and immediately got to work. I tried to help her clean, but she shooed me away good-naturedly, saying she didn’t want to share her profits. I tip-toed through the kitchen and into the room where I thought the piano must be. The piano was an enormous, black, shiny showpiece, the lid raised high, the seat a long smooth slash of ebony. I desperately wanted to sit down and run my hands across the keys. So I did. I slid onto the bench and rested my hands gently on the glistening whites. I played each one very, very softly, enjoying the individual sounds, the clear tones.

“Do you play?” a voice said behind me.

My heart jumped out of my chest and tumbled to the floor as I sat frozen, my hands still on the keys.

“You touch the keys so reverently, I thought you must play,” the voice continued.

My heart returned to my chest, pounding loudly to let me know I was still alive. I stood and turned guiltily. A bird-like woman, not much taller than me, stood just behind me. Her silver hair was fashioned in an up-do, all swooped the way Jane Seymour had worn hers in Somewhere in Time. She wore black horn-rimmed glasses on her very long nose and a deep purple pantsuit with matching purple gems that I later learned were called garnets at her ears, hands, and throat.

“I’m Josie,” I stammered. “Josie Jensen. I came with Rachel. I don’t play…but I wish I could.”

She glided past me and sat herself regally on the black bench I had vacated.

“Who is your favorite composer?” Her glasses slid down her nose as she tipped her face forward, peering at me above the rims.

“I don’t know any of the composers,” I confessed sheepishly. “Most of the music I know I hear at church or on the radio. I do love to hear the organ play the hymns.” Thoughts of Jane Seymour moments before brought a memory to mind. “There was this music in a movie I saw once. It was my mom’s favorite, and she cried whenever she watched it. The movie was called Somewhere in Time... do you know it?” I rushed on when she didn’t respond. “There was this beautiful song that kept playing.”

“Ahhh, yes,” she sighed. “That is one of Rachmaninoff’s creations. Was it this?” She started to play the romantic strains of the music I remembered. I sank to a nearby chair and listened to the soul-stirring piece. I felt my heart swell to bursting and the tears rise in my eyes just like before.

She turned toward me as she finished and must have seen something in my face, must have seen how the music touched me.

“How old are you, child?” she asked quietly.

“My birthday is September 1st. I’ll be ten on Tuesday,” I answered shyly. I knew I looked older, and I always felt funny when I confessed my age.

“How does the music make you feel?”

“Alive,” I responded immediately and without thought, and I blushed a little at my answer.

She seemed oddly satisfied.

“Would you like to learn to play?”

“I would love to!” I exclaimed, exuberant. “I’ll have to ask my dad…but I’m sure he’ll let me!” A thought clouded my happy musings. “How much does it cost?” I worried.

“The only cost is the pleasure of your company and the solemn promise that you will practice very hard.” She shook her finger at me sternly. “The child who does not practice does not proceed with further lessons.”

“I will practice harder than anyone has practiced before!” I promised sincerely.

“Has school started?”

“Yes, ma’am. It started last week.”

“Then I will see you Monday after school, Josie.” She held out her bony hands and clasped mine gently, sealing our deal. It was the best birthday gift I ever received.

Sonja Grimaldi had been a professor of music for thirty years. She had met and married her husband Leo, aka Doc, later on in life, and though Doc had a son from an earlier marriage, they had never had any children together. It had been a series of strange events and coincidences that had brought them to Levan. Doc had been a friend to the senior Mr. Brockbank since they’d gone to school together as young men. Doc had been the family physician since he had graduated from med school. Both Sonja and Doc were in their seventies but still spry and ambitious. Doc had always wanted to write, but while he practiced medicine he had never found the time. Sonja had the notion that she might like to compose a little as well, and Tuckaway Hill had seemed the perfect writer’s retreat.

I combed the Penny Pincher classified ads for a few weeks until I found a piano for sale. It proved to be old and ugly, but it had a rich, lovely sound. I contributed all the money I had been saving from selling my chicken’s eggs at the weekly farmer’s market and paid for it outright. My dad grumbled a little when it cost $75 to have someone come all the way to Levan to have it tuned, but he paid for it, warning me that I had better practice.

Practicing wasn’t my problem. I couldn’t tear myself away from the keys. Sonja was an unconventional teacher, and I was a gifted student. Instead of lessons once a week, like most students, I had a lesson every afternoon. I flew through the rudimentary lessons, quickly grasping musical concepts and theory, graduating to intermediate books and songs after only a month. For a while I even stopped reading, pushing everything aside for my music. I practiced every spare moment. Luckily for my dad and my brothers, they were outside more than they were in the house, and I rarely disturbed anyone with my obsession. Sonja said I was not exactly a child prodigy, but close. I had deep passion and appreciation for the music, and I quickly absorbed everything she taught me.

I learned that the music that had so frightened me the day I had followed her white Cadillac home was a piece by Wagner. She pronounced it Vah gner. I didn’t care much for Wagner, but Sonja said it got her blood boiling, and she used it to give voice to her “savage beast.” She smiled when she said this, and I smiled with her. I didn’t think Sonja was ever “beastly.” Sonja said we all had a little of the beast in us.

If Wagner spoke to the beast, then Beethoven gave voice to the beauty. Beethoven’s ninth symphony became my lifeblood. I made Sonja play it each day at the end of our lessons, and each day I would leave full of hope, the beast vanquished.

* * *

Ten-year-old girls without mothers should not have to bear the burden of early puberty, but be that as it may, I started my period not long after I met Sonja Grimaldi. I believed myself stricken with some sort of terrible malady when I discovered the blood in my underpants. Overwhelmed, I had cried out my fear of certain death to Sonja. She had been playing Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, and the beauty and melancholy of the music had me drowning in self-pity.

“I think I’m dying, Mrs. Grimaldi,” I had wept. She had gathered me to her wispy self and coaxed further confession from me. When she realized what was actually happening to me, she sighed and put me away from her, tears glittering in her eyes.

“Josie! This is not death! It is a rebirth!” she exclaimed dramatically.

I stared at her with a dumbfounded frown.

“It is not surprising, you know. You are beyond your years in every other way. You have earned this rite of passage much sooner than most girls. Josie, womanhood is an incredible gift! It is God-given. It is bestowed upon us. Womanhood is incredibly powerful, and you have been entrusted with it years before your peers. This means you are very special in His sight. We must celebrate!” She clapped her hands and rose with a swoosh of her long red kimono.

So we did. We lit candles and had sparkling cider in crystal goblets. She read the story of Queen Esther with great passion, telling how her beauty, grace, and courage had saved her people. How her power had influenced nations. She read to me the story of the Virgin Mary from the New Testament, a girl only a few years older than I was, and mother to the Savior of the World.

Days later, Sonja and I drove to the city, and she bought me new underwear and bras in pretty pastels with matching undershirts to wear until the bras were absolutely necessary. We got our nails done, and she purchased enough feminine supplies to stock my bathroom drawer for several years. I felt my mother’s presence that day and knew she had been instrumental in bringing Sonja Grimaldi into my life. After all, hadn’t I been at her grave the day I first saw the white Cadillac? After that, I was much more secure in God’s love for me, and I did not curse my rapid ascent into womanhood again.

* * *

One afternoon in early spring, I arrived for my lesson to find Sonja lying on the sofa with a book lying on her chest, her eyes closed.

“Sonja?” I whispered, not wanting to wake her, but not wanting to leave if she was in need of something. I was a little scared. She looked small and tired, and it made me think of my mom before she died, shrunken and pale.

“Sonja?” My voice quavered, and I put my hand on her arm.

She opened her eyes sleepily, her brown eyes huge beneath the thick Coke bottle lenses of her horn rims.

“Oh, Josie! Is it that time already? I was trying to read, and my eyes just get so tired when I read lately. I’m afraid I’m going to have to give up my books.” She said the last part a little mournfully. Sonja was not a mournful individual in the slightest, and I looked closer at the book that she had been reading.

“Wuthering Heights,” I read aloud. “What if I read to you while you rest your eyes? I’m an excellent reader.”

Sonja smiled at this serious declaration of my ability and handed me the book. “All right then, you read for a while, and then we’ll practice.”

I hated Wuthering Heights. Each day I would come for my piano lessons, and I would read to Sonja for a half an hour before we began. After one week of Wuthering Heights, I threw the hated book down in disgust. Though I was young, I was sensitive and thoughtful, and with Sonja’s explanation of different words and phrases, I had grasped most of what I had been reading and had comfortably followed the story line.

“These people are horrible! I hate them! I can’t read this anymore!” I surprised myself by bursting into violent tears, and gulped desperately to rein in the embarrassing display.

“They are, aren’t they?” Sonja agreed quietly. “Too much ugliness for a tender spirit. Maybe someday you will read it with different eyes…but maybe not. No more Heathcliffe for now. Off to the piano with you, child!” she said briskly, and I followed her meekly, scrubbing my eyes and feeling relieved that I would not have to spend any more time wandering the moors with ghosts.

The next day a new book was waiting for me. I noticed the author was also named Bronte, and cringed inwardly. But Jane Eyre was nothing like Catherine Earnshaw Linton. I adored Jane Eyre and begged Sonja to let me take it home to read between our visits. She acquiesced graciously, but made me promise to write down every word I didn’t understand and look it up, so that I would truly grasp what I was reading. When Sonja found out I didn’t have a dictionary of my own at home, she gave me a copy of Noah Webster’s 1828 Dictionary. She said it was the second most important book in the English language, next to the Bible.

I kept my promise and, reading late into the night, would pencil words I couldn’t define onto the wall above my bed. The next day I would delve into my heavy dictionary and look up all the words I had written the night before. With every book my “Wall of Words” grew, as did my hunger for more words. One day many months later, my dad climbed into the loft that served as my bedroom—which he rarely had reason to do—looking for something. I was downstairs whipping up a new recipe in the kitchen, and I dropped the mixing bowl when he bellowed my name.

I came running, fearing some disaster had occurred and found him staring at my wall in outrage.

“Josie Jo Jensen! What in the world is this?” He threw his hand toward the wall behind my bed, which was now partially covered in words.

“It’s my Wall of Words, Dad,” I supplied meekly. When he glowered at me and folded his arms across his chest, I decided I’d better explain myself further.

“See, at night when I’m reading I don’t like to stop in the middle of the story and look up words I don’t know…so I write them on my wall and look them up in the morning. It’s very educational!” I said brightly, smiling at him hopefully.

My dad shook his head, but I saw a flicker of a smile across his lips. He walked over to the wall and read some of my words.

“Ameliorate?” he read doubtfully. “Now that’s one I’ve never heard before.”

“Ameliorate means to make better. My ‘Wall of Words’ ameliorates my vocabulary,” I said cheekily.

My dad laughed out loud. “It does, does it?” He shook his head and looked at me fondly, all traces of anger gone. “All right, Josie Jo. You can keep your wall. But keep it up here, okay? I don’t want words written all over the kitchen when you run out of room.”

“Maybe I should start writing smaller,” I said, suddenly concerned at my limited wall space.

I heard my dad laughing as he descended the narrow stairs.

Overture

Sonja had made the difficult shift into maturity easier than it would otherwise have been, but I still had to endure the scrutiny that my changing body encouraged. By the time I entered the seventh grade, I was fully grown. Though I was slender, I was taller than average and had breasts and curves when boys my age were still wetting the bed. Tara thought I was the luckiest girl alive and pestered me with personal questions and even asked me once if she could wear my bra “just to see how it feels to be a woman.”

Being the only girl in a family of boys made my wardrobe choices pretty limited. I wore my brothers’ old T-shirts and hand-me-down Wranglers because that’s what we had. My dad had never thought to do anything different, and I’d never thought it important enough to ask. I had outgrown Sonja’s underwear purchases the first year, and if it wasn’t for my Aunt Louise making sure I had a sturdy bra I don’t know what I would’ve done. The boyish clothing mostly disguised my figure, although I hunched my shoulders to hide my height and my breasts and was constantly self-conscious and awkward.

Sonja had insisted I get my eyes checked when I persisted in putting my face too close to the sheet music, “ruining my playing posture.” I needed glasses to read or play the piano and since my nose was constantly in a book, I wore them most of the time. I used big words and blurted out deep thoughts, and I think my peers considered me extremely strange when they considered me at all.

The seventh grade was part of the junior high, and I was relieved to be leaving elementary school behind, hoping it would be easier to blend in with the older kids. But junior high was just a different kind of torture. The junior high was made up of grades 7-9, the high school consisted of grades 10-12, and we all rode the same bus into Nephi for school. I hated riding the bus. Johnny was a senior the year I started seventh grade. He drove Old Brown, our ancient farm truck, into school most days because he played several sports and practices were after school. Sometimes he gave me a ride, but more often than not, he took his friends, leaving no room for his little sister. The bus was loud and slow with kids crawling all over the place. I hated the elbows in my sides, the fighting, and worst of all, finding a seat.

The bus stop by my house was one of the very last, and every day I would dread walking down the aisle of the full bus, looking for a place to sit down. I drew unwanted attention from the high school boys, snickers from the younger boys, and confusing animosity from most of the girls. Tara, loyal cousin and friend, usually tried to save me a seat, but I almost preferred not to sit by her. At thirteen she was about as big as a nine-year-old, and our size difference made my discomfort all the more severe. Not only was she little, she was loud, and where I would prefer to shrink into the background, she would call attention to herself every chance she got.

There was an 11th grade boy named Joby Jenkins who sometimes hung around with my brother Johnny. He liked being the class clown and thought he was the funniest kid on God’s green earth. I didn’t like him very much. His humor was usually mean-spirited and always at the expense of someone weaker. The younger kids on the bus were his targets. My dad said he was a smart ass, but mostly he was just an obnoxious bully. Above all, I couldn’t stand him because he stared at my chest whenever he saw me. Johnny seemed oblivious to this, as usual, and he thought Joby was hilarious and fun to be with. Because Joby didn’t play sports he always rode the bus, holding court way in the back, making many kids’ lives miserable.

One particular morning in early fall, I climbed on the bus, nervous and desperate for a seat, as usual. Tara waved at me and pointed excitedly to the nametags stuck on each seat. Mr. Walker, the bus driver, had made seat assignments. I felt a rush of relief and started looking for my name. Assigned seating meant never having to find a place to sit, and I was ridiculously grateful as I searched for mine. I began to notice that most of the younger, smaller, kids had been seated with older kids, making the three to a seat rule a little more comfortable. As I neared the back of the bus, red heat crawled up my face as an all too familiar voice rang out.

“Josie Jensen! Come to papa!” Joby Jenkins called out in a sing-song voice. Everyone around him burst into laughter. “Hey, we can play Cowboys and Indians! Don’t worry, Jos. I won’t let Sammy here make you his squaw.”

I had found my assigned seat. My name was on the seat just across the aisle from Joby. Joby was sitting with his legs in the aisle so his knobby knees and big feet in unlaced Reeboks made it impossible for anyone to get by without confrontation. He patted the green plastic across from him. Sitting inside the seat beside him was Samuel Yates.

Samuel Yates was the grandson of Don and Nettie Yates who lived just down the road from me. Don and Nettie’s son, Michael, had served a Mormon mission on a Navajo Indian reservation twenty plus years ago. After his mission, he ended up going back to Arizona for some job. He had married a Navajo girl and they had Samuel. A few years later, Michael Yates was killed when he was thrown from a horse. I don’t remember the details. It all happened when I was little, but in small towns everyone’s story becomes known eventually.

I had heard about Samuel when several women, including Nettie Yates, had gathered in our kitchen to do some canning. Every year since my mom died, my neighbors would bring fruit and vegetables from their own gardens and can all day, filling our shelves with their labors. That day in August, the kitchen was uncomfortably warm and smelled of stewed tomatoes. I listened to the women visit as I wished for freedom from the endless canning, although my gratitude would not allow me to leave. I found myself drawn into the conversation out of sheer boredom. Nettie Yates was venting her concerns to the other women:

“He’s gotten so his mother can’t handle him. She remarried, ya know. Seems Samuel doesn’t get along too well with his step dad and his step siblings. My opinion is there is some alcohol involved. The step dad drinks too much, I think. Samuel’s gotten in several fights this year, and he was kicked out of the school on the reservation. He’s an angry boy, and I’m a little worried about having him come live here.” Nettie Yates paused for breath and then continued. “I just hope people are good to him. It’s what Michael would have wanted. We’d have taken him when Michael died, but his mother wouldn’t hear of it. We told her to bring Samuel and come live with us, but she ended up going back to the reservation to live with her mother. Can’t say I blame her. It’s what she knew, and there is comfort in that, especially when you lose someone you love.

“We’ve barely seen the boy all these years. Don’s looking forward to having Samuel help with the sheep. Them Navajos know about sheep, ya know. Samuel’s helped his grandma tend sheep since he was six years old. Anyway, he’ll attend school here for his senior year and hopefully graduate. Then he’ll be old enough to decide what he wants to do.” Nettie finished the telling with a long sigh as she continued to slice ripe tomatoes into her bowl, never breaking rhythm.

Samuel looked up at me as I tried to slide past Joby into my seat. Samuel’s dark eyes and wide mouth were unsmiling, his eyebrows drawn together in an irritated slash against his warm brown skin. His shiny black hair skimmed his shoulders. I had never said two words to Samuel Yates. In fact, I’d never heard him speak at all. His face was filled with hostility, and his wide mouth turned down as he looked away. I inched past Joby, trying not to touch him as I sat down. Joby moved at the last minute, pulling me into his lap.

“Josie!” he said in mock surprise. “I didn’t really mean come to papa!” Everyone laughed again as he pretended to push me off, all the while making it impossible for me to get free of his long arms and big feet.

I felt tears spring to my eyes as he continued to tickle me and jostle me around. Someone in front of me must have noticed my mortified expression, because a voice called out, “Uh oh, Joby! She’s gonna cry!”

Joby whooped and looked down at me. “Don’t cry, Josie! I’m just messin’ with ya. Here, I’ll kiss it better.” Joby stuck out his lips comically and smacked a big kiss on my cheek.

“Stop it, Joby!” I sputtered and elbowed him as I fought my way out of his messy embrace. Suddenly, Joby pushed me onto Samuel. My head collided with the window, and my backpack slid down and pinned my arms behind me. I found myself face first in Samuel’s lap and yelped as he jerked me upright. The kids around us howled with laughter.

Suddenly, Samuel’s right arm lashed out and pushed Joby clean off the seat. Joby landed with a loud thump right in the aisle. Surprise whooshed out of his lungs in a startled grunt. Before I could register what was happening, Samuel maneuvered me across him and sat me down next to the window. He stood up slowly and leaned over Joby’s stunned person. The laughter faded to nervous twitters, and then there was silence. The kids around us stared, their mouths and eyes wide. My face throbbed with humiliation. I felt faint, and I realized I was holding my breath. Samuel stared down at Joby, his arms braced on the seats on either side of the aisle. Joby stared back at him. His mouth was working but no words were coming out, as if he hadn’t narrowed down what to say next.

“Don’t cry, Joby! I’m just messing with you.” Samuel’s voice was deep and soft, his face completely expressionless. The kids who had been laughing started laughing again.

The bus had just pulled up to the last stop when the confrontation in the back of the bus drew the driver’s attention. Samuel had pretty much ignored everyone since he started school two months ago. He hardly spoke, but he was tall enough and intimidating enough that everyone steered pretty well clear of him. Everyone, including Joby, stared at him incredulously.

“No fighting on my bus, boys!” Mr. Walker, the bus driver, yelled back as he threw the bus into park, engaging the brake and disengaging his seatbelt in a huff. He rushed down the aisle towards Samuel. Without acknowledging Mr. Walker’s approach, Samuel slowly bent down, extended his hand, and pulled Joby to his feet. Then, like he had all the time in the world, he turned and looked down at poor Mr. Walker. He reached over and pulled Joby’s nametag off the seat where I was now sitting. I flinched and ducked my head as all eyes flew to me.

“Joby needs a new seat,” Samuel said softly. He pressed the curling white label against Joby’s forehead, all the while staring at the bus driver calmly. Mr. Walker looked confused, and Joby was, for once, at a loss for words.

“Can’t he sit there?” Mr. Walker questioned, pointing to the seat I was now occupying. I noticed how Mr. Walker’s voice had immediately softened to match the volume of Samuel’s quiet declaration.

“Somewhere else,” Samuel enunciated slowly, his voice still smooth. His eyes stayed on Mr. Walker’s face for a moment, and then he moved out of the aisle and sat down next to me, turning his attention out the window. He didn’t say anything else.

Mr. Walker quietly pulled my nametag from the seat across the aisle, put it on the seat where I was now sitting next to Samuel, and directed Joby to sit down in my place. Joby pulled the sticker from his forehead, the tables having been completely turned. He stuck his nametag in some kid’s hair and laughed uproariously. He then slapped another in the back of the head, trying to downplay what had just happened. If I hadn’t seen it myself I wouldn’t have believed Joby had been knocked down and not responded with a fist and a few foul words. The only thing he said was “Damn! I guess Sammy doesn’t like me!” The kids around him giggled nervously, and Joby shot a look at Samuel again. Samuel just stared over my head out the window and didn’t respond or even appear to be aware of him at all.

* * *

Winter came early, and by the end of October, Levanites had their kids bundled in moon boots, hats, and puffy coats that made movement awkward. I had turned thirteen September 1, and in anticipation of the upcoming cold season, my Aunt Louise bought me a new coat in a bright, periwinkle blue. It was the nicest thing I had ever owned. My dad told her we didn’t need her charity when she had brought it over. Aunt Louise was my mom’s younger sister, and she proceeded to rip him up one side and down the other. It had been a couple of years since I’d had a new coat. I had worn Johnny’s old jean jacket and layered flannel shirts all winter last year, and this year she wasn’t having any of it. Dad seemed stunned by her accusations, and looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time. I just patted his hand and said, “I liked Johnny’s jacket, Daddy. That’s why I wore it.” Lately, I had caught my dad watching me with a strange yearning on his face. I asked him about it once, asked him why he looked so sad. He’d smiled a little and shook his head.

“I’m not so sad, Josie Jo. I was just thinking about how fast you had to grow up. You weren’t a little girl for very long. Not nearly long enough.” He had patted my back and made a quick exit out the back door, retreating to the horse corral and safer pastures.

That particular Monday morning there was new ‘Sunday snow’ on the ground. Sunday snow was the snow that fell on Sunday, but hadn’t yet been played or walked in. It was a beautiful white blanket when I tromped through it in my old tennis shoes. Samuel Yates was already at the bus stop when I arrived, and he climbed on before me, walking straight back to our seat and sliding in against the window. He wore no hat over his glossy hair, and his quilted jacked was lined with that fuzzy sheep skin. He wore moccasins on his feet. I wondered if they were cold, but the moccasins seemed relatively dry, much dryer than my sneakers, so I didn’t worry about him too much.

Samuel hadn’t paid any attention to me at all—ignoring me and everyone else—since the day he had knocked Joby into the aisle. We hadn’t been assigned a third person to our seat. Mr. Walker was probably a little apprehensive; maybe he had decided to leave well enough alone. So for the last week I had ridden back and forth from school sitting beside Samuel, not saying one word. I was not a person uncomfortable with silence, so I usually just read the whole time. I had started reading all of Jane Austen’s books and was now working my way through Persuasion.

I was enmeshed in Anne’s longsuffering when Samuel spoke.

“You read a lot.” It sounded a bit like an accusation, his words clipped and soft.

“Yes.” I didn’t know what to say exactly, but to agree with him.

“Why?”

“I like books. Don’t you read?”

“Yes, I can read!” His soft voice was angry, and his eyes flashed. “You think because I’m Navajo that I’m stupid?”

I stammered in my defense, my cheeks flushing at his perception of my words. “That’s not what I meant! I don’t think that! I just meant don’t you like to read?”

When he didn’t answer and resumed looking out the window, I tried to read again. But my thoughts swam wildly in my head, and I stared blankly at the page. I felt despondent that I had wounded someone who had so recently come to my rescue. I tried again.

“I’m sorry Samuel,” I said awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

He snorted and looked at me, raising one eyebrow. “I’m not a little girl. I don’t get my feelings hurt.” His voice was slightly mocking. He took the book from my hands and began to read from the page.

“I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever.”

Samuel’s intent had been to prove his reading skill, but he stopped suddenly, embarrassed by the deeply romantic missive from Captain Wentworth to Anne.

We both sat unmoving, staring down at the book. I couldn’t help myself. I started to laugh.

Samuel scowled for a minute. Then his lips twitched and he seemed to exhale his discomfort.

“How old are you?” he questioned, his eyebrows slightly raised.

“Thirteen,” I replied defensively. I always felt defensive about my age. I didn’t feel thirteen, and I didn’t look thirteen, so I hated being thirteen.

Samuel’s eyes widened in surprise. “Thirteen?” It didn’t sound like a question, but more like a doubtful exclamation. “So you’re what, in seventh grade?” He said this in the same flat, yet incredulous, voice.

I pushed my glasses up on my nose and sighed. “That’s right.” I took my book out of his hands and prepared to tune him out.

“Isn’t that book a little...grown-up for a seventh grader?” he argued. He pulled the book out of my hands again and read on, this time silently. “I don’t even understand what most of these words mean. It’s like a different language!”

“That’s why I read with a dictionary...although I don’t bring it to school with me. It’s way too heavy.” I looked down at the book again, feeling shy. “In some ways it is a different language. My teacher, Mrs. Grimaldi, says our language is disintegrating.”

Samuel just looked at me, his expression incredulous.

“I’m sure it’s not as different as Navajo is from English, though,” I continued, trying to draw him into further conversation, surprised he was speaking to me at all, especially now that he knew I was just a lowly seventh grader.

“Yeah, Navajo is very different.” Something shuttered over his eyes, and he turned away from me, looking out the window again, ending our very brief exchange.

* * *

It was several more bus rides before Samuel spoke to me once more. I had been shut down on our last conversation, and was unwilling to try again.

“I hate to read.” His tone was argumentative, and he glared at me. As usual, I was tucked into my book, my knees drawn up to support its weight. I looked at him, wondering what he wanted me to say.

“Okay...?”

He drew a book out of his backpack and tossed it on top of the copy of Pride and Prejudice that was opened on my lap. The book was Wuthering Heights. I almost groaned in sympathy. I hadn’t tried to finish it after Sonja had relieved me from it the first time. I had no desire to spend any more time with it. With school work, piano lessons, and piano practice, along with all the chores that came from living with two men—Jared and Jacob were up and mostly out of the house by then—my reading mostly took place on the bus and at bedtime, when I faithfully looked up all my undefined words. I still read a couple books a month, but I didn’t plow through them as I had in the summer. Wuthering Heights was NOT on my list of Books-To-Read…and yes, I did have an actual list.

“I’ve read parts of this book,” I said cautiously, not understanding why he had tossed the book in my lap.

“I was sure you were going to say you had,” he said wryly. “It’s as confusing as that book you were reading the other day.”

“Why are you reading it then?” I asked, certain he must be, or he wouldn’t have it in his possession.

He didn’t answer for several seconds, and I waited, wondering if he would take the book and turn away again. “I am failing English. I have Ms. Whitmer, and she told me if I read that book and write a report on it, she’ll pass me. So, I am trying to read that book. I have to read it and have the report on her desk in two weeks. I could see by the page he had dog-eared that he was in trouble.

Ms. Whitmer was a tough old bird who had taught at the high school for 25 years. She had a bit of a reputation, sometimes drove a Harley to school, and commonly wore combat boots. She was very intimidating, knew her stuff, and wouldn’t take any crap. My older brothers had liked her, but had groaned about the workload. Johnny was barely squeezing by in her class as well.

“Why this book? Did she tell you why?”

“She told me she doesn’t usually give extra credit. I told her I would do anything. She slapped this book down and said ‘If you can get through this one I’ll know how bad you want it.’ So here I am. Now I know why she had that look on her face,” Samuel said morosely.

“Why do you care?” My question just popped out.

Samuel glowered at me. “I want to graduate,” he enunciated through clenched teeth. “I promised my grandmother I would graduate,” he said this reluctantly. “I’m going into the Marines in May, and I want my diploma. My recruiter said I’ll have a lot more opportunities if I graduate first.”

We sat quietly for a minute. Samuel stared out the window as he was prone to do, and I fingered his book, still in my lap. I thought about how proud he seemed, and how hard it must have been to go to Ms. Whitmer and ask for the extra credit.

He reached over to take the book, but I held onto it tightly and moved it away from his outstretched hand.

“I’ll read it with you,” I blurted out, surprising both of us. He stared at me suspiciously. I shrugged my shoulders. “I told you I had read parts of it. I want to read the rest.” I cringed at my lie. “We’ll read it together. We spend an hour, sometimes more, on this bus every day. I don’t mind reading out loud if you don’t.” I couldn’t believe I had been so forward. My neck got very hot underneath my hair. I hoped I wasn’t getting hives, which sometimes happened when I got really upset or nervous.

“You read, I’ll listen,” he said stiffly.

“Now?” I questioned. He just raised his eyebrows.

I opened the book, swallowed my discomfort, and began at the beginning.

Progression

I decided our little book club was incomplete without the 1828 Webster’s Dictionary, so every day I lugged the monstrous book to and from school for use on the bus. Samuel rolled his eyes when I pulled it out of my oversized bag the following morning. Every time he forgot himself and said in frustration “What does that mean?” I would nod my head toward the big green book lying between us. He would sigh and look up the word in question while I spelled it out for him. There were also words I wasn’t sure of, and would make him look those up as well, though I was pretty certain if I didn’t know what they meant, neither did he.

A week went by, and I read morning and afternoon as he sat quietly and listened. One afternoon as I was reading, I became engrossed in the story, and forgot to read out loud.

Samuel’s brown, long-fingered hand suddenly covered the page my attention had been captured by. I realized I had been reading silently for at least several seconds.

“Whoops!” I giggled. “Sorry about that.”

He reached over and took the book from my hands. “My turn,” he said without rancor. He found the place where my imagination had quelled my voice and began reading in his deep baritone. I had always been the one to read, so I was startled by his sudden willingness to be the reader.

He spoke English perfectly, but his voice had a different cadence—the words delivered almost in a rhythm—and his tone stayed constant and unvaried, without the rise and fall that a storyteller adopts to convey emotion. I found myself listening to his voice, being pulled into it as I had, just moments before, been pulled into the story.

“Josie? Are you going to look up that word?”

I shook myself out of my reverie, not wanting to admit I hadn’t the faintest idea which word I needed to look up.

“Spelling?” I said evasively to cover my ignorance.

“Where are you today?” he said. “Your mind is everywhere.”

“I was listening to your voice.” I flushed at my confession and inwardly cursed the constant blushing that gave me no privacy.

“No you weren’t. You haven’t heard anything I’ve read,” he countered mildly.

“I was listening to your voice,” I insisted again. He lowered his eyebrows in a scowl, not understanding me.

I tried to explain to him how his voice didn’t seem to rise and fall in the same patterns as mine did. When he didn’t respond, I thought perhaps I had made him angry. Samuel was very sensitive about being different, flaunting his Navajo heritage one moment with his long hair and moccasins, growing angry if someone took notice of it in the next.

He seemed thoughtful as he spoke. He chose his words carefully, as if he had never considered them before. “The Navajo language is one of the most complex languages on Earth. From ancient times, it was only a spoken language, not a written language. If you don’t learn it as a child, it is almost impossible to master. Every syllable means something different. We use four tones when we speak: high, low, rising, and falling. When the voice rises or falls in Navajo, it can mean a completely different word. For instance, the words mouth and medicine are pronounced the same, but they are said with different tones. The same word, but…not the same word at all. Do you understand? Maybe that is why, when a Navajo speaks English, he says each syllable with the same intonation, because no intonation is stressed.” He thought about what he had said for a moment. Then he asked me, almost as if knowing the answer would cause him pain, “Do I sound strange to you when I speak?”

My heart twisted a little at his vulnerability. I shook my head emphatically. “It’s very slight…I don’t think most people would notice it at all. I guess I have an ear for music, and the rhythm of your voice sounds like music to me, that’s all.”

I smiled up at him, and for the first time, he smiled back.

* * *

There was a big crowd gathered after school on the wide open field that separated the junior high from the high school. I ignored the excited shouts and the kids rushing to get in on the action. I couldn’t see who the crowd had gathered around, but the bus had not arrived, so I found a spot next to the bus stop to wait, setting my backpack down on the patchy grass and sitting on it so I wouldn’t get my rear-end cold and wet. The early snowfall had melted during a stretch of warmer days, and tufts of grass stuck up here and there between icy patches. It was cold enough to be unpleasant, the wind was always worst at the mouth of the canyon where the two schools sat. Utah weather is the most sporadic, unpredictable weather in the country. Folks complain about how you can plant your crops in late spring, only to have to replant twice more because it keeps freezing and killing everything off. We’ve had snow in June and none in December in the same year. It was November now, and Mother Nature had teased us with snow in October, only to have November be sunny and dry, with icy winds shaking the bare trees and mocking the winter sun.

I had no desire to go wading into the manic fray and sat shivering, wishing the bus would come. Tara, on the other hand, had wiggled her tiny self into the middle of the action, witnessing the fist fight firsthand.

“Mr. Bracken is coming!” a frantic shout went up across the field. Mr. Bracken was the principal of the high school and was a pretty genial and likeable sort, but no one doubted that anyone found fighting would be expelled upon discovery. The kids scattered immediately, not wanting to be questioned or reprimanded, and descended upon the bus stop in droves. The bus lumbered to a stop and a hasty line formed, kids shoving and jostling for position. I was not aggressive enough to maintain my place in the line and fell back to wait until the writhing mass thinned.

Tara came running towards me, backpack bobbing, hands hanging onto her thick shoulder straps to keep it in place.

“Oh, my gosh!” Tara gushed when she was still several feet away. “That Indian kid was fighting three different boys. Joby Jenkins and a couple of his friends were calling him half-breed, and he went crazy. Joby’s friends tried to hold his arms but he just let loose, swinging at all of them. One guy has a chipped tooth and Joby has a bloody nose. The Indian kid must have caught his hand on the kid’s tooth because his hand was all bloody!”

Tara was using too many pronouns, so I wasn’t sure which injury belonged to whom and which guy had done most of the swinging, but my stomach lurched at the mention of “the Indian kid.” That could only be Samuel.

“Where are they now?” My eyes scanned the area where the circle around the fighters had formed, not seeing Samuel, Joby, or Mr. Bracken, for that matter.

“When someone yelled that the principal was coming, Joby and his friends took off toward the junior high. The Indian kid picked up his backpack and headed this way with everybody that was running towards the bus. I don’t know where he went.” She looked around, jumping up and down to gain enough height to see over the swarm of kids. “I don’t know if Mr. Bracken was actually even coming. Somebody might have yelled that just to stop the fight.”

“So you never saw Mr. Bracken?” I hoped Samuel wouldn’t end up expelled. Word usually made its way around, and news of the fight would fill the halls tomorrow. But maybe if he made it home without being caught, the principal might not get wind of it until after the fact, making expulsion less likely.

The bus had quickly inhaled her anxious passengers, and Tara and I climbed up the steep steps, Tara chattering all the way.

“There was so much blood! The Indian kid…”

“Samuel! His name is Samuel,” I interrupted her.

“Whatever!” Tara gestured impatiently, obviously not caring what his name was.

When I climbed to the highest stair and was able to see down the aisle, my eyes rushed to my seat. Samuel was there, eyes glued out the window, probably watching to see if he would make it home free. Tara continued talking, but I was no longer listening. I wondered how he had gotten past the bus driver without detection. I teetered down the aisle and swung in next to Samuel, my heavy pack sliding to the floor.

“Are you okay?” I asked breathlessly. I could see blood on his pants, and as I tried to get a good look at his face, I realized his lip was swollen and split as well.

“I’m fine,” Samuel said tersely, keeping his face averted.

“If you don’t stop the bleeding you’re going to give yourself away,” I insisted.

Samuel sighed in exasperation and, with one hand, unbuttoned his jean jacket. He’d wrapped his hand in the bottom of his t-shirt, baring his toned brown stomach. The light blue cotton was completely soaked through with blood.

“Oh, my gosh!” I sounded like Tara, but I couldn’t help it. He must have split his knuckles open. “I’ll be right back!” I headed back up the aisle. The bus was now in motion and Mr. Walker barked at me to sit down. I ignored him, walking purposefully, holding onto the seats to stay upright on the swaying bus.

“Mr. Walker, the kid sitting next to me has a bloody nose. Do you have a first aid kit or some paper towels?”

“Why is his nose bleeding?” Mr. Walker looked at me suspiciously.

“I don’t know. It just started bleeding,” I said nonchalantly and felt ridiculously obvious. I was a pretty pathetic liar. Acting was definitely not in my future.

“Harrumph,” Mr. Walker grumbled, pointing to where a small tin box with a red cross emblazoned across the front was Velcroed above the big front windows.

I unstrapped the box and made my way back to Samuel. He had pulled the jacket back up over his hand, hiding the bloody state of his T-shirt from the nosy kids around him. All it would take was one kid seeing the blood, shouting out to Mr. Walker, and Samuel would be ousted.

I slid down next to him, pulling the little first aid kit open and rifling through the contents. There were several good sized bandages and antibacterial wipes, as well as some gauze and some white surgical tape. I pulled my backpack up onto the seat behind me, scooting forward until I was barely sitting on the seat. I turned sideways and effectively blocked Samuel from view. I stacked his backpack on top of mine and made a little wall that would be useless if someone in front of us or behind us stood up and looked over the seat. But it was the best I could do.

“Let me see your hand,” I insisted softly.

Samuel unwound his right hand from the bloody T-shirt and held it out to me. Fresh blood immediately rose from the deep slice across his knuckles and spilled onto his fingers. I slapped a thick white gauze pad over it, pushing it down into the cut to stop the flow.

“Hold that!” I ordered him, grabbing some little butterfly sutures that I had seen Johnny use when he’d split the bridge of his nose during football practice. I pulled the tabs off and at my command, Samuel lifted the gauze pad and I swooped in, pulling the side of the gash together with the butterfly band aid. I put another one on, and the blood slowed to an ooze at the slit. I put the gauze pad over the top and again asked Samuel to hold it there.

“What happened?” I questioned lightly as I wrapped some stretchy gauze around the pad.

“Joby Jenkins needed a fist in his face,” Samuel replied shortly.

“Why?” My eyes flickered up to his.

“I got tired of his half-breed jokes.” Samuel’s well-shaped mouth was drawn into a tight hard line. “What is it with some people?”

I yanked off a piece of surgical tape with my teeth and proceeded to secure the gauze. I wasn’t very good at this, but at least he wouldn’t bleed all over himself.

“What do you mean?”

“Some people just can’t keep their mouths shut. Joby is constantly shooting his mouth off.” Samuel watched as I cleaned the blood off the fingers poking out from my makeshift mound of gauze and tape.

I completely agreed with him about Joby. “Joby picks on whoever he thinks is weak,” I replied, absentmindedly wiping.

“If he thinks I’m so weak, why did he come at me with two other guys?” Samuel retorted angrily, misunderstanding my words. “Why didn’t he fight me one on one?”

“I didn’t mean physically weak,” I protested. “You’re different, so you’re an easy target. Other kids don’t know you, so it’s easier for him to talk trash and turn them on you. He was embarrassed when you pushed him off the seat. I think he’s just been biding his time, don’t you?”

“Probably. I broke his nose. I’m going to be expelled. It’ll be just like the reservation school. I got the half-breed comments there too. Only at the reservation I was too white.” His voice was bitter, his mouth drawn down at the corners.

“Didn’t you grow up with all the kids you went to school with on the reservation?”

He dipped his head in a slight nod.

“So what was the big deal with being half white…I mean, was your skin color really an issue after all that time?”

“For most kids it wasn’t,” he admitted then, somewhat begrudgingly. “I had friends, a girlfriend.” His eyes shifted to me briefly.

“I think most people aren’t really so biased if you let them get to know you,” I volunteered.

“It’s not my job to make sure people know me or like me,” Samuel said proudly.

“Well that’s silly,” I huffed.

Samuel’s eyes flashed, and he clenched his jaw.

“I’m not exactly what you would call outgoing,” I continued. “I kind of prefer being by myself, but I can’t expect anyone to want to get to know me if I purposely keep myself separated.” I paused as his face remained stony. “Mrs. Grimaldi says you can’t build walls and then be mad when no one wants to climb over them.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Samuel sneered as his eyes flew over my blond hair and then met my blue eyes with a black glower.

“Oh, please Samuel!” I protested. “I may not have brown skin, but I am plenty peculiar,” I rebutted. “And don’t pretend you haven’t noticed it.”

Samuel shook his head in disgust and pulled his hand from mine. I was finished anyway. I gathered the bloody towelettes and wrapped them in several paper towels.

“How many other kids have you talked to since you came here?” I asked Samuel quietly. “Besides me?”

Samuel didn’t respond, and I didn’t really expect him to.

“People can be jerks. Joby is a creep, and he probably had that broken nose coming to him,” I soothed. “But don’t just assume that people don’t like you because you look different. I, for one, like the way you look.”

I blushed furiously and grabbed the first aid box and escaped to the front of the bus to return it to the Velcro straps, throwing the bloody wipes away while I was at it.

“Everything under control?” Mr. Walker questioned me as I stuck the box back where it belonged.

“Huh?”

“The bloody nose?” Mr. Walker prodded.

“Oh, yeah. All done. It stopped,” I stammered.

Samuel had his arm back in his sleeve when I returned, his jacket buttoned back up to cover the stained shirt underneath. He had Wuthering Heights opened on his lap. I sat down and he began reading without preamble. I pulled out the big green dictionary, and that was the end of our discussion, for the time being.

* * *

“What kind of name is Heathcliff anyway?” Samuel grumbled as we labored through another day of reading. We had less than five pages left, and it had been tough.

“I think his name is one of the nicest things about him,” I said sincerely. “At least it isn’t something boring like Ed or Harry. It’s kind of a romantic name.”

“But that’s his only name…no last name, no middle name, just Heathcliff. Like Madonna or Cher.”

I was a little surprised that Samuel knew who Madonna and Cher were. It didn’t seem like his type of music, though I had no idea what his type was.

“I think the fact that he didn’t have a last name made him seem more alone in the world,” I mused thoughtfully. “Everybody had these full English names, and Heathcliff was a gypsy without roots, without family, without even a name of his own.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Samuel nodded his head in agreement. “Names are a big deal to the Navajo. Every Navajo child is given a secret Navajo name when they are born. It is known only by the child, the family, and God. You don’t share it with anyone else.”

“Really?” I asked in awe. “So what’s yours?”

He looked at me with exasperation. “You. Don’t. Share. It. With. Anyone. Else,” he repeated sarcastically.

I blushed and looked down at the book. “Why?”

“My grandma says if you do your legs will turn hard…but I think it’s more a tie that binds the people together, keeps tradition alive, that kind of thing. My mom told me it’s sacred.”

“Wow. I wish I had a secret name. I’ve never really liked Josie Jo very much. It’s kind of silly and babyish,” I said wistfully.

“What name would you rather have?” Samuel actually looked interested in my response.

“Well...my mom really wanted us to all have ‘J’ names. I guess it was her way of binding us together, kind of like your family. So maybe I could just pretend it’s Josephine and everyone can still call me Josie for short. Josephine is so much more dramatic and ladylike.”

“All right. From now on, I will refer to you as Lady Josephine,” Samuel said with the faintest of smiles.

“No. How about I just make it my secret Navajo name and only you and I will know it,” I said, conspiratorially.

“You are the furthest thing from a Navajo,” Samuel scoffed.

“Well, what if a beautiful Navajo woman had adopted me when I was just a baby? Would she have given me a Navajo name? Even if I had blonde hair and blue eyes?”

Samuel stared at me for a minute, frowning. “I really don’t know,” he confessed. “I’ve never known a Navajo who adopted a white baby. I’m the closest thing most Navajo get to a white baby.” Samuel’s countenance darkened. “Luckily, every Navajo child that is born belongs to his mother’s clan, so I am a Navajo, no matter who my father was.”

“Did you ever know your father?” I asked quietly, not liking that I might make him angry, but not fearing it either.

“I was six years old when he died. I remember things about him. He called me Sam Sam, and he was tall and kind of quiet. I remember my life before he died and then after he died when we lived on the reservation. I hadn’t lived on the reservation before. It was very different than the little apartment we had been living in. I spoke Navajo because my mother had spoken it to me exclusively. I spoke English too, which made school easier when I started school on the reservation. My mother never talked much about my father after he died.”

“Do you think it made her sad?” I ventured, thinking about my own mother’s death and how hard it had been for my dad to say her name for the longest time.

“Maybe. But it was more about tradition than anything. The Navajo believe that the only thing that is left behind when a person dies is the bad or the negative parts of their spirit. They call it chidi and when you talk about the dead it invites the chidi. So…we never talked about him much. I know she loved him and missed him. When I was really young, she read to me from the Bible that my dad had given her. I think it made her feel close to him without talking about him. She became a Christian when she married my dad, but within a year or so after his death she rejected it. She has become very angry and bitter. She didn’t know how to live off the reservation without my dad, and when he died, she went back, re-married, and I’m sure she’ll never leave.”

“I don’t know what I would do if I could never talk about my mother,” I whispered. “Talking about her helps me remember her. It makes me feel close to her.”

“Your mother died?” Samuel’s voice rose in surprise.

“Yes.” I was a little stunned that he didn’t know. I had just assumed that he knew what his grandparents knew. “She died the summer before third grade. I was almost nine years old.” I shrugged a little, “I guess I’m just lucky I had her for that long. I remember lots of things about her. Like the way she smelled, the way she covered her mouth when she laughed, the way she said ‘Josie Jo, to and fro’ when she pushed me on the swing.”

“Why are you lucky you had her that long? I think that makes you unlucky. She died and you don’t have a mother.” Samuel’s face was stormy, and his lips tightened a little as he waited for me to respond.

“But I did have her for those nine years, and she loved me, and I loved her. Look at people like Heathcliff. He had no mother and no father.”

“Yeah, I guess he had a right to be a jerk.”

“I guess he had reason to be, at least in the beginning, but that doesn’t make me like him any better. He was hateful and angry all the time. The first time I read the book, I kept waiting for him to change, to develop some character…but he never did. I just despised him for it. I wanted him to be lovable, even just a little bit, so that I could like him.”

“People didn’t like him because he had darker skin and he looked different than they did!” Samuel was angry again.

“Maybe that was true to a point, in the beginning. But the father, Mr. Earnshaw, loved him best of all…better than his own children. Heathcliff never did one thing with that love. Catherine loved him, too. What did he do?”

“He went off and joined the military or something, right? He made something of himself, improved how he dressed and how he looked!” Samuel defended Heathcliff like he was Heathcliff.

“But he never changed WHO he was!” I cried back passionately. “I wanted him to inspire me! I just ended up feeling sorry for him and thinking ‘What a waste!’”

“Maybe he couldn’t change who he was!” Samuel’s face was tight and his hands were clenched.

“Samuel! I’m talking about him changing on the inside! Nobody that loved him cared that he was a gypsy! Don’t you get it?”

“Catherine loved him despite of what he was on the inside!” He fought back still.

“Their version of love damned them both in the end! They were two miserable people because they never figured out what true love is!”

“Why don’t you tell me what TRUE LOVE is then, Lady Josephine, since you are so wise at thirteen years old?” Samuel sneered at me, and his arms were folded across his chest.

My cheeks were flaming, and my finger poked him in the chest with every syllable I recited. “‘True love suffereth long, and is kind; true love envieth not. True love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up. True love does not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil. True love rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth. True love beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things!’“ I stopped for a breath and one emphatic push against Samuel’s chest. “1st Corinthians, Chapter 13. Check it out.”

And with that I picked up my big green dictionary and my overflowing book bag and staggered up the aisle. The bus wasn’t at my stop yet, but I was out of there.

* * *

Samuel didn’t say much the morning following our heated Heathcliff discussion. I asked him if he wanted to read the final five pages. He said he already had and left it at that. He looked out the window the whole way into school, and I sat uncomfortably without anything to read. I wound up going ahead in my math book and doing the next day’s lesson. The ride home was much the same. Luckily, it was Friday.

Monday morning I arrived at our seat first. I wasn’t carrying the dictionary anymore, having no reason to lug it with me if we were done. Samuel wasn’t far behind and he said “scoot” when I sat down. I shifted over against the window, and he sat down next to me. Scoot was the only thing he said the whole way into Nephi. This time I was prepared, and I buried my nose in Jane Eyre. Jane Eyre was like comfort food to me, and I was feeling a little rejected.

After school, I climbed on the bus, dreading the half hour I would sit next to Samuel in silence. I missed the reading and the discussion. I even missed him a little.

Samuel was already seated, and he watched me come toward him down the aisle. There was a strange look on his face when my eyes met his. He looked almost triumphant. I sat down, and he held out a thin plastic folder.

“I guess you know something about true love after all. At least Ms. Whitmer thinks so,” he said vaguely.

My eyes quickly scanned the cover page. It was Samuel’s report on Wuthering Heights. He had titled it ‘True Love or Obsession?’ Ms. Whitmer had written the words “Brilliant!” across the page in bold red print. I yanked the cover page over, my eyes flying down the page. Samuel had taken 1 Corinthians Chapter 13, replacing the word ‘charity’ with ‘true love’ as I had done, and basically written a paper on the difference between true love and obsession, using examples from the book. His final sentence was wonderful, and it was all his own. He said “Where true love would have redeemed them, obsession condemned them forever.”

I whooped loudly, only to have kids turn and stare at me curiously.

“Samuel! This is so cool! Did she say anything to you?” My smile felt like it was going to split my face in half, but I couldn’t help it.

My excitement must have been contagious, because he grinned at me briefly, his smile a quick flash of white teeth.

“She said it was so impressive that she’s not just going to pass me, she’s going to give me a B.”

I whooped again, and threw my fisted hands skyward in victory. This time half the bus turned and stared. Tara even stopped mid-sentence, eight seats up, and gave me a “What the heck?” look. I ducked my head and stifled a giggle. Samuel shook his head and rolled his eyes, but he was laughing too.

“Lady Josephine, you are something else,” he said softly and reached over and took my hand in his. His hand was big and warm, his beautiful skin golden brown against my own. My hand felt very small as it lay in his, and my heart felt like a tiny hummingbird fluttering in my chest. Samuel held my hand for a second more and then gently slid his hand away.

* * *

It got dark quickly now that winter had gripped the valley. Getting up the hill to the Grimaldi’s house had become more difficult with the snow, but I never complained, and whenever Sonja raised the issue of being concerned over the weather or the dwindling daylight, I just smoothed it over. My panic at missing a lesson must have been evident, because she never pressed me to postpone lessons until spring thaws made my way a little more hospitable. I had stopped riding my bike up the hill. The hill was so icy the tires couldn’t get any traction. I would just ride to the base of the hill and then trudge to the top along the side of the road where the snow was piled and I wouldn’t slip.

Sonja had begun teaching me how to conduct music as if I were conducting a live orchestra. She would put a record on, put the score in front of me, and I would conduct, keeping time with my waving arms, bringing in the imaginary instruments and cueing the dynamics as if I were the one in control.

I left my lesson that day with my head full of music. Sonja had been in a flamboyant mood, and the music still poured out of the house behind me as I made my way down the hill. She had turned on Ravel’s “Bolero” and I had conducted it joyfully. It had a wonderfully insistent, repetitive melody, and it was perfect for a novice conductor like me to practice “bringing in” the instruments, as they were continually added, sections at a time.

It was times like these when the music felt like a thrumming, pulsing power inside of me. I was practically levitating as I spread my arms and spun in dizzy circles down the snowy hill. The speed of my descent made me laugh as I recklessly conducted the internal orchestra swelling my heart to near bursting.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t actually levitating, and I began to stumble, heavy boots tangling and arms flailing. The fog of musical euphoria abandoned me mid-flight. I cart-wheeled down the remainder of the hill, landing in a deep snow bank two-thirds of the way down. I acted like a child so rarely that it was strangely ironic that when I truly lost myself in child-like wonder, I ended up hurt and alone. My ankle screamed with a sickening, stomach-churning agony that had me whimpering and crawling on my hands and knees trying to escape the pain.

My piano books were scattered down the hill, marking my flight path. There was no way I was leaving them behind. I started crawling up the hill to collect them, realizing as my hands sunk into the snow that I had also managed to lose my gloves and my glasses. Without the assistance of my boots, I kept sliding down when I tried to inch upwards. I tried valiantly not to cry as I reprimanded myself on my idiotic behavior, talking myself through the ordeal of gathering up the books closest to me and praying for the books I couldn’t get to. Going back up the hill to Sonja’s was out of the question. I slid down the rest of the way on my butt, clutching my few books to my chest and slowing my descent with my good leg.

Once I arrived at the bottom, I faced the puzzle of how I would get home. Riding my waiting bike was completely out of the question; my ankle wouldn’t bear any pressure at all. I didn’t trust my balance most of the time without an injury, forget hopping and pushing the bike home. Looping my piano bag around my shoulders and pulling my coat sleeves down over my hands I began to crawl home. The darkness was settling around me, and I knew I was in trouble. I wasn’t going to be able to go two miles on my hands and knees. Thoughts of my family finding me frozen solid at the side of the road had me crying in self-pity. I wondered if Samuel would miss me. I wished I could see him again before I died. Maybe he would cut his arm like the Comanche Indians used to do when someone died, so their arm would show a scar for each loved one lost.

I had asked him how he knew about the Comanche tradition when he was a Navajo. He had told me many of the tribes had many stories and legends in common, and his grandmother had told him it was the Comanche way of reminding yourself of a loved one without speaking their name.

I was startled out of my morbid thoughts by the sound of a sheep baaing from somewhere to my left. He sounded as lost and unhappy as I was. The sheep bellowed mournfully again, and I could make out his black nose and feet against the snow where he was huddled beside a scrubby enclosure of brush and juniper trees. I crawled toward it, thinking maybe I could huddle there with it. Wool was warm, wasn’t it?

The sheep had other ideas. My approach made him complain even louder, throwing his head back and demanding that I stay away. “BAAAAAAACK,” he seemed to say, and I half giggled, half sobbed at the futility of it all. “BAAAAAAAA!” he cried again.

Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. The sheep bellowed in response. The dog barked again. Maybe someone was looking for the sheep. I didn’t have much hope that anybody would be looking for me. My dad and brothers loved me, but I had no real hope that they would think much of my absence until it was marked by many hours. The dog seemed to be getting closer. An occasional yelp indicated his progress in our direction. The sheep would bleat back when he heard the dog, and I waited hopefully for a canine rescue. I was very cold and a little wet from my tumble in the snow, and my hands were aching almost as much as my ankle. I huddled inside my beautiful blue coat and prayed for deliverance.

The darkness was complete as Don Yates’ black and white collie mix, Gus, trotted up to the lost sheep. Not far behind him, Samuel trudged, bundled against the snow in a black ski cap and his sheepskin coat, having traded his moccasins in for a pair of laced work boots. I cried out to him in gratitude, and he stopped in surprise.

“Josie?”

“Samuel! I’ve sprained my ankle, and I can’t ride my bike home. I tried to crawl,” I stuttered out, my teeth chattering, “But my gloves are missing and it was just too far.”

Samuel hunched down next to me and pulled his hat from his head and pulled it down on mine. The sudden warmth and my relief at his presence made the tears I had been trying to control stream down my face. Samuel grabbed my hands in his and started rubbing them briskly.

“Why are you out here?” He sounded angry and his hands rubbed harder in concert to his harsh words. My tears flowed faster.

“I take piano lessons every afternoon from Mrs. Grimaldi. She lives at the top of Tuckaway Hill.” I didn’t tell him how I had gotten carried away in the music and rolled down the hill.

“How did you end up on your hands and knees half frozen to death?” he barked out incredulously.

“I slipped,” I said defiantly, pulling my hands from his and wiping the tears from my icy cheeks. Samuel yanked his gloves off and grabbed my hands back insistently. Forcing my hands into the gloves, he rose to his feet and reached down for me, lifting me to my feet.

“Can you walk at all if I help you?” His voice was a little less confrontational now, and I tried to take a step forward. It was like someone took an ice pick and rammed it into my ankle. I fell in a heap at Samuel’s feet. The pain made me nauseous and the contents of my stomach rose up in rebellion. I retched just to the right of Samuels’s work boots. Luckily, I’d had only an apple and half of a sandwich for lunch many hours ago, and there wasn’t much left to throw up. But puking with an audience was worse than the pain in my ankle, by far. I moaned in mortification as Samuel kicked snow over the steaming remains of my lunch and squatted down beside me again. He handed me a handful of snow to clean my mouth, and I thankfully wiped and “rinsed” my mouth, my hands shaking.

“Did you say you rode your bike here?” Samuel’s voice was gentle.

“It’s at the base of the hill, back there.” My voice wobbled dangerously, and I stopped speaking abruptly, not wanting to disgrace myself any further.

Samuel stood and walked away from me, in the direction that I had come. A few minutes later he was back, pushing my bike beside him.

“I’m going to help you get on…”

“I can’t push the pedals, Samuel,” I interrupted, my voice cracking again as the swell of tears clogged my throat.

“I know,” Samuel replied calmly. “But the seat is long. I can ride behind you and pedal.”

The bike was fine for me, but Samuel was over 6’0. This was going to be interesting. Samuel held the bike with one hand and pulled me to my feet with the other. Moving the bike close to where I was teetering, he straddled the bike and helped me climb on in front of him.

“Can you put your feet up in front of you?”

The bars made a big U shape providing a good spot for my feet when I wanted to coast. Samuel helped me raise my hurt leg, and I gingerly scooted as far forward on the seat as I could as he braced the bike with me on it. With a little shove, grunt, and a wobble we were off. The bike wove precariously, snow and gravel making it extremely treacherous. I squeezed my eyes shut and bit down on the yelp that escaped. Samuel used his legs to propel us forward until we established enough forward motion for an attempt at pedaling.

“What about the sheep?” I said suddenly, having forgotten about my partner in peril.

“Gus will get him home. At this rate, they might get there before we do.” I looked behind us, peering carefully over Samuel’s shoulder as to not disturb the equilibrium of the bike. Sure enough, the sheep was waddling down the road, Gus nipping at his heels.

I relaxed as well as I could, my head resting in the curve of Samuel’s shoulder as his arms and legs braced me from falling off the narrow seat. I couldn’t comfortably reach the handlebars with my legs out in front of me, so I loosely held onto his arms just above the elbow. The silly song about a bicycle meant for two jumped into my head. We won’t have a stylish marriage; I can’t afford a carriage . . .

When the gravel road finally joined the black top, I felt Samuel relax a little. The ride was suddenly much smoother. Still, he couldn’t be comfortable. I imagined how we must look riding down the moonlit road, not a soul in sight, like a creature with eight legs and two heads. I giggled a little despite my throbbing ankle and my wounded pride.

I felt a responding rumble in Samuel’s chest and swiveled my head to look up at him in amazement. I had never heard Samuel laugh.

“Hold still!!!” Samuel’s voice raised in alarm as the bike took a dangerous lurch. I had forgotten to move slowly.

“Sorry!” I squeaked, clinging to his arms as he expertly restored balance.

“Hold still,” Samuel repeated again firmly.

We rode in silence for several minutes until I decided gratitude was in order.

“You saved me,” I said simply. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along. You might have even saved my life. My dad and Johnny might not have noticed I was gone for hours. They aren’t very aware of me.”

“I’m not sure I want to be responsible for saving your life.”

“Why? Don’t you like me at all?” My voice sounded as hurt as I felt.

Samuel sighed. “That’s not what I meant. And yes, I like you.” He sounded a bit uncomfortable at the admission. “It’s just that in many Native cultures, when you save someone’s life you are responsible for them from that time forward. It’s like you are their keeper or something.”

That didn’t sound bad to me. I kind of liked the idea of having Samuel as my life-long guardian.

“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have looking out for me,” I confessed. Somehow honesty was much easier when it was dark. Still, I tensed a little, awaiting his response.

No response came. We rode in silence for the remainder of the ride, gliding past the homes of our neighbors until Samuel slowed to a stop in front of my house. Old Brown, Johnny’s truck, was parked carelessly in the gravel in front of the house, and my dad’s work truck was parked in the drive. Samuel helped me alight and set the bike down as he pulled me up onto his back, piggy-back style. I wished he would sweep me up into his arms like a bride. I felt heavy and awkward sprawled across his long back, and I clung to his shoulders, holding my breath as he climbed the stairs and slid me down his back to knock on the door.

“It’s my house! Just go in,” I said, reaching past him and opening the front door. The sounds of Jazz basketball blared from the TV, and the warmth from the wood burning stove poured over us. Samuel swung me up and carried me unceremoniously to the couch, setting me down as swiftly as he could and backing away as if he thought he would be in trouble for touching me.

My dad sat in his recliner and gaped at us for a minute before he collected his wits. I counted two empty beer cans on his TV stand and another in his hand. I sighed inwardly. Dad was a sweet drunk. He didn’t get mean and ugly, just drowsy and cheerful, as he drowned his loneliness in a nightly ritual of Budweiser and ball—football, basketball, baseball, whatever. He didn’t drink at all when mom was alive. We Mormons aren’t big drinkers. In fact, Mormons didn’t drink at all if we were living true to the tenets of our faith. Maybe that’s why Dad never went to church or cared if we went. Mom wouldn’t be too happy about that, I was sure.

“What happened?” My dad’s words weren’t slurred; the night was still young.

I proceeded to tell him my abbreviated story involving the sheep, Gus, and including Samuel somewhere in there, too.

“No more piano lessons for you!” Dad grumbled. “It ain’t safe. I knew somethin’ was wrong. I was just about to come lookin’ for you.”

“Oh no, Dad!” I cried out hastily, sitting up and swinging my good leg to the floor. “I’ll be more careful. I’m getting ready for the Christmas program. I can’t miss my lessons. Besides, Sonja…I mean Mrs. Grimaldi…is going to have me practice at the church for the next few weeks so that she can start teaching me how to play the organ.”

I didn’t believe my dad had even noticed I was gone, nor had he been on the brink of starting out on a search and rescue mission, but I could tell he felt bad that I had been in trouble and he hadn’t had a clue.

Samuel shook Dad’s hand and made a hasty retreat, claiming he needed to go make sure Gus made it back to the corral with the wayward sheep.

Virtuoso

The only church in Levan was built in 1904. It was a beautiful, light-colored brick building with a tall graceful steeple and steps leading up to the double oak doors. Not everybody went to church services in Levan, but everybody went to church. That church had been the town gathering place for almost one hundred years. It had provided walls for worship, seen the townsfolk marry in its hallowed halls, and absorbed the grief of many a funeral. The beautiful chapel had high arching windows that were two stories tall. The heavy oak pews possessed the patina of time and tender care.

Sonja taught me to play the organ in that lovely little chapel. On the day of my first lesson, I had shown up in blue jeans, only to have Sonja send me home to change into a dress.

“This is a place of reverence and worship,” she had said sternly. “We do not wear casual clothes when we enter the chapel!” .

Christmas was coming, and I was going to be performing “Oh Holy Night” on the piano for the annual Christmas Eve service. Everyone in town came to the Christmas Eve service, whether they came regularly to church or not. It was the spiritual highlight of the Christmas season for townsfolk. The choir would perform sacred Christmas songs, Sonja would accompany them on the organ, and the bells would be rung. The story of the Christ Child would be read at the pulpit by Lawrence Mangelson, who possessed a rich, deep, orator’s voice. It was my favorite tradition, and my musician’s heart was overflowing with thoughts of debuting at such an event. I had taken piano lessons, Monday through Friday, for three years and had yet to play for anyone but Doc, Sonja, and my family.

Originally, the church choir director, married to the aforementioned Lawrence Mangelson, had denied Sonja’s request to let me play in the special worship service. She was kind, but she worried that my ability at thirteen would not be worthy of the occasion. Sonja had taken me to Mrs. Mangelson’s home and insisted that she listen.

I played a powerfully moving and difficult rendition of “Oh Holy Night” on the piano in her little sitting room, and when I finished, the sweet old lady humbly asked for my forgiveness, begging me to take part in the program. Mr. Mangelson said it would be the best Christmas Eve Service ever and suggested we keep my piano solo a secret.

Christmas Eve fell on a Sunday that year, and I attended the 9:00 a.m. church services without my family. Because the congregation would be returning that evening for the Christmas Eve service, the morning services were shortened. I had let my Aunt Louise and Tara in on my little secret, so later that afternoon, Aunt Louise came over and styled my hair, smoothing my natural curl into shining waves and applying light makeup on my eyes, cheeks, and lips. Sonja said musicians often perform in classic black but thought white might be more age appropriate. She had driven to Provo, a city about an hour north of Levan, and found a simple yet elegant, long-sleeved, white, velvet dress. When I thumped down from my attic room, coiffed and wearing my new dress, my one foot in a heel and the other in a walking cast, thanks to my tumble down Tuckaway Hill, my dad’s weathered face softened, and his lower lip trembled.

“You look like an angel, honey. I’d hug you but I don’t want to muss ya up.”

The night was cold and still, snow running in deep drifts along the edge of the poorly plowed roads. We made our way to the church which was lit up and welcoming in the moonlight. Sonja sat at the organ and played magnificent prelude music, softening hearts and moistening eyes before the program had even begun. We sat in our regular pew, with Rachel coming to join us to sit with Jacob. They were engaged to be married in the spring, and with Jared home from college for the holidays, we were all together. Everyone was scrubbed and solemn in their holiday best, hair slicked and ties tied.

The program began, and my stomach was in knots as it neared the moment of my solo. I was seated at the end of our bench to provide easy access to the aisle, which was a straight shot up to the stand where the piano was waiting, lid opened, choir members seated on the dais around it. Lawrence Mangelson’s voice soared with the spirit as he spoke of the angels that heralded the birth of the King. Suddenly, it was my turn to play, and I rose on shaking legs and walked to the piano. There was a murmur through the congregation. The service always stayed close to tradition with little variance in narration or music. This was a surprise, and again, no one really knew I played.

I sat down and closed my eyes in silent prayer, asking for the nerves to stay in my legs and not my hands. My knees could knock harmlessly without hurting my performance. Softly, I began to play, tuning into the beauty of the sound, the soaring reverence of the melody, the magnificence of the musical phrasing. The audience faded around me as I joyously submitted to the song, and when it was done I slowly descended back to earth. I rose from the piano on steady legs, having forgotten my nerves, and looked out over the silent congregation.

My dad’s face was streaked with tears, and my brothers’ faces shone with pride. Aunt Louise and Tara smiled broadly, and Tara even waved excitedly before her mother noticed and pulled her hand down. Sonja was dabbing her eyes with a lacy hanky, her glasses in one hand.

Then, from the back of the room, someone began to clap. Mormons don’t clap in worship services. The chapel is a reverent place, and speakers end sermons with an amen, followed by an amen from the congregation. When someone sings or plays, even amens are not given. The choir or performer knows how well they have been received only by the level of silence and attention that is afforded them.

The clapping drew a little gasp from the churchgoers, and my eyes flew to see who was committing the faux pas. Toward the back of the church, standing next to the pew where his grandparents always sat, dressed in a white dress shirt and black pants, his hair pulled back off his face and secured in a low ponytail, was Samuel. He was clapping, his face serious and unashamed, and he kept clapping and clapping. His grandparents were seated beside him, their faces torn as to whether they should silence him or clap with him. Slowly, people began to join him, standing up around him as broad smiles broke out and the clapping became a roar.

I stood unmoving, not knowing quite what to do, until Sonja stole to my side and asked me to play Schubert’s “Ave Maria” . I knew “Ave Maria” by heart only because I loved it. I had never intended to perform it, but the continued applause encouraged me, and I sat back down on the bench and began the unplanned encore, inviting my audience to be seated and listen. When I finished the intensely beautiful and sacred number, there was no clapping. The silence was total and complete, the room hushed, as the congregation wept openly.

Sonja told me later there wasn’t a dry eye in the place. I found my eyes returning to where Samuel had stood. His eyes met mine, and he nodded once, solemnly. I slightly bowed and walked back to my pew where my father waited for me with open arms.

* * *

“You never told me you could play the piano like that.”

Samuel and I were back on the bus again, the heat pouring out of the heaters under the seats, the smell of wet feet and rubber boots wafting up all around us. Christmas vacation was over, two weeks of freedom ended, and the kids were glum. I had not seen Samuel since the Christmas Eve service.

“When was I supposed to tell you?” I asked, stumped. “We’ve never discussed music. Do you play an instrument?”

“No. We have traditional songs—but I don’t really know anyone that plays an instrument.” Samuel looked at me in wonder. “But you... you play like...like no one I’ve ever heard.”

“Thank you.” Samuel’s words washed me in pleasure. “And thank you for clapping,” I said softly. “It was the most beautiful moment of my life.” I realized I sounded a little overdramatic, and I felt my cheeks turn pink. But it was true. I had never experienced anything like it. The music, the applause, the beauty of the church, and the people I loved looking at me and listening to me. I had never in my life been the center of attention, and I knew now why people performed. I had learned to play simply for the love of music and for the joy it gave me. But performing definitely had its perks. Just thinking of Samuel, of the expression on his face as he stood and clapped for me! I would never forget it for as long as I lived.

“It was for me, too.” Samuel’s voice was gruff, and I could see he was embarrassed by his admission. “I have never heard music like that.”

“Did you know you weren’t supposed to clap?” I asked shyly, smiling at him.

“Yes. But I couldn’t help myself.”

“Someday, I’m going to travel the world, playing beautiful music, making people happy, hearing people clap,” I said dreamily, and for a moment we sat together in companionable silence, contemplating my future.

“Would you like to hear something?” I asked him suddenly, reaching for my cassette player and my headphones. Sonja and Doc had given them to me for Christmas, and I had spent the remainder of the holidays making tapes from my favorite music in Sonja’s collection.

I pulled out my Sony Walkman and popped it open, looking at the music inside. ‘Beethoven’ it read, in careful print. I pushed play and Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony filled my ears. I rewound it to the beginning and placed the earphones on Samuel’s ears. I listened to music loudly; you can’t really appreciate classical music, the rises, the individual notes and trills, if you don’t turn it up and give it your complete attention. I pushed play and held my breath.

I don’t know why I cared so much. But I did. I felt like I was revealing something very private about myself, and Samuel’s approval and appreciation of this music was paramount to me. I had come to care deeply about his opinion, and I wasn’t quite sure how I would react if he rejected my music. It might feel like a rejection of me. If he said, “It’s okay” or “Hmmm, interesting” it might also affect the way I felt about him. Realizing this, I regretted my spontaneous gesture and tried to remove the headphones from his head. I suddenly didn’t want to know what he thought.

His hands flew up and covered mine, and his eyes met mine fiercely as he pulled his head away. My hands fell to my lap, and I looked out the window dejectedly, waiting until he was finished. Every once in a while I sneaked looks at him. His eyes were cast downward, and his hands were locked over the earphones where he had placed them after my attempt to take them. There was rigidity to his posture that I couldn’t decipher. The music was loud enough that I could faintly hear when ‘Ode to Joy’ ended. I clicked the stop button, and Samuel slowly pulled the earphones from his head.

“What is it called?” he asked, and there was reverence in his voice.

“It’s Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. It’s also known as ‘Ode to Joy.’” Samuel looked at me as if he wanted to hear more.

“Beethoven first heard the poem called “To Joy” more than 30 years before he set it to music with his Ninth Symphony. The ninth symphony was his last. By the time it was completed, Beethoven was deaf and sick. It had taken him ten years to complete it. He changed the ‘Joy’ theme over two hundred different times until he was satisfied with it.” I stopped, not certain whether he wanted to hear more.

“He was deaf?” Samuel’s voice lifted in astonishment.

“Yes. Sonja told me that he couldn’t hear the audience applauding behind him when he conducted it for the first time in Vienna. A singer turned him around so that he could see the people cheering and clapping throughout the concert hall. He would lie on the floor during rehearsals so that he could feel the vibrations of the music.”

“How did he know what it sounded like? I mean, in order to write music, don’t you need to be able to hear it?” Samuel replied in wonder.

“It was inside him, I guess.” I pursed my lips in contemplation. “It was in his head and in his heart. I guess he felt the music, so he didn’t have to hear it with his physical ears.” I paused. “Sonja told me once that many of the great composers, including Beethoven, have said that the music they compose is in the air. That’s it’s already there, and you just have to be able to hear it. Most of us can’t. We can only appreciate that people like Beethoven seem to be able to, and then write down what they hear.”

“Do you hear it?” Samuel asked, his eyes penetrating.

“I don’t hear it…but I know it’s there.” I struggled to express something that I had never put into words. “Sometimes I think if I could just see without my eyes, the way I feel without my hands that I would be able to hear the music. I don’t use my hands to feel love or joy or heartache, but I still feel them all the same. My eyes let me see incredibly beautiful things, but sometimes I think that what I see gets in the way of what’s…what’s just beyond the beauty. Almost like the beauty I can see is just a very lovely curtain, distracting me from what’s on the other side…and if I just knew how to push that curtain aside, there the music would be.” I threw up my hands in frustration. “I can’t really explain it.”

Samuel nodded his head slowly. “I found myself closing my eyes while you were playing that night in the church. Other people did the same thing. Maybe that’s why. Our ears were trying to hear what our eyes keep hidden.”

He understood. I felt a swelling in my heart and a sudden, fierce urge to hug him.

“It’s in the air,” Samuel mused softly. His eyes were unfocused and his brow creased in reflection. “Like ni ch’i.”

“What?” I didn’t understand.

“It’s like ni ch’i. Ni ch’i is the Navajo for air or the wind...but it is more than that. It is holy, and it has power. My grandmother says ni ch’i means the Holy Wind Spirit. Everything in the living world communicates through ni ch’i. Because of this, the Holy Wind Spirit, ni ch’i, sits at the ears of the Dineh, or the people, and whispers instructions—tells them right from wrong. People who constantly ignore the ni ch’i are abandoned. The ni’ch’i will not remain with them.” Samuel’s eyes became focused again, drawing down on mine. “My grandmother believes that the ni ch’i is breathed into a newborn baby as they take their first breath. The child then has the companionship of the ni ch’i at all times. Ni ch’i guides him as he grows.

“It sounds like the Holy Ghost. I learned about the Holy Ghost in church. It helps you to do what’s right, guards you, warns you, leads you, but only if you are worthy of his company. It only speaks the truth. My Sunday School teacher says it is the way God talks to us.”

“Maybe what Beethoven hears is ni ch’i singing God’s music.

“I think you might be right.”

I rewound the cassette and extended the earphones to fit a head the size of Goliath’s. Then I leaned close to Samuel and fit the whole thing over both of our heads, one earphone on my left ear, one earphone on his right and we listened to God’s music with our heads pressed close together for the rest of bus ride.

* * *

Samuel never complained about my taste in music. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it immensely. He rigged my earphones so that we could turn the fuzzy ear pads outward, so that our heads weren’t pressed together when we listened. I hadn’t minded a bit…but I wasn’t going to admit it. He seemed concerned that someone might misconstrue the intimate proximity of our heads. We each held one side of the headphones pressed to our ear. After about a week of non-stop Beethoven, I brought my tape of Rachmaninoff. We were listening intently to Prelude in C Sharp Minor, and Samuel’s black eyes were wide and shining. He turned toward me as the movement came to a stunning finish.

His voice was awed. “This music makes me feel so powerful, like I could do anything…like nothing could stop me as long as I kept the music pounding into my head. And there’s just that one small part where the music becomes triumphant, like the intensity is climbing and climbing and pushing and reaching and then those three chords play and it says ‘I did it!!!’ Kind of like Rocky raising his hands at the top of all those stairs. You know what I mean?” His voice was soft and sincere, and he looked at me then, smiling a little sheepishly at his enthusiastic review. “It’s so powerful that...I almost believe if I kept on listening I would really become Super Sam!”

I laughed, delighted with his rare humor. Samuel didn’t joke around a lot, and he was definitely not verbose.

“I know exactly what you mean. Remember when I fractured my ankle?” I confessed sheepishly. “I got a little carried away with the music in my head and for a minute I was convinced I could fly.”

Samuel stared at me with a half smile on his face, shaking his head.

“Maybe I will have to make us matching capes and this can be our theme music.” I struck a pose. “Super Sam and Bionic Josie here to save the day!” I sung out.

Samuel actually laughed out loud. The sound was even better than the music, and I smiled at him, happier than I could ever remember being.

Samuel sat silently for a moment, not putting the earphone back up to his ear. I pushed the stop button on my player.

“Do you think you could make me a copy of that tape?” Samuel asked stiffly. I wondered why it was so hard for him to ask such a simple thing when I was so obviously his friend.

“Sure. Definitely,” I said brightly.

Samuel looked at me, his eyes troubled, and the joy of the music fading to a new concern. “I told you I wanted to go into the Marines, right?”

I nodded my head, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m scared to death.” He held my gaze fiercely, daring me to speak. I stayed silent.

“A Marine has to know how to swim...and I have been in a pool exactly twice in my life. I grew up on an Indian reservation, Josie, herding sheep all summer long, not swimming. I can dog paddle…sort of.” His voice trailed off.

“Why do you want to be a Marine, Samuel?” I was curious as to why, if he didn’t know how to swim, he wanted to try in the first place.

Samuel was quiet for a minute. When he answered I wasn’t sure he had understood my question.

“My shima, my Navajo grandmother, said that when I was born she hung my umbilical cord on her gun rack because she knew I was going to be a warrior. It is a Navajo tradition.” He smiled briefly as my eyes widened.

“It’s a tradition to hang the umbilical cord on the gun rack?” I blurted incredulously.

“It’s tradition to save the umbilical cord and put it in a special place that will be important to the newborn child when they are grown. It can be buried in the corral if it is believed the child will have an affinity for horses. It can be buried in the cornfield if the child will make his living from the land or under the loom if the child is thought to have the gift of weaving. My grandmother said she knew I would have to struggle to find my way in two worlds, and I would need a warrior’s spirit. Originally, she buried it in her hogan so that I would always know where my home was. But she says it felt wrong and she prayed many days to decide where to place my umbilical cord. She said the hogan would not always be my home, and she dug it up and put it on the gun rack.”

I met his gaze, intrigued. He continued, “She believed I would follow in my grandfather’s footsteps.”

“Who was your grandfather?”

“My Navajo grandfather was a Marine.”

“I see. So you’ve always thought you would be a Marine because your grandmother believed that was your destiny?

“I believe it is, too. I’ve dreamed about seeing other places, about belonging, about being a part of something that had nothing to do with being Navajo or being white, or any other culture. If you make it through twelve weeks of Marine training, you’re a Marine, one of the few and the proud.” Samuel’s mouth twisted humorlessly as he quoted the slogan. “I don’t have any siblings. My mom remarried to a man who already had five children, so I have three step-sisters and two step-brothers, all older than me. I don’t know them very well, and I don’t especially like them. They call me ‘the white boy’ when my mother isn’t around. I want out, Josie. I don’t want to go back home to the reservation. I’m proud of my heritage, but I don’t want to go back. I do not want to herd sheep my whole life.”

“So...this swimming thing. Is that the only problem?” I said tentatively.

He looked at me sharply. “I’d say it’s a pretty major problem.”

“The school has a pool, Samuel. Can’t you learn? Isn’t there someone who would teach you?”

“Who?” Samuel gazed at me angrily, “Who Josie? When? You are such a child! I ride this bus for forty minutes every morning and forty minutes every afternoon. I have no way of getting to school early or staying late. I have no driver’s license, so even if Don would let me take the truck, I’m useless.”

“I’m not a child, Samuel!” He had turned on me so suddenly, and his anger made me angry, too. “Maybe you need to ask for a little help. Don’t be so stubborn! I’m sure someone at the school would be willing to teach you, especially if they knew why you needed to learn.”

“Nobody wants to help me, and I’d rather drown than ask anyone.” Samuel’s face was grim and his fists were clenched. “I’m sorry I called you a child. Just…forget it, okay?”

We sat in silence the rest of the way into the school. I wondered why the music had made him think about being a Marine. Maybe because Rachmaninoff made him feel powerful when he felt so powerless.

Impromptu

P.E. was mandatory in junior high. I had lived in fear of undressing in the locker room the entire summer leading up to seventh grade. I had horrible visions of having to shower in those open stalls, all of my skinny, prepubescent classmates staring at my private parts. I had nightmares of running through the locker room, bare naked, looking for a towel while everyone else stood fully clothed, gaping at me. Music by Wagner screamed through the dream.

Luckily, showering was not mandatory, and I brought a huge towel from home, kept it in my locker, and huddled behind it while I changed into my gym clothes every day. I had long legs and enjoyed running, but that was as far as my athletic prowess went. Organized sports were beyond me. I was more than slightly spastic. During our unit on basketball, I attempted to make a basket, throwing it as hard as I could at the hoop, only to have it rebound sharply off the backboard and smack me in the face, bloodying my nose and blackening my eyes. I hated dodge ball even worse, and jumping rope was an absolute joke. I usually ended up volunteering to turn the rope for everyone else or shagging balls in order to avoid having to participate. I was consistently assigned to ‘work with’ the two mentally challenged girls that participated in gym class, not because I could actually help them athletically, but because I was nice. I have to say though, both of them could beat me hands down in dodge ball and basketball. They were better at jump rope, too.

That day in P.E. we were doing calisthenics—a fancy word for stretching—which was fairly safe for those less coordinated, like yours truly. Ms. Swenson, my P.E. coach, had a teacher’s aide leading us in the stretches. Her aid was a high school cheerleader named Marla Painter, who was very beautiful and very…stretchy. Her kicks were so high she could hit herself in the side of the head with her kneecap. She was showing us all three splits as I unfolded myself and slunk over to where Ms. Swenson was sitting grading papers. I supposed they were from the health class she taught. I had never seen a single sheet of paper in P.E.

“Ms. Swenson?” I asked shyly. Ms. Swenson didn’t care much for me. She didn’t have a lot of patience for the Klutz club, of which I was president.

Ms. Swenson finished checking the paper she was on before lifting her eyes in exasperation from the page.

“Yes?” she answered impatiently.

“I have a friend who needs to learn how to swim. Uh, how exactly could he go about doing that here at the school, preferably during school hours?” I finished in a rush, hoping she wouldn’t slap me down too quickly.

“What grade is he in?” she asked, her eyes back on her page, checking away.

“He’s a senior. He’s my neighbor in Levan, and transportation is a bit of a problem. He wants to join the Marines when he graduates, but he needs to learn to swim.” Again I rushed through my explanation, daring to hope, but not hoping too fervently.

“Why are you asking for him?” she said suspiciously.

“He’s new to the school, and a little shy—so I told his grandmother I would find out,” I lied, feeling my cheeks burn.

“Hmm. Go with Marla back up to the high school when she finishes. I’ll give you a note. You have lunch next, right?”

All seventh graders had first lunch, and I nodded my head eagerly.

“Ask Coach Judd or Coach Jasperson about it. Maybe they can work something out for him. I have a brother who’s a Marine. You gotta know how to swim,” she finished in an almost pleasant tone.

“Thank you very much, Ms. Swenson.” I waited while she scribbled me a note and signed it like she was in the medical profession.

Marla took me to the high school gym and snagged a boy, who was heading into the locker room, to see if either Coach Judd or Coach Jasperson was in his office inside. She bounced off after that, leaving me waiting outside the boys’ locker room for the messenger to return. I waited for a very long time. Either the coaches weren’t in there, or the boy had gotten distracted. I was about ready to give up in despair when the last person I wanted to see came walking through the gymnasium toward the boys’ locker room.

“Josie...what are you doing?” Samuel said, befuddled to see me lurking outside a place I had no business being.

“Ms. Swenson sent me up to speak with Coach Judd or Coach Jasperson. Marla Painter came with me, but she left and I can’t go in there!” My voice sounded a little like a wail, and I embarrassed myself with the sudden urge to cry. I wasn’t about to tell Samuel I was here for him.

“Just a minute,” he offered helpfully. “I’ll go see if there’s someone in there.”

At that moment, Coach Jasperson accompanied Marla’s messenger out of his inner sanctum. Coach Jasperson was eating a huge tuna sandwich with potato chips smashed in between the bread. Apparently, he hadn’t wanted to give up any of his lunch break to chat with me. I breathed a sigh of relief and then shuddered in dread. This was going to embarrass me and embarrass Samuel. I knew he might never forgive me, but I did it anyway. As the messenger sauntered away I began to speak.

“Coach Jasperson, Samuel here is my neighbor.” I gestured toward Samuel, not daring to look at him. “He wants to join the Marines when he graduates. The problem is he doesn’t know how to swim. He needs to be in a swim class or something here at the school, working with someone who can teach him.” I was talking so fast Coach Jasperson had stopped chewing in order to keep up. “He can’t come early to school, and he can’t stay late for transportation reasons, so it would be a very good thing if you could make sure he gets the help he needs during school hours.” I sounded like one of those wind-up dolls, prattling along cheerfully.

I sneaked a look at Samuel. His face was like a cold, hard mask. I knew he would never speak to me again. My heart broke a little.

“I’m sure Samuel would be glad to speak to a guidance counselor to rearrange his schedule to make it work.” I had done what I could do, and my voice trailed off nervously.

“The Marines, huh?” Coach Jasperson was chewing again. “I’m sure we could figure something out...it was Samuel, right? You speak English?”

I cringed. I could see why Coach Jasperson thought he might not. After all, I had done all the talking for him.

“Yes I speak English.” Samuel’s reply was sharp, and I heard the outrage in his voice. He was furious with me. Still, I hoped Coach Jasperson didn’t hear it and misunderstand.

“Good, good!” Coach Jasperson was too busy enjoying his sandwich, and he missed the darts shooting from Samuel’s onyx eyes.

“Well, you and I will go see Mr. Whiting, the guidance counselor, and I will set you up with one of the guys from the swim team. I think Justin McPherson could help you during second period. He’s my aid, and I never have much for him to do. If we can free your schedule up during second hour, you should be set.”

Bless Coach Jasperson for being very helpful and a little oblivious at the same time. He put one arm around Samuel’s shoulders, pulling him along, talking to him while he licked the last of the tuna salad from his fingers. Samuel turned and looked at me over Coach Jasperson’s beefy arm. I bit my lip to keep from tearing up as he glared at me. He turned his head dismissively, and I left the gymnasium as quickly as I could.

* * *

I missed the bus on purpose that night and waited until almost five o’clock that afternoon to get a ride home with Johnny after wrestling practice. I was tired and hungry and more than a little distraught. I had finished all my homework, including a book report not due for another two weeks. I’d tried to read but found myself too jittery to focus. I longed for my music books—at least I could have gone into the band room and practiced the piano. I had called Sonja from the school office to tell her I wouldn’t be at my lesson that afternoon. When it was finally time to go, I had to sit crammed in between Johnny and another sweaty wrestler all the way home from Nephi. I should have just taken the bus, but I couldn’t face Samuel yet.

The next day I faked sick. My dad didn’t question me too hard. In fact, he didn’t question me at all. I never faked sick, so when I said I didn’t feel well and wasn’t going, he just shrugged his shoulders, felt my head, and asked me if I needed him to stay home from work to be with me.

“Ugh! Please no!” I thought desperately. Then I would have to fake sick all day. I told him I would just sleep and that I would be fine all by myself. He didn’t need much convincing. I spent the day playing the piano until my back and neck ached and my fingers kept playing even after I stopped.

At 3:30, the doorbell rang. I was back on the piano playing Fur Elise, my feet bare, wearing my favorite old jeans and the soft blue BYU sweatshirt Jared had given me for Christmas. I ran my fingers through my hair and walked to the door, expecting Tara.

Samuel stood on the porch, his hands pushed down into his pockets, his head uncovered, and his silky black hair blowing in the cold January wind. He didn’t have his backpack, so I assumed he had gone home first. I wondered what excuse he had made in order to come see me. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” His voice held no anger, but there was a tightness around his mouth that I hated.

I moved aside and opened the door wider, indicating that he should come inside. He seemed hesitant to enter but must have realized we couldn’t sit out on the porch in the cold for very long. Plus, his grandpa or someone might drive by, and explaining would be weird. People in small towns saw things and talked. If someone saw Samuel sitting on my front porch with me, tongues would start wagging and that would not be good.

Samuel stepped inside, and I shut the door behind him. He didn’t sit down but stood stiffly a few steps from the door. I resumed my perch on the piano bench. I curled one leg up under me and stared down at the black and white keys, waiting.

“Are you sick?” Samuel asked bluntly.

“No.” My voice was a whisper.

“Why didn’t you go to school today? And where were you yesterday after school?” His voice was flat.

I tried to speak around the giant lump in my throat and had to swallow a few times to get the words to come out. “I was afraid to see you.” He seemed surprised that I would just come right out and admit it.

“What did you think I would do?” he asked sharply.

“It’s not what you would do,” I answered miserably, the lump in my throat growing, choking me. “It’s how you would act. I can’t stand it—you being so mad at me. You looked at me yesterday like you wished I was dead, and I just couldn’t face you knowing how much you hated me!” I folded my arms around myself, willing the pain in my heart to subside.

“I was mad…but I could never hate you.” His voice was soft, and I felt the tightness in my chest ease just enough to make breathing easier.

“I wish you hadn’t done that, but a part of me was glad that you did. I think that makes me even more ticked off. I hate it that part of me is thankful for what you did. It’s weak to need or want someone to speak for me.” He paused for a minute, and I shifted on the piano bench so that I could face him. He glared down at me, his jaw set, his eyes wet. “You can’t do that again, Josie. I don’t want you to take care of me. I know you did it because you do care… but don’t take my pride from me.”

“Is pride more important than friendship?” I said sadly.

“Yes!” Samuel’s voice was harsh and emphatic.

“That is so ridiculous!” I threw my arms wide in frustration.

“Josie! You are just a little girl! You don’t know how helpless and weak and stupid it made me feel to stand there while you arranged my life like I was some kind of charity case!” Samuel fisted his hands in his hair and, growling, turned toward the door.

“I am not a little girl! I haven’t been a little girl for years… for ever! I don’t think like a little girl, and I don’t act like a little girl. I don’t LOOK like a little girl, do I? Don’t you dare say I am a little girl!” I pounded down on the piano keys, playing a violent riff, reminiscent of Wagner himself. Now I knew what Sonja meant by letting out the beast! I wanted to throw something or smash something and scream at Samuel. He was so impossible! Such a stubborn, mule-headed jerk! I played hard for several minutes, and Samuel stood at the door, dumbfounded.

Suddenly, Samuel sat down beside me on the piano bench and put his hands over the top of mine, bringing the din to a halt.

“I’m sorry, Josie,” Samuel said softly. I was crying, tears dripping down onto the keys, making them slippery. I was a terrible beast, not fierce at all—just a blubbering baby beast. Samuel seemed at a loss. He sat very still, his hands covering mine. Slowly, his hands rose to my face and gently wiped the tears from my cheeks.

“Will you play something else?” he requested softly, his voice remorseful. “Will you play something for me...please?”

I wiped my tears off of the piano keys with the bottom of my sweatshirt. He waited patiently beside me, letting me regain my composure. I was still hurt and frustrated, and I didn’t understand him at all. But I had never been able to hold on to anger very long, and I forgave him immediately, giving in with a soggy sigh.

“You know I love ‘Ode to Joy’ but I don’t really want to play that right now.” My voice was a little gravely from crying, and I looked up at him. “Have you ever heard Mozart’s Piano Concerto Number 23 in A Major?”

“Umm, I really wouldn’t know if I had.” He smiled ruefully as he looked down at me, shaking his head and wiping a stray tear from my cheek.

“It’s my favorite song…today.” I grinned a little. “I have different favorites on different days. But today is a Mozart day.”

His hands fell to his lap as I began playing. I plucked out the lilting melody, trilling through the notes, fingers flying though the rolling chords, coaxing every last bit of aching sweetness from the wistful concerto. How I loved this music! How it healed me and filled me and soothed me.

The last musical phrases were so soft, so faint, that Samuel leaned in to hear the very last high, clear notes as my fingers grew still on the keys. I looked up at him then. He was staring down at my hands resting on the now silent keys.

“Play more,” Samuel urged softly. “Play the one you played at Christmas…the second one.”

I acquiesced immediately, my heart swelling at his response, his sincere enjoyment.

“Does it have a name?” he said reverently when I finished.

“Ave Maria.” I smiled. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? It was written by Franz Schubert. He was only thirty-one years old when he died. He died completely broke, not knowing that his music would be treasured by people forever.”

“And you know this because….?” Samuel raised his eyes to mine in question.

“My piano teacher, Mrs. Grimaldi, tells me all about the composers when I play their music. She says to be a great composer, I have to love the great composers, and if I don’t know them, how can I love them?”

“Which one do you love the most?”

I giggled a little. “It’s kind of like my favorite song. It changes all the time, depending on what kind of mood I’m in. Mrs. Grimaldi says I am a very mercurial musician.”

“I think I’m going to have to go look that word up.”

“The dictionary says it means active, sprightly, and full of vigor.” I laughed. “I had to look it up as soon as she said it, but I think Mrs. Grimaldi meant always changing, unpredictable.”

“So who is your favorite composer today?”

“Lately, I have been enamored with Frederick Chopin.”

“Does enamored mean in love with?”

I giggled again. “More like captivated by.”

“Why are you captivated by him?”

“He was handsome,” I answered promptly and felt like a silly idiot when Samuel raised his eyebrows and smirked. “But mostly it was because he wrote mainly for the piano...more than any other composer in history. I am a pianist so...I like that. He was also very young when he died, only thirty-nine years old. He died of Tuberculosis. He also had a torrid love affair with a famous writer. He was filled with guilt because he never married her, and he was certain he was going to go to hell because of it. He ended their relationship before he died, trying to repent of his sinful behavior, but it’s so romantic. He was such a tragic figure.”

“So play something by Chopin,” Samuel demanded.

I had the first portion of Chopin’s Nocturne in C Minor memorized, and I loved the dramatic rhythm of the low—high, low—high pattern throughout the beginning. It was a moody piece, and it appealed to my romantic nature when suddenly it became sweet and melodic, full of nostalgia and tenderness. I had not memorized the incredible difficulty of the final movement that tied it all together in a triumphant and impressive finish, so I improvised a little to end it before I got there.

“I can see why you are enamored,” Samuel teased. He was relaxed and his mouth was curved in pleasure. “Now play me something you’ve written.”

I froze in discomfort. “I am not a composer, Samuel,” I said stiffly.

“You mean you haven’t made up any songs? Mozart was…how old did you say? Four or five? When he started making up…what are they called?”

“Minuets,” I supplied.

“You haven’t even tried to compose a little?” he prodded.

“A little,” I admitted, embarrassed.

“So...let me hear something.”

I remained unmoving, my hands in my lap.

“Josie...all I know about music, I’ve learned from you. You could play something by Beethoven, say it was yours, and I wouldn’t know any better. I will think whatever you play is wonderful. You know that, right?” he urged me gently.

I had been working on something. A few months back, a melody had shivered its way into my subconscious, and I hadn’t been able to place it. It had lurked, pestering me, until finally I had hummed it for Sonja, fingering it on the piano, creating chords out of the single notes and embellishing the melody line. She had listened silently and then asked me to play it again and again. Each time I played I added more, layering and building until she stopped me, touching my shoulder softly. When I looked up at her from the piano, there was awe in her face, almost a spiritual glow.

“This is yours, Josie,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

“I’ve never heard this music. This isn’t something you heard. This is something you created.” She beamed, joyfully.

I thought of the music now as Samuel sat next to me, waiting patiently, hoping I would give in. The music had come to me after we had quarreled about Heathcliff and the meaning of true love. When I thought of the music, I thought of Samuel.

I brought my hands to the keys and exhaled slowly, letting the music seep into my fingers. I played intently. There was a yearning in the melody that I recognized as my own loneliness. The music never became powerful but moved me in its simplicity and its clarity. I brushed the keys gently, coaxing the song from my timid soul. It was a humble offering, not nearly worthy yet of Mozart even at a young age, but it echoed with the passion of a sincere heart. When the last note faded and Samuel had still not spoken, I peered up at him apprehensively.

“What is it called?” he whispered, bringing his ebony eyes to hold mine.

“Samuel’s Song,” I whispered back, staring at him, suddenly brave and unapologetic.

He turned his face away from me abruptly, and he seemed unable to speak. He stood and walked to the door. He paused there, with his hand on the doorknob, his head bowed.

“I need to go now.” Samuel looked at me then, and there was a battle being waged in his eyes, turmoil on his face. “Your song…that is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” His voice was filled with emotion. And with that, he opened the door and walked out into the icy stillness, shutting the door softly behind him.

Dissonance

The last week in February, Samuel didn’t come to school. On Monday, I thought maybe he was sick or something, but after a few days I was worried about him. By Thursday, I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I came up with a plan to see him. Nettie Yates had given me a recipe for chocolate chip zucchini bread when we were canning the summer before. She had shredded the zucchini into freezer bags and taped the laminated recipe to the pouches so that I could “just whip some up whenever I wanted to!” I had yet to make it. Zucchini and chocolate chips seemed like an odd combination.

I was grateful now for an excuse to go see her and hopefully find out what was up with Samuel. I pulled some shredded zucchini out of the freezer, made up a couple loaves of the chocolate chip zucchini bread, and headed out into the icy February evening, a loaf of the hot bread wrapped in a dish cloth and held against me, keeping my fingers warm.

Nettie Yates answered the door after a couple of knocks and seemed glad to see me.

“Josie,” she exclaimed happily. “How nice to see you! Come in, come in! Oh, it’s miserable out there! Did you walk?”

“It’s not far, Mrs. Yates,” I said trying to talk between my chattering teeth. “I made zucchini bread from that recipe you gave me and thought maybe you would like to try it and maybe give me some pointers,” I lied smoothly.

“What a perfect day for warm zucchini bread! I’d love some! Come into the kitchen. You can put your coat and boots back in the mud room by the back door.”

I handed her the loaf, bound tightly like a baby in a blanket, and pulled my coat and boots off. I didn’t see any sign of Samuel. I padded through the kitchen on stocking feet, trying to search without looking obvious about it. Samuel’s coat wasn’t hanging on any of the hooks in the mudroom. I turned to hurry back in the warm kitchen when I heard someone coming up the back steps. The door whooshed open and Don Yates came tumbling in, nose and cheeks red, cowboy hat pulled low. I scurried out of the mudroom into the kitchen, not wanting to be standing there staring if Samuel was right behind him.

“Woo Wee! It is colder than a witch’s kiss out there!” Don Yates slammed the door closed behind him. I heard him pulling off his boots and unzipping his coat. Samuel wasn’t with him.

“Josie Jensen is here, Don!” Nettie called out from the kitchen. “She brought us some nice zucchini bread. Come on in and I’ll get you some hot coffee to go with it.”

Don came tottering in, still bundled in thermals and flannel, rubbing his hands together.

“Hello, Miss Josie.” Don went to the sink and washed his hands and face while Nettie cut the zucchini bread and spread butter thickly over the top. I sat down, not sure how I was going to get the information I needed. Samuel obviously wasn’t here…unless he was sick in his room.

“Josie, the bread looks wonderful!” Nettie exclaimed. I took a big bite of the slice Nettie set before me, chewing it slowly, trying to buy myself some time to plot. It was really good. Who knew zucchini would work with chocolate chips? You couldn’t taste the zucchini—it just made the bread moist. The bread tasted like thick, spicy cake, the chocolate chips imbedded around the edges. I felt a surge of pride that it had turned out so well.

“It’s gonna be ten below tonight,” Don muttered to himself. “I’ve got the horses inside, but it’s gonna be miserable for ‘em all the same. I hate February…most miserable month of the year,” Don grumbled under his breath.

“So…Mrs. Yates….I noticed Samuel wasn’t on the bus...is he sick?” I stunk at subterfuge.

“Oh, heavens no!” Mrs. Yates declared, covering her mouth as she tried to answer between bites. “Samuel went back to the reservation.”

Time stopped, and I stared at Nettie Yates in horror.

“For good?” My voice rose with a squeak, and I stared down at my half-eaten slice of bread, my mind spinning. “He’s not coming back?” I said in a more controlled tone, though my heart was constricting painfully in my chest.

“Well, we don’t know exactly,” Nettie said carefully, sharing a meaningful look with Don.

“What does that mean?” My fear was making me impertinent.

“Well,” Nettie started every sentence with ‘well’, especially when she was trying to be discreet.

“Samuel’s mom wants him back home.” Don’s gravelly voice was blunt as he wiped the back of his hand over his lips, checking his mustache for crumbs.

“But...” I tried to proceed gingerly, not wanting to give my feelings away. “Won’t it be hard for Samuel to finish school if he leaves now?”

“His mom said he doesn’t need to finish if he’s just going to herd sheep. She says they need him there.” I could tell Don was none too happy about the situation. “Samuel is eighteen years old. Legally, he’s an adult, and nobody can make him finish.”

“But I thought she was the one who wanted him to come here!” I was angry and confused, and my face probably showed it.

“She did!” I must have hit a nerve, because Don’s voice rose emphatically. “She talked to him on the phone last week. She said he sounded good and decided he ‘was cured’.” Don lifted up his fingers and waggled them, making quotations in the air as he repeated the words Samuel’s mother had used.

“But…what about the Marines?” I was trying to keep my composure. I couldn’t let them know how much this conversation was upsetting me. “He’s worked so hard! He’s even learning how to swim!”

Nettie set down her bread and looked at me in surprise. “How did you know about the Marines?”

“Samuel and I are assigned to the same seat on the bus, Mrs. Yates,” I confessed. “I’ve talked to him a little bit. He’s been trying so hard to get good grades, too! I can’t believe he’s just going to quit school.”

“Samuel’s bein’ pulled in two directions, Josie.” Don shook his head and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t know that he feels like he has a lot of say in the matter.”

I needed to get out of there. I was going to burst into tears, and there was no way I was going to do it in front of Don and Nettie. I bit my inner cheek hard, the sharp pain postponing my rising emotion.

“Well, I’d better get on home. Dad’s going to be wanting something hot to eat on a night like this.” I headed to the mudroom and grabbed my things, not letting myself breathe too deeply, not releasing my soft inner cheek from my teeth.

I yanked on my boots and zipped up my coat frantically, pulling the hood down over my messy curls. Don made a move to get up, maybe to see me home.

“Don’t worry about me getting home, Mr. Yates. I can see our front porch light from here. It’s only a block. I’ll be fine.”

“Well, thanks for comin’ by, Josie.” Nettie seemed a little stumped by my erratic behavior. I’m sure she thought my interest in Samuel was a little peculiar as well.

I took my dishtowel from her outstretched hand and turned to leave.

I stopped, torn between my concern for Samuel and my wish to vacate the kitchen before I dissolved into a howling puddle.

“If you talk to Samuel soon will you tell him I came by and asked about him? Please remind him about his umbilical cord.”

Nettie and Don stared at me like I had lost my marbles. “Just tell him, okay? He’ll understand.”

I fled through the house and out into the frigid February evening.

* * *

Another week passed. March came, and Samuel didn’t come back to school. I didn’t return for updates from Don and Nettie. It would only raise questions, and I had raised enough already. I had started making him tapes of all the music we had been listening to. I had made him a collection of greatest hits from all the composers I loved. I had ten tapes of my favorites, everything from Beethoven to Gershwin. I had put my absolute favorites on one tape and entitled it Josie’s Top 10. I had included Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C Sharp Minor that Samuel had loved. It had not been among my top ten before, but it always would be now. Each cassette case had the titles neatly labeled next to the composer. I didn’t know how I was going to give him the gift now.

Then one morning, about two weeks after he left, I climbed on the bus, and he was sitting there waiting for me like he’d never been gone. I rushed to him and sat down, grabbing his hand in mine and holding on for all I was worth.

“You’re here!” I was whispering, trying to be discreet, but I felt like laughing out loud and dancing. He turned his face toward me, and I saw that the left side of his face, from his eye to his chin, was covered with a mottled green and yellow bruise, most likely a few days old.

“What happened? Oh, Samuel, your face!”

Samuel let me hold his hand for a moment, clasping mine tightly in his as well. Then he gently extricated his fingers and folded his hands together, like he was afraid he might take my hand again.

“I’m here until I graduate, which is going to be harder than it would have been two weeks ago. I have to go to my teachers and beg them to help me. I missed mid-terms and big assignments in every class. I have to read Othello.” He grimaced and looked at me. “I might need your help with that.” I nodded my head willingly as he continued. “When I graduate, my grandparents are going to take me to San Diego for Marine boot camp. I don’t think I’ll be going back to the rez any time soon.” Sorrow bracketed his mouth and his lips turned down slightly.

I reached up with my right hand and gently touched his bruised cheekbone. “What happened?” I asked again, hoping he wouldn’t pull away.

“Complements of my mom’s husband.”

“He hit you?” I whispered, shocked.

“Yeah. I hit him, too. Don’t look so alarmed. I gave as good as I got. In fact, I had to hold back a little because he was so drunk it really wasn’t a fair fight.” Samuel’s voice and face were smooth and untroubled. I wasn’t really buying it.

“Your mom lets him hit you?”

“Mom doesn’t have much control over anything at this point. She drinks way too much too, and she’s scared of him. But she’s more scared that he’ll leave and even more scared that I will be the reason he does. It’s better for everyone if I go and stay gone.”

“But…I thought your mom wanted you back home. That’s what your grandparents said.”

“My mom doesn’t want me to be a Marine and get myself killed in some white man’s war. My mom doesn’t understand why I want to go. She says she never should have married my father. She says I am leaving her because I am ashamed I am half Navajo. The funny thing is, she wants me gone, but she doesn’t want me to go.”

I felt his helplessness and didn’t know how to comfort him. I didn’t understand the relationship he had with his mother, or the difficulty in being of mixed race, from mixed cultures, full of mixed emotions.

“What made you decide to come back?” I didn’t think I would have had the courage to leave my family.

“I spent some time with my grandmother. During the winter the sheep are corralled close to home, and my grandmother works almost non-stop at her loom. She makes these amazing rugs and blankets. She says her ability to weave is a gift from Spider Woman.” He looked at me, a faint smile lurking around his firm lips. “Spider Woman is not related to Super Sam or Bionic Josie.” He quirked his eyebrows at me and then continued, serious again. “Spider Woman is considered one of the Holy People—kind of like the Gods of the Navajo people.

“My grandmother never went to school. Her parents were suspicious of the schools of the white man. They hid her in the cornfield when the social service people came to enforce the education laws on the reservation. There were boarding schools for the children then. The children were sent away, and they weren’t allowed to speak Navajo. Her parents worried that school would change her. They told her the sheep would provide for her and give her everything she needed.

“The funny thing is, they were right. My grandmother is very independent. She cares for the sheep, and they provide for her. She knows how to shear, wash, card, and spin the wool into yarn. From the yarn she makes the rugs and blankets to sell. The Navajo name for sheep means ‘that by which we live.’ She says she is grateful for the gift of weaving from Spider Woman, and for her sheep, for her hogan, for her life…but she wishes she had been able to go to school.

“When I was there she told me to study hard, to be proud of my heritage and not be afraid of myself. She said I was Navajo, but I was my father’s son as well. One heritage was not more important than the other.”

Samuel grew quiet, and I sat next to him in contemplative silence.

“I’ll help you, Samuel.”

“I know you will Josie. And Josie?”

“Hmm?”

“Remember when I told you that you were the furthest thing from a Navajo?”

I laughed a little, remembering the derision with which he had made the statement. “Yep, I remember.”

“I realized something when I was with my grandmother.” He paused, smiling faintly. “You remind me of her. Funny, huh?”

I pondered that for a minute. Samuel continued, apparently not expecting me to answer.

“She sang me a healing song before I left. Usually the chants and the songs are sung by the old men, but she said the words are like a prayer, and prayer is for everyone.” The words of the song are:

There is beauty behind me as I walk

There is beauty before me as I walk

There is beauty below me as I walk.

There is beauty above me as I walk.

In beauty I must always walk.

“You always walk in beauty, Josie. You are constantly looking for it. I think you are secretly a Navajo after all.” Samuel took my hand in his this time.

“Can I have a secret name?” I teased, but I was touched by his sentiment.

“I’ll think about it.” Samuels’s lips twitched and merriment flitted across his stern features. “By the way, Nettie and Don said you came looking for me. They said you were acting strange and talking about umbilical cords.” Samuel’s eyes danced with laughter.

I giggled and covered my mouth with my free hand.

“Samuel?” He looked at me in response. “I think I have a new code word for music.”

His forehead creased “What?”

“Sheep.”

“Why?”

“Because music is ‘that by which I live.’”

“Bee’iin’a at’e?”

“Wow. Is that how you say it? That’s even better.”

And we listened to Mozart’s ‘Requiem’ in peaceful companionship.

Deceptive Cadence

I told Samuel that I would help him read Othello, but it proved difficult for me. I was not a stranger to Shakespeare’s language, but the themes of jealousy, racism, and betrayal were not ones I enjoyed. I found myself increasingly anxious for Othello, and frustrated by the ease in which he fell for Iago’s machinations. I desperately wanted a happy ending, and I wasn’t going to get one.

Samuel seemed to take the story in stride, enjoying the plot and the complex Shakespearean prose. The play was not overly long, and by the end of the week we were in Act V, Scene 2. Samuel was reading the scene intently, and I was listening to his fluid voice relay the intricate tale without a single stumble or trip. I would have enjoyed just listening to his melodic cadence if it weren’t for poor Desdemona’s impending doom. I tried to hold my tongue and listen patiently, but found myself continually interrupting.

“She is innocent! Why is it so easy to believe she would betray him?” I was truly appalled.

Samuel looked up at me calmly and replied, “Because it’s always easier to believe the worst.”

I looked at him in disbelief. “It is not!” I sputtered. “I can’t believe you would say that! Wouldn’t you give the benefit of the doubt to someone you claimed to love?” The ease in which Othello accepted her betrayal was completely foreign to me. “And why would Othello believe Iago over Desdemona? I don’t care how honest they think Iago is! Emilia even told Othello she thought he was being manipulated and tricked!”

Samuel sighed and tried to read to the end of the scene. I jumped in again. I couldn’t help it. My sense of outrage was on overdrive.

“But he said, ‘I loved not wisely, but too well!’“ I was dismayed. “He had it totally backwards! He did love wisely! She was worthy of his love! She was a wise choice! But he didn’t love well enough! If he had loved Desdemona more, trusted her more, Iago wouldn’t have been able to divide them.” I longed once again for Jane Eyre, where righteousness and principle won out in the end. Jane got her man, and she did it with style. Desdemona got her man, and he smothered her.

Samuel closed the book, slid it into his backpack, and looked at me affectionately. “It’s over and done Josie, you never have to read it again.”

“But...I want to understand why...why would he kill her? The one he is supposed to honor, protect, and defend.” I was honestly devastated by the whole play. I felt a lump rising in my throat. To make matters worse, Samuel seemed outrageously unperturbed. I dug through my bag, looking for my Walkman. I shoved my earphones on and pushed the play button savagely. Then I sat back, squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to concentrate on the music. Chopin’s ‘Berceuse in D-flat’ floated out of the earphones. After a few moments, I groaned in despair as the lovely melody seemed to underline the horror of innocent Desdemona’s fate.

Samuel plucked the earphones off of my head, causing my eyelids to flutter open, and I stared at him stonily.

“What?” I mumbled.

“You are taking this too seriously,” he said simply.

I jumped right back in with both feet. “Othello was so proud, and he was so accomplished! Yet, he was so easy to manipulate!” I argued passionately.

Samuel deliberated for a minute. “Othello was a man who’d had to fight and scrape to get where he was. He probably felt like at any moment his ship could spring a leak, and if it did? He would be the first one thrown overboard, even though it was his ship.”

“So Othello was an easy target?” I muttered. “Easy because his pride was really a front for his insecurity?”

“Insecurity...past experience... life, who knows? His pride demanded that he seek justice. He had worked too hard to be mocked by those closest to him.”

“So he was destroyed by his pride. Not Desdemona!”

“Ahhh, irony.” Samuel smirked at me then and cuffed me lightly on the chin.

He handed me back my earphones, twisting his side outward so we could share Chopin. I studied the strong lines of his face, his black eyes growing unfocused as he zoned into the music. He was so striking, and his face grew serene as he listened. I felt increasingly bereft as the music played on, and I continued to watch his face, a face that had become so precious to me.

The bus chugged violently and jerked to a stop. Being the last ones on in the morning meant we were the first ones off every afternoon, as Mr. Walker worked backwards through his route. Samuel pulled his earphone off, handed the headset to me, and picked up my bag so that I could shove them inside. We swayed on unsteady legs down the vibrating aisle and down the steep steps into the late March sun. It bounced blindingly off the melting snow, and as Samuel started on his way I called after him, squinting against its brightness. He turned, eyebrows raised, swinging his backpack over one shoulder.

“Is love really so complicated?” I asked desperately. “Is it really so hard to trust? I don’t understand.” My mind flickered back to 1 Corinthians, Chapter 13. “Did Othello even love Desdemona to begin with?”

Samuel looked at me then, and there was a wisdom and understanding in his gaze that made me feel incredibly naive.

He closed the few steps between us. “Othello loved Desdemona. He was crazy about her. That was never the problem. Othello’s problem was that he never felt worthy of Desdemona in the first place. He was the ‘black Moor’ and she was the ‘fair Desdemona.’” Samuel’s tone was conversational, but there was a certain wistfulness in his face. “It was too good to be true, too sweet to be reality for too long, so when someone set out to destroy his belief in her, it made more sense to doubt her than to believe that she had truly loved him in the first place.”

“But she did!”

Samuel shrugged his shoulders a little, dismissing this. He turned away again.

“Samuel!”

“What Josie?!” The other kids that got off at our stop were trudging home and out of earshot by now, but he seemed reluctant to continue the conversation.

“But she did!” I insisted again, enunciating each word.

Samuel’s eyes rested on my face, and I realized I was clenching my jaw tightly, my chin jutting out, daring him to deny it.

“I believe you, Josie,” he said at last. He turned then and walked away, his gait smooth and unhurried, his moccasins quiet on the hard packed snow.

I felt relieved that we seemed to understand one another. It wasn’t until I read the play again, many years later, that I realized we hadn’t been talking about Desdemona and Othello at all.

* * *

The school year was drawing to a close. Samuel grew distant and withdrawn again, much like he had been in the beginning. He had been in constant touch with his recruiter and was mentally almost gone. He was swimming well enough now. He’d attacked the sport with a vengeance and was certain he would be okay throughout training, even if he wasn’t the strongest swimmer. He had been running every night as well, trying to be as ready as he could be for boot camp. He told me that he wanted to get a perfect score on the fitness test. He had gotten all his medical records when he’d left the reservation. He had needed a series of shots that he’d never gotten, as well as some tests that were required. He was grim and testy the last month of school, ready to graduate, ready to move on.

I didn’t really understand why he was so anxious to leave. Boot camp sounded horrible to me…and wouldn’t he miss me at all? I couldn’t imagine not seeing him every day, listening to music, reading together. As he grew increasingly more agitated and short-tempered, I grew steadily more forlorn. I wanted to give him a gift for graduation. He had made the honor roll, which he seemed proud of. He was Ms. Whitmer’s new favorite student. She was so impressed with him that she had given him the Outstanding Senior English student award. But all this didn’t seem to assuage his restlessness.

One morning on the bus I offered my earphones to Samuel, only to have him push my hand away irritably. I stifled the girlish instinct to cry from my hurt feelings. Sonja said women have many emotions, but only one physical response. When we’re angry we cry. When we’re happy we cry. When we’re sad we cry. When we’re scared, you guessed it, we cry.

“What’s wrong, Samuel?” I said after several moments of tense silence.

“I just don’t want to listen, that’s all,” he said tersely.

“Okay. But why did you push my hand away? Am I bothering you?”

“Yes.” Samuel lifted his chin as he said this, jutting it at me, like he said the word purposely to hurt me and make me angry.

“What am I doing that’s bothering you?” I again fought the wet that threatened to undermine my dignity. I spoke each word distinctly, focusing on the shape and sound instead of the sentiment.

“You are so...” His smooth voice was layered with turbulence and frustration. Samuel rarely raised his voice, and didn’t do so now, but the threat was there. “You are so… calm, and accepting, and NAIVE that sometimes…I just want to shake you!”

I wondered what in the world had brought on this vehement attack and sat in stunned silence for several heartbeats.

“I bother you because I’m calm...and accepting?” I said, my voice an incredulous squeak. “Do you want me to be hyper…and, well, intolerant?”

“It would be nice if you questioned something, sometime.” Samuel was revving up to his argument. I could see the animation in his face. “You live in your own happy little world. You don’t know how it feels to not belong anywhere! I don’t belong anywhere!”

“Why do you think I created my own happy little world?” I shot back. “I fit in perfectly there!” I hated it when he tried to start a fight with me.

“Come on, Samuel. Everyone feels like they don’t belong sometimes, don’t they? Mrs. Grimaldi even told me that Franz Schubert, the composer, said that at times he didn’t feel like he belonged in this world at all. He created amazing, beautiful music. He had this enormous gift, yet he often felt out of place, too.

“Franz Schubert? He was the guy that wrote the song you played at Christmas, right?”

“Yes!” I smiled at him like a proud teacher.

“It’s not quite the same thing Josie. I don’t think Franz and I have much in common.”

“Well I hope not!” I said saucily. “Poor Franz Schubert never made any money from his music and was completely broke and mostly destitute when he died from Typhus at only thirty-one years old.”

Samuel sighed and shook his head. “You always seem to have an answer for everything, huh? So tell me what to do, Josie. My mother keeps calling me. She calls me late at night, and she’s so drunk all she can do is cry and swear. My grandparents are trying to stay out of it, but I know her calling like that, at all hours, is upsetting them. She says I will never find hozho in the white man’s world. Can you believe she is using the Navajo religion to make me feel guilty while she is a complete mess?”

I realized none of Samuel’s angst had anything to do with me.

“What’s hozho?” I plied him gently.

“Hozho is at the heart of the Navajo religion. It essentially means harmony. Harmony within your spirit, your life, with God. Some people compare it to karma too, the idea that what you put out comes back to you. It is a balance between your body, mind, and spirit.”

“Have you found hozho on the reservation?” I held my breath, hoping I hadn’t overstepped my bounds.

“Ha!” Samuel mocked, throwing his head back, “I feel closest to it when I am with my grandmother, listening to her, learning from her; but, no...I have never found it there.”

“It doesn’t sound like your mom has it. How can she lecture you about something she doesn’t possess herself?” I grew indignant on his behalf.

“My mom has not had any hozho since my father died. She says she turned her back on her people when she married him, but I think she turns her back on me when she says things like that. I was six years old when he died. I remember being a family! We were happy! My dad was a good man!” Samuel’s composure cracked, and he visibly shook himself.

“Grandma Yates gave me my dad’s journals. He kept them all through high school and during his mission on the reservation. When he left home, he boxed his things up, but somehow the journals were left behind with my grandparents. I haven’t read them all, but what I have read makes me want to be more like him, not less! I feel like I am being ripped in half. I don’t want to see my mother anymore. I am disgusted by her. Do you know my father never drank alcohol? Ever! In his journal, he said one of his friends in high school raped a girl after drinking too much. He said his friend never would have done something like that without the alcohol. It ruined both the girl’s life and his friend’s life. He decided then and there he would never touch the stuff.

“On the reservation, alcohol is a huge problem. I’ve seen my step-dad hit my mom so many times it makes me sick. I have fought him off of her only to have her turn on me. She wasn’t always like that. I have memories of her being gentle and happy. She has no excuse! She had my grandmother to raise her. My Grandmother Yazzie is the finest woman I know. My Grandfather Yazzie was much older than my grandmother, and he struggled with his health, putting a lot more responsibility on her shoulders, but they both loved my mother and they raised her right. My mother was their only child. My grandmother had a lot of miscarriages, and they considered my mother a miracle, a gift. They taught her the traditions and language of our people. I think she turns her back on the dine’ when she hides in the bottle.”

“What does your Grandmother Yazzie tell you?”

“I really haven’t talked to her about any of this. She doesn’t speak English very well, and although she has access to a phone, she’s not comfortable using one. She has my mother make calls for her when it’s necessary, but unfortunately, with my mother in the state she is in most of the time, my grandmother stays away. My grandmother lives out on the land she was born on in her hogan. My mother lives in tribal housing with her husband and whichever of his kids that happen to be living at home.”

“But you said your grandmother told you that you would need to survive in both worlds, remember? That is why you needed a warrior spirit. Maybe for you, hozho won’t come from either place, but from a merging of both,” I offered, trying to comfort him.

Samuel looked at me then, his eyes sad, his expression conflicted. “Maybe my father’s God can help me find the answers I need. I have his Bible. My mother gave it to me a long time ago, before she re-married. I told you she would read it sometimes. She believed it was true when she married my father. I don’t think she’s found any balance in trying to straddle both worlds.”

“But Samuel, you just said she was happy once, before your father died. Maybe the loss of balance came when she rejected your father’s God. She’s rejected both her traditions and her beliefs. She’s not embracing the Navajo way and shunning the other. She’s shunning them both. So she moved back to the reservation after your father died. So what? Living on a reservation doesn’t make you a Navajo.”

“What?” Samuel looked at me with something akin to shock widening his eyes and slackening his jaw. He grabbed my arm. “What did you just say? Say it again!”

“You don’t have to live on a reservation to be a Navajo?” I stammered, confused.

“You didn’t say it like that,” Samuel was shaking his head. “You said ‘living on a reservation doesn’t make you a Navajo.’”

“Right…so...?”

“So what does make a Navajo? Is that what you’re saying?” It sounded more like a statement than a question

“Yeah, I guess so. What makes someone a Navajo, Samuel? What is it that defines a Navajo? Is it really where you live, the color of your skin, your moccasins, the turquoise you wear around your neck? What?”

Samuel was momentarily stumped. I was anxious to hear what his answer would be. I was a descendant of the Danes, and if someone asked me I could tell them a little about my ancestry. But was I Danish? I’d never even been to Denmark. I didn’t speak the language. I didn’t know any Danish customs or traditions. It was just my lineage. I had a feeling being Navajo was a lot bigger than just heritage or ancestry.

Samuel struggled to answer. “Being Navajo is about blood...”

“Check,” I said smartly making a checkmark in the air. Samuel smiled and shook his head in pretend exasperation.

“Being Navajo is about language…”

“Check!”

“Being Navajo is about culture.”

“What about the culture? Can you still be a Navajo and not live in a hogan?”

“Some of the traditionalists might say no. The old medicine men don’t like some of the younger generation of hataali (medicine man) trying to modernize or change the old ways. But Grandma Yazzie says culture is teaching your children the customs, the traditions, and the stories that have been passed on through the generations. This goes back to language. If the younger generations are not taught the language, we lose the culture. There are no English translations for many of the Navajo words. They carry their own meaning. You lose the meaning, you might lose the lesson in the legend, and you lose your culture.”

“Hmm, I would say a definite ‘check,’“ I reasoned. “You were taught by the best. So, what else?”

“Being Navajo is about preserving the tribal lands.”

“You’ll have to explain that one.” My brow furrowed in concentration.

“You may not have to live on the reservation to be a Navajo, but can you imagine not having a land to go back to?”

“Well, doesn’t America belong to all Americans, Levanites and Navajo alike?”

“It’s not the same.”

“Why?”

“That’s why they call America a melting pot. The idea is that different people from different places come to America, and they become one people. This is a good thing. The difference for the Navajo is that the land from which they originate is the American continent itself. There is no Navajo nation across the water that, simply by its existence, helps preserve the culture of the original people, like an Italy or an Africa or an Ireland. When people from Ireland migrate to America, Ireland still exists, full of Irish people. Where are your ancestors from?”

I knew Denmark had a role in this somewhere, and I answered him, engrossed in his grasp of the issue.

“Okay, so imagine some bigger neighboring country comes along and takes Denmark and makes it into a National Park and says to the Danes, ‘Take your wooden shoes and get out. You are welcome to move into our country. After all, we are all Scandinavians, and you can live in our country just as easily as you can live here.’”

“I don’t think it was the Danes that wore wooden shoes,” I chortled.

“You get my point though, right? If the Danish people don’t have a Denmark, they cease to be Danish eventually. They just become Scandinavian, or whatever. If you take away the land from the people, the people cease to be a people. If you take away the tribal lands, the Navajo people will eventually cease to exist.”

It was my turn to stare at Samuel in awe. “You are one smart Navajo, Samuel. I hereby give you an enormous checkmark.”

Samuel rolled his eyes. But there was a peace that hadn’t been there before. He sighed and reached for my headphones.

“What are we listening to anyway?” he said companionably, and ‘hozho’ was restored on our hard green seat on the rickety yellow school bus.

Coda

I had given Samuel all the tapes I made for him when he returned from the reservation in March. I had lined them up neatly in a shoe box and written down each song title along with its composer, making a reference card to fit into each cassette. He said he listened to a different one every night before he went to sleep. I did the same, and I often looked out my window and down the street, to where I could see his grandparents’ house, wondering what composer was keeping Samuel company that night. He would be leaving soon, and I wanted to give him a graduation present—something to remember me by.

Sonja was the one who actually ended up giving me the idea. She was recording my lessons and playing them back to me so I could critique myself, my finger speed, my musical phrasing, my timing. I suddenly knew what Samuel would like better than anything else I could give to him.

For the next week, I perfected the piece I had written for him, making sure it was exactly right. The night before school got out, I asked Sonja if I could have a brand new tape. She acquiesced, and I told her that I wanted to record my composition. She was eager to comply and lifted the lid on the grand piano to its greatest height and held her little microphone in its gaping mouth to record my effort. I played with all the feeling I could muster, our imminent parting accentuating my emotions.

When I was done, Sonja was staring at me oddly. She turned to push stop on the recording before she spoke.

“My dear, if I didn’t know better I would think you had fallen in love.” There was amusement in her tone, but also a hint of apprehension. Her back was to me, and I was grateful for it, as I felt a flush crawl hotly up my neck. She rewound the cassette and slid it into the case.

“I made myself a copy as well, if you don’t mind.” Sonja changed the subject smoothly, and we didn’t end up discussing falling in love for several more years. Regrettably, I never told Sonja about Samuel. He remained a very closely guarded secret until it was too late to tell her, until she no longer had the capacity to care.

* * *

Samuel didn’t want to go his graduation ceremony. He said he had earned the diploma whether they handed it to him or not, but Nettie and Don insisted that he go. Johnny was graduating as well, so my family went to the ceremony. It was pretty boring, full of all the trite platitudes about success and making a difference. There were a few lame musical numbers, and the graduating class sang the school song, which frankly could have used a little zip. The Nephi High School colors are crimson and gold. The guys get to wear the crimson gowns, and the girls wear the gold. The gold was a little bit mustard in color, and the girls looked mostly washed out.

Samuel was on the back row due to his height and the alphabetical placement of his last name. The crimson looked vibrant next to his warm skin, and I watched him surreptitiously throughout. He showed little emotion when his name was called, and he took his diploma and shook hands with Principal Bracken. Samuel’s big moment had come in the school awards ceremony earlier that week, when Ms. Whitmer had named him her 12th grade English ‘Student of the Year.’ She said he’d shown such marked improvement and desire to learn over the course of the year that he had truly earned the award. The student body probably didn’t care, but Samuel was quietly proud when he told me about it after school.

After the ceremony, parents were snapping pictures and kids were posing with their classmates. Nettie and Don were wrapped in conversation, and my dad was busy wielding the camera. I found Samuel standing to the side, his cap and gown removed and turned back in to the senior class advisor. He wore the black slacks and white shirt he had worn at the Christmas Eve church service. His black hair was brushed back off his face. It wouldn’t be long before his long hair would be buzzed military short. His recruiter had told him to cut it before he reported for boot camp, but so far Samuel had refused.

His grandparents were driving him to San Diego the following morning. Don and Nettie wanted to make a leisurely trip of it; neither had spent much time outside of Levan. They planned on taking the ‘scenic route.’ Samuel would report at the Marine processing station on Monday morning.

“I have something I want to give to you,” I said awkwardly, trying not to be overheard or draw attention, but wanting to arrange a meeting. “Are you going home afterwards?” There was always a big school celebration after graduation, but I doubted Samuel would stick around for the festivities.

“Nettie and Don want to take me to Mickelson’s Restaurant for an early dinner, but after that we’ll be home.” He gazed down at me for a moment. “I have something for you, too.” His eyes shifted away, detaching himself from me with his body language. “Do you know the big tree that’s split in two?”

I nodded my head. I called the tree and the others around it Sleepy Hollow. Sleepy Hollow was where three huge trees grew in a triangle about half a mile up the road from Samuel’s grandparents’ home, just before the turnoff to the cemetery and beyond that, Tuckaway Hill. Lightening had struck the tallest of the three trees, splitting it in two about half way down its trunk. Interestingly enough, the tree didn’t die, but simply forked into two trees supported by one massive trunk—like nature’s version of Siamese twins. The upper branches, now angled at forty-five degrees, had created boughs, curving into the two other trees across the clearing. The lower branches were twisted and deformed by the strike, causing them to grow sideways instead of up, like leafy arms stretched out in supplication. In the late fall when the trees lost their leaves, the thick gnarled branches appeared like skeletal arms with claw-like fingers curled menacingly, inspiring the name Sleepy Hollow. But in the spring, as the trees donned their leafy adornments, this branched oddity, combined with the other two trees in the gully, created a thick green hideaway, a natural enclosure completely hidden from the dusty lane that ran close by.

“Can you meet me there later, say 8:00?” Samuel seemed uncomfortable but determined, and I agreed immediately. The sun didn’t go down until almost nine o’clock as the looming summer days stretched daylight later and later, and I would be free until dark.

* * *

I arrived before Samuel and stood in the shelter of the trees, holding my gifts. I had decided at the last minute to give Samuel one more treasure, something I hated to part with, something that had been a gift to me, but something I knew would be especially meaningful to him.

Samuel rode up on horseback, holding something in his arms. He slid off the horse and looped the reins over a convenient branch. The horse immediately commenced grazing, and Samuel came around her, revealing his furry bundle. A pure white face and a wet black nose wiggled into view under the concealment of his folded arms. I gasped.

“Samuel! Oh, my gosh!” I squealed, rushing to him. The puppy in his arms was fat with very white fur, like a little polar bear. “Where did you get him?”

“Hans Larsen said I could have a pup when he found out his dog, Bashee, was expecting. My grandpa and Hans help each other out with their herds. I’ve moved Hans’ herd a time or two.”

“Is it a Lab?” I guessed, looking at his handsome doggy face.

“Half,” Samuel replied. “In his case, half-breed looks a lot like the original, huh?” His voice was light, and I let the half-breed comment go without censure.

“What’s the other half?” I stroked the silky head and tickled the tiny chin.

“Hans Larsen says the dog’s mother is an Akbash. That’s where the name Bashee came from.”

“Akbash? I’ve never even heard of that.”

“That’s because they are sheep dogs native to Turkey. Hans has used the Akbash to guard his sheep for years. He says they aren’t as hyper as your average sheep dog. In fact, they really don’t herd sheep at all. They are considered guardians. They are very calm, and it is their nature to simply lie with the flock. Hans has a sheepdog to help him move the herd, and the Akbash to keep watch and live with the flock. He says this pup’s momma thinks the herd belongs to her.”

“So how did the Lab half come into the mix?”

Samuel put the warm body in my arms, and I rubbed my cheek along its back.

“Hans had corralled the herd close to home during that week of bad storms in January. The Stephenson’s big white Lab came over for a friendly visit, much to Hans’s disappointment. Hans had arranged to breed his dog with another pure bred. The Lab just got there first.”

I giggled a little and sank to the soft dirt and grass, folding my legs and letting the pup waddle around me. “She looks like a Lab to me…but she’s so white!”

Samuel squatted down on his haunches, reaching out to the little dog, letting his fingers smooth his snowy fur. “The Akbash is very white, and it looks like the Lab through his snout and head, but its legs are longer and it has a feathery curved tail. This guy’s got his daddy’s tail.” Samuel patted the tiny rump. “He’ll be a big dog. In fact, full grown, he’ll probably weigh more than you, but he’ll look out for you when I’m gone.” Samuel’s voice was quiet and serious. “After all, when I saved your life, I became responsible for you, remember?” He smiled a little to lighten the seriousness of his words.

“He’s for me?”

Samuel chuckled a little, “I can’t take him with me, Josie.”

“Oh, my gosh, Samuel!” I breathed again, looking with new appreciation at the adorable creature before me. I had never even thought about having my own dog. Between chickens and horses and the various scrawny cats that ended up on our back porch, we had always had plenty of animals to care for. Suddenly, the thought was incredibly appealing. I scooped my new friend into my arms, cuddling him like an infant, cooing as his wet nose brushed my cheek.

“Do you think your dad will let you keep him?”

His question gave me a moment’s pause. And then I considered how little I truly asked for. My dad wouldn’t hesitate for a minute. If I brought him home and told my dad I wanted him, he would be mine to keep. “My dad won’t mind a bit.”

We watched the little dog toddling around, sniffing at this and that.

“What are you going to call him?” Samuel questioned, sinking down from his haunches into the grass, spreading his long legs out in front of him.

“Hmmm,” I pursed my lips thoughtfully. “I named all my chickens after literary characters, so maybe Heathcliffe? That would definitely remind me of you!” I laughed, shaking my head as I recalled all those days with Wuthering Heights on the bus. I immediately felt a rush of melancholy, reminded of Samuel’s impending departure.

“Heathcliffe is that fat cat that likes lasagna in Grandpa Don’s Sunday comics,” Samuel argued. “He needs something more canine...plus, we both agreed we didn’t especially like Heathcliffe.” He studied my face, and I saw a flicker of my own melancholy mirrored back at me.

“You’re right. Maybe I should call him Rochester for Jane’s true love. I could call him Chester for short.” I thought on it a moment and then rejected it out loud. “No.” I shook my head. “I want to name him for you. But I don’t want to name him Samuel—that would be weird.” I thought for a moment, staring off. “I know.” My eyes swung back to him. “Yazzie.”

Samuel’s lips quirked and he looked down fondly into my upturned face. “Yazzie is perfect. Grandma Yazzie would like it, too. One guardian named after another.”

The newly-named Yazzie climbed into my lap and plopped down with a tired huff. He laid his head on his paws and immediately began to doze.

“I have something for you too.” I retrieved one of the packages lying next to me. I handed him the cassette first. I had wrapped it in plain brown butcher paper. Samuel was not the ribbons and bows type.

He ripped off the paper easily, holding the cassette up in the fading light, made all the darker by the shadowy enclave. “Samuel’s Song,” he read out loud. “You recorded it?” His voice rose with excitement. “This is the song you played for me that day? Your song?”

“Your song,” I replied shyly, pleased by his response.

“My song,” he repeated, his voice just above a whisper.

“Here.” I handed him the other present. He didn’t have to open it to know what it was. He shook his head as he pulled the paper from the big green dictionary we had forged our friendship upon. He smoothed his hand over the cover and his eyes remained lowered as he protested my gift.

“This is yours, Josie. You don’t want to give this away. You love this book.”

“I want you to have it,” I insisted, leaning across him to open the cover where I had written:

To my friend Samuel,

A Navajo bard and a person of character.

Love,

Josi

“A Navajo what?” His eyebrows rose in amusement.

“Bard. Look it up!” I bossed, laughing.

Samuel sighed mightily, playing his put-upon-student role once again. He flipped through the pages quickly. “Bard: the trappings of a horse,” he intoned.

“What?” I cried, reaching for the book.

Samuel laughed freely, momentarily shedding his persistent gravity. He moved the book out of my reach. “Oh, maybe you mean the other definition. A bard is a poet,” he reported, his eyebrows again climbing in question as he looked up from the dictionary.

“And that is what you are—a Navajo poet. Gifted with beautiful thoughts and the ability to share them,” I pontificated seriously.

“You’re good at that, you know,” Samuel said quietly.

‘‘Good at what?”

“Making me feel special instead of like an outcast, making me feel important.”

“You are important, Samuel,” I said sincerely.

“See, you’re doing it now,” he retorted. “Here,” he said suddenly, reaching up and untying the thin leather strip he wore around his neck. “You gave me something that was yours. I want to give you something that is mine.” The turquoise rock swung from the black leather cord, and he held his necklace out to me. I had never seen him without it. I shook my head in protest as he had done moments before.

“Lift up your hair,” Samuel commanded. I obeyed, lifting my blonde curls off of my shoulders and leaning toward him. His hands were warm and gentle as he tied the leather ends together around my neck. Then, ever appropriate and respectful, he leaned away from me. The stone was warm from lying against his skin, and I was overcome with my desire to keep him near, to beg him not to leave in the morning.

My voice was choked as I confessed my dread. “I wish you didn’t have to go.” I felt the tears brimming and could not hold them back. I wiped at them furiously, willing them to stop, only to have them mount a new attack. “You are the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“If I stayed, you and I couldn’t remain friends.” Samuel’s voice was measured and he maintained his customary distance, but his back was rigid, attesting to his own inner tumult.

“Why?” I cried, scrubbing at my cheeks, my tears halted by his blunt reply.

“Because our age difference is a problem. I shouldn’t be here with you now. I only wanted to say goodbye...because the truth is, you are the best friend I have ever had too, and best friends don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

Samuel rose to his feet and, leaning down, offered me his hand. I gathered Yazzie to my chest with one arm and put my other hand in his, letting him pull me to my feet beside him.

“Will you come back?” I asked woodenly, feeling the numbness of denial seeking to shield me from the finality of the moment.

“I hope so,” Samuel said wistfully. “When I do, maybe things will be different.”

I studied my feet, my mind frenzied, looking for a reason to delay him, to elongate the end of goodbye. I felt his sudden nearness, and I looked up into his face, which was now mere inches from my own. His eyes were very black in the twilight, and his breath was warm on my wet cheeks. He leaned down cautiously, his eyes never leaving mine, until our faces became so close that shape and color blurred. He tipped his face slightly to the right, and I lifted my mouth to his in the briefest hint of a kiss that never was. His lips fluttered lightly by and came to a firm standstill on my forehead. His kiss lingered there as my eyes swept closed and my sigh slipped out. And there we remained for several long seconds. And then he stood apart from me. He held my gifts in his arms and my heart in his hand.

“I won’t ever forget you, Josie.” His voice was low, his face devoid of emotion, and he turned and walked out of the little clearing. The horse whinnied in greeting, and Samuel swung into the saddle, gathering the reins. He prodded the horse with his heels and rode away, a black outline against the dying violet dusk. I followed slowly behind him, holding Yazzie against me, his head on my shoulder.

* * *

When I got home, I told my dad the truth about Yazzie. I told him that he had belonged to Don and Nettie’s grandson who was going into the Marine Corps, and he had given him to me because he couldn’t keep him. Truth without embellishment, although one could argue that it was slightly abbreviated. My dad didn’t seem to care where I had gotten him.

“I’ve been thinking about getting a dog around here,” my dad cooed as well as an old cowboy can. “He’s a good boy, oh yes he is! He’s a little beauty!”

What was it about babies and puppies that made everyone talk with their lips pushed out in that kissy-faced way? I left Yazzie in my dad’s enthusiastic care and climbed up to my room. I untied Samuel’s necklace from around my neck and held it in front of me, watching the turquoise stone sway gently from the thin leather strip. My dad hadn’t cared about the puppy, but he would eventually notice if I was wearing the big turquoise rock. The pup and the rock together might set off alarms, and I was wise enough, even at thirteen, to grasp how others might perceive the relationship.

I rubbed the stone against my face, closing my eyes and thinking of our ‘almost’ kiss. I found myself wishing Samuel weren’t so careful and so honorable. I would have liked a real kiss from Samuel, for my very first kiss to belong to him. Almost immediately, I felt ashamed of my wistful criticism. If Jane Eyre could walk away from Mr. Rochester’s kisses, despite her own feelings, even though nobody would be harmed, and no one would really care, and do it out of principle, then I should expect no less of myself. That is what Samuel had done tonight at Sleepy Hollow.

I tucked his necklace into the little jewelry box I kept on my desk. A bracelet strung with silver hearts that had been my mothers, a sunflower pin that Tara had given me one birthday, and a green CTR (choose the right) ring from Sunday School crowded around my newest treasure. I shut the lid gently and trudged down the stairs, back to my roly-poly guardian.

Obbligato

I couldn’t write to Samuel at first. He didn’t have an address yet. He had promised to write me and let me know as soon as he could. It was about two weeks after he left that his first letter arrived.

June 7, 1997

Dear Josie,

The first couple of days here have been a blur. They loaded us on a bus, and it was pretty late—around 1:00 in the morning. It was so dark we couldn’t see anything out the bus windows as we were taken to what they called receiving. When we pulled up, this guy in full uniform came on the bus and started shouting for us to get our trash together and lineup out on the yellow footprints that were on the pavement. It was kind of foggy and it was hard to even see where the footprints were. This guy is shouting “Any day!” the whole time. One guy started to cry, just like that. He got control of himself, but I think everyone felt a little sympathetic, except for the drill instructor who got right in his face and told him to dry it up.

We got a chance to make a 15 second call, and I called my mom. Nobody answered, and I don’t think I’ll call again. I wrote her to let her know I’m here and what my address is, but now it’s up to her. I don’t know if she’ll write or not. My grandmother Yazzie would if she could—she doesn’t expect letters because she can’t read them and she can’t write back. She knows I will come see her when I get boot leave at the end of the 12 weeks.

We didn’t sleep at all the first night. After we made our calls we went to a room with desks in it and they started throwing information at us—like the floor isn’t the floor, it’s the ‘deck,’ and the door is a ‘hatch.’ A hat is called a cover and running shoes are called go- fasters. When I’m done here I’ll speak three languages, English, Navajo, and Marine. Then they gave us our platoon number, and we had to write it on our left hand in black permanent marker. My platoon is 4044, 1st Battalion. After that they collected all of our civilian clothes, all jewelry, all knives, personal items, cigarettes, any food, gum—all of it. One kid tried stuffing a candy bar in his mouth so he didn’t have to turn it over. The drill sergeant made him spit it out on top of his stuff.

We can’t use I, me, or my. We have to say ‘this recruit’ when we are referring to ourselves. Everybody keeps slipping. I am now Recruit Yates—no first name. The sergeant said the Marines are not about the individual, but the team. We should be all about our unit. We are now four zero four four. The number four is sacred among the Navajo. There are four sacred mountains that frame the Navajo lands. So, I think the repeating four can only be good luck.

They immediately took us to get what they called “cranial amputations.” The drill instructor made a big deal of it when it was my turn to get my hair cut. I easily had the longest hair of anyone there, and I knew it was going to get shaved off because my recruiter told me what to expect. They shave us almost completely bald. There’s just stubble left. I want to keep rubbing my head, but I don’t want to call attention to myself. I have a feeling the less attention I call to myself, the better off I’ll be. Anyway, it was still hard to see all that hair fall to the floor. It made me think about Samson in my dad’s Bible. He lost all his power when they cut his hair.

Then we got our gear for the 13 weeks we are going to be here. We even got a little towel that has all the M-16 parts diagrammed on it, so that we will know where to place them when we clean our weapons. By this time it had to be after 4:00 in the morning, though I’m not sure because none of us are allowed to have watches. I hadn’t slept since I’d reported at dawn the day before, and I was feeling it. They took us into our barracks. The racks (that’s the term for the bunks here) had naked mattresses on them. The same guy that stuffed his Snickers in his mouth headed straight over to lie down. The drill sergeant was in his face telling him to ‘toe the line’- which means to line up next to the white line with your toes up to it. He taught us how to walk in formation and then we marched to the chow hall. We aren’t allowed to talk while we are in the mess hall, which is fine with me—except the drill instructor shouts the entire time. We have to hold our trays at a certain angle, heels together, thumbs on the outside. It’s so much to remember all the time, but you better believe someone will let you know right away if you’re doing something wrong. We had about ten minutes to eat before they were marching us back out of there again.

We actually didn’t get to sleep until 8:00 that night. We learned to march, how to lift our feet, how to stand in line, that stuff. After that we were brought back to the barracks and we had to learn how to make our beds, Marine style. We were woken up in the middle of the night to a drill instructor screaming, “Toe the line, toe the line.” One guy stayed asleep through it all—and the drill instructor pulled his blanket off and screamed in his face until the kid literally rolled off onto the floor. Luckily, he was on a bottom bunk. Another kid laughed when he did, and the drill instructor turned on him saying “Give me an hour, and I promise you won’t be smiling, Recruit!” We get dressed one piece of clothing at a time, forcing us to follow orders exactly. When we are told to hydrate we have to drink our whole canteen of water and turn it over above our heads to prove it’s gone.

One high point. I got a perfect 300 on the initial strength test. That means I did 100 sit-ups, 20 dead-hang pull-ups, and I did the three mile run in 17:58 seconds. I’ve been working hard and I wanted to be the best. It’s hard to know if they were impressed or if I just drew unwanted attention. I guess only time will tell. One D.I. kind of sneered at me and told me they were just going to have to work me harder than the others.

On the fourth day here they moved us into our new barracks. We were introduced to the drill instructors that are assigned to our platoon from now on. Staff Sergeant Meadows is the Senior D.I., Sergeant Blood (his name is perfect, trust me) and Sergeant Edgel are the other two over our platoon. Sergeant Blood is constantly bellowing (learned that word from you). I have never heard him speak quietly. He is everywhere at once, moving, screaming, moving. We aren’t allowed to make eye contact, and it’s probably a good thing because I would be dizzy trying to keep up. We have to stare straight ahead. We are constantly yelling, “Yes Sir!’ which I hate. I don’t mind the Yes Sir! part. It’s the shouting that gets old, but I had Sergeant Blood get right in my face, spitting in my eyes the whole time, telling me he couldn’t hear me. I wanted to shove him off so bad.

A few guys have cried already. I don’t care what happens to me here, I will not cry. I can’t imagine having any self-respect left if I did. I won’t quit, I will be the best, and I will not bawl or whine like some of these guys. It’s embarrassing. One kid started crying after we yelled “Kill. Kill. Marine Corps!” Which we do a lot. This kid just freaked. Senior D.I. Meadows pulled him out and talked to him for a while. I don’t know if the guy is going to make it. This is the same kid that tried to eat his candy bar and laid on the bare mattress last night without permission. His name is Recruit Wheaton, but a couple of the other recruits are already calling him Recruit Weepin.

My bunkmate is a big white kid named Tyler Young. He’s from Texas but he talks like he thinks he’s black, which irritates the guys that actually are black. I kind of like him though. He’s good-natured and always smiling. He talks too much, but I think everyone talks too much. He asked me if I was Mexican. I just said no. Another guy in our platoon who is Hispanic piped up and asked me what I was. I told him I was a recruit. Sergeant Blood overheard and he seemed to like that answer, but the guys seem suspicious of me now, like I’m holding something back. It’s not that I’m ashamed that I’m Navajo—I’m just really tired of that being what everything is always about. You won’t catch me talking about my ethnicity here—Navajo or White.

Staff Sgt. Blood says I am whispering when I should be yelling. He got right in my face and yelled “Why are you whispering Recruit?!!!” He said I must not have any heart. I don’t have to scream to have heart. I let my actions speak for themselves. No one will outfight me, no one will outrun me, and no one will outshoot me. I guarantee it- but I won’t be the loudest Marine in the platoon, that’s for sure. So, because I wasn’t loud enough, D.I Blood made me do twenty extra push-ups, one hundred extra crunches, and squat thrusts and mountain climbers until my legs were shaking. They call it quarter decking when one recruit is taken aside and made to do punishment exercises. The only other guys that have been quarter decked are the whiners and the guys that continually screw up or lag behind. I don’t want that kind of attention.

I know this letter is long, but I needed to tell someone about this crazy place I’m in. I hope you are okay, playing the piano, writing more music. School’s out, so you’ve probably got more time to practice and read. They let me keep my dictionary and my dad’s Bible. I decided I’m going to try and read it while I’m here, using the dictionary for all the words I don’t know...which is at least half of them. I’ve got one hour of free time every day. No music allowed, so I will just have to keep Rachmaninoff in my head.

I hope you write,

Samuel

Dear Samuel,

I was so excited when I got your letter. I’d been checking at the post office every day, and when it finally came in I felt like crying. So I did. You know me—a little emotional. I have to say I probably wouldn’t last a day at boot camp. I don’t do well with people screaming at me. Plus, I’m a major klutz. I’d be tripping over myself and everyone else the entire time. Yuck! It’s a good thing God blesses people with different talents. The world would be in trouble if I were a Marine.

I added a little bridge section to your song. Maybe someday I can record it and send it to you. I don’t think you said whether or not they will let you listen to music eventually, so I’ll save it for when you graduate. I’ve been playing constantly since school got out. Sonja has been working with me on composing music and actually writing it out on composition paper. Up to this point I’ve only read and played music, but never written it down. It feels like school, but I don’t mind. Sonja says I have the ability to make a living as a musician, perhaps play with an orchestra or a symphony, maybe tour Europe. Wouldn’t that be amazing? I don’t know how I would feel about leaving my dad, though.

I was thinking about your comments on Samson when you had your hair shaved. I went back and read the story. I don’t think Samson’s power was really in his hair. I’ve always thought what an idiot he was to trust Delilah with his secret. She’d proven herself completely untrustworthy. She used everything he told her against him. After reading the story, it occurred to me that Samson didn’t trust her. He just didn’t believe that he would really lose his strength if he cut his hair. He believed the strength was his and that it hadn’t really been given to him from God with certain responsibilities and conditions, like his parents had taught him. He didn’t keep his promise to God. God said that his long hair would be a symbol of that promise. Not the source of his power. So when Samson revealed the symbol of his promise to Delilah, he rejected God and essentially cut himself off from the source of his power. So, to make a long explanation short and sweet—your individuality does not come from the way you wear your hair, Samuel. Your individual worth comes from keeping your promises and being a man of character. Easy for me to say, I know, here in my comfy room, listening to Mozart. But I think it’s true, all the same.

Do you remember that little part I read you from Jane Eyre? Jane Eyre’s worth came from her sterling character. I guess none of us really knows what kind of character we truly have until we are really tested. I think you’ll find you have plenty of character in these next few weeks. I believe in you. Would it embarrass you to tell you that I really miss you? Because I do.

I’ll listen to enough music for both of us, and try to send it to you telepathically. Wouldn’t that be cool, to be able to transmit our thoughts like radio waves? I think there has to be a way.

Be safe and be happy,

Josie

July 1, 1997

Dear Josie,

I got your latest letter last night during platoon mail call. I’ve read it slowly, in sections, making it last. My Grandma Nettie keeps sending care packages full of stuff I can’t have. She communicates her love through food rather than letters, although she sent a short one. Your letters are especially appreciated—thank you. Some of the guys pass around their letters, especially if they’re from girlfriends. Some of those girls have no class. The difference between you and them is mind boggling. They aren’t fit to lick your shoes. This big black kid from Los Angeles named Antwon Carlton was passing around some filthy thing and everybody was laughing. I didn’t want to read it and refused to take it when Tyler passed it to me. It made Carlton mad and he started saying “You too good white boy? Or do you just not like girls?” I told him I had no interest in touching his trash. I don’t think he likes me much, but the feeling is mutual.

Tyler jumped in, saying I wasn’t white, and the Hispanic kid, Mercado, said “Well we know he ain’t Hispanic.” They all stared at me. I just kept cleaning my weapon. Tyler jumped in again and said ‘He’s Green!” Green is what the Marines call themselves. I used to think it would be nice if people were all one color—everybody the same. Not anymore—because then you wouldn’t be you. Your hair wouldn’t be all white and gold and your eyes wouldn’t be so blue. But here the goal is to make us the same… green. It’s strangely therapeutic after all these years of feeling so torn by my desire to know more about my father’s culture and still be loyal to my mother’s. There’s a whole new culture here.

I should have known you would find a way to comfort me about my hair. Interesting take on the Samson story...did you come up with that yourself? Knowing you, yes. I found the story in the Bible and read it yesterday during my free time. Samson was a serious warrior. I think you’re right about his strength not actually being in his hair. It’s probably a good lesson for most of us here. Samson was this unbelievably powerful guy, but he lost everything when he thought he could do it alone.

History is a big deal here at boot camp. We’ve been in classes for hours on end. It’s interesting and it builds a sense of pride in me, like I’m part of something important. They’ve been drilling dates and battles into us—Inchon, Belleau Wood, Saipan (my grandfather fought at Saipan) Peleliu, Okinawa, Chosin, and more. Iwo Jima in World War II is kind of the pinnacle for the Marines.

We’re also learning about the Warriors, as the D.I.’s call them—Marine’s who did great things. I found out today that a Native American named Jim Crowe was a Marine. I recognized his name. He has an interesting story. We also have to memorize the fourteen leadership traits, which are things like integrity, knowledge, unselfishness, courage (I thought you’d like that—you’re kind of big on character) the eight principles of camouflage, the six battlefield disciplines, and on and on. They call this stuff ‘knowledge’ and we are tested on it constantly.

There’s no time for debate or discussion, and I thought of you one day, as they were drilling us on facts and traits. It almost made me laugh (which wouldn’t have been good) knowing how much you would hate that. You love to analyze everything and discussion is important to you—you would hate just memorizing whatever they told you was important. Other than that, I think you’d make a great Marine. You said the world would be in trouble if you were a Marine. Don’t even think that. The physical stuff you could learn—although it might be a little harder for you. You’re unselfish and loyal and courageous. I can’t think of one of the traits that you don’t have. The world would be a much better place if there were more people like you.

We were introduced to the pugil sticks this week. Pugil sticks are basically a four foot stick with thick pads on each end. The recruits wear helmets and protective padding. We battled guys from platoons 4043 and 4045. They had us lined up along this boardwalk, and we fought one on one. The goal is to deliver a blow to the head or chest, both considered kill shots. The first guy who lands two kill shots wins. When it was my turn, I went flying up the ramp yelling like my grandmother taught me to do when a coyote is trying to attack the sheep. I knocked the other guy off the platform with one big blow to the chest. D.I Meadows actually cheered. Sergeant Blood said “What was that, some kind of Indian War Cry?” He seemed to like it—at least he didn’t complain that I wasn’t loud enough. I think my opponent was more scared by my blood curdling scream than the actual blow to the chest. I’m starting to realize that’s the whole point with the constant yelling. Our troop got beat by troop 4043, so they get to carry the flag. I was a little disgusted with the turn-out. I’ve got to give it to Carlton. He may be a street thug, but he knows how to fight. He said the same to me when we were done, just not the street thug part. I almost liked him today. Some of these guys have never been in a single fist fight. I’ve been fighting my whole life. Who knew it would give me an advantage at boot camp. Anyway, since we lost, we ended up doing extra drilling.

I knew it was coming, and I was dreading the pool. After a bunch of classes and instruction we put on our jackets, helmets, packs, and boots and had to jump in the pool in full gear. They told us how to stay afloat, but I could feel the panic setting in right away. My face went under the water, but if you lean back as far as you can against the pack and tilt your head up, your face will be just above the water. We had to kick back and forth the across the pool a few times. Then we had to jump off of the diving tower and swim 15 meters. It wasn’t too bad. I can just imagine how terrifying the whole experience would have been if I didn’t know how to swim. I wasn’t the fastest, but I didn’t draw any negative attention to myself, either. There actually were a couple guys that didn’t know how to swim at all. That would have been me if wasn’t for you.

I have a new nickname. A few of the guys have noticed that I am reading the Bible on my free time. I am now Preacher. Not very fitting, if you ask me. Don’t preachers have to stand up and teach people? I guess it could be worse. Some of the guys were talking about their favorite kind of music. Nobody said classical. I wasn’t surprised, and I didn’t volunteer my preference. Later on, I was talking to Tyler Young, and he asked me what I liked to listen to, so I told him about Beethoven. He asked me what songs I liked. I told him I especially liked Air on a G String—big mistake!! He thought I was talking about women’s underwear. He’s calling me ‘G’ now. I think I prefer Preacher. Tyler has a big mouth, especially when he thinks he’s going to get laughs, and before I knew it, he’d told everyone about Air on a G String. Now I’m Preacher G.

I’m actually enjoying being here. The whole point of boot-camp is to make you into somebody better. I like that idea. I’m four weeks in now, and I’m confident I’ll make it through. By the way, how is Yazzie? I miss you too.

Don’t change,

Samuel

I wrote Samuel several letters, trying to think of every possible thing he might be interested in. I told him how Yazzie chewed everything he could get his little teeth into, and how he made the chickens miserable. If he weren’t such a raggedy ball of cute fluff, my dad might have made me get rid of him. I kept most of his escapades a secret in order to protect him. He was almost house broken. He definitely made more work for me. I had to brush out his coat everyday so that he didn’t leave hair everywhere, but he was worth it. I smothered him with affection and was lavished with doggy love in return. He made my heart a little lighter.

Other than Yazzie, life was pretty uneventful, and I struggled for material to include in my correspondence. I couldn’t tell him that I had cried yesterday while I fed my chickens, thinking of how I was going to be gathering their stupid brown eggs for the next five years at least, while they clucked and pecked ungratefully around my legs. Meanwhile, Samuel would be off, fighting battles around the world, being a man, falling in love with WOMEN. I hated that I was almost fourteen, and that I was way too young for him. I was alone in my room too often, daydreaming about him coming back in the fall and riding the bus, sitting next to me in his Marine uniform, holding my hand and listening to classical music from the Romance period.

I would feel even worse when I caught myself in these ridiculous fantasies, realizing how truly juvenile I was. I missed him horribly, and I had a terrible, terrible fear that I would never see him again. In my letters, I found myself saying these things, only to rip the letter up into tiny pieces and send the appropriate missive, chattering about music and telling him the interesting facts and stories Sonja always seemed to provide during our sessions together.

I spent my free time with Sonja and Doc—as much as I felt I could without wearing out my welcome. My lessons were eclectic and covered more subjects than music. Doc even participated every once in a while, putting in his two-bits, sharing his vast knowledge and opinions. He wasn’t musically talented, but he liked listening to me play, and more often than not would be asleep in his chair when I left. I don’t know what ever became of Doc’s desire to write a book. As far as I know he never finished one, but for whatever reason, he and Sonja loved Levan and stayed. Doc’s son was grown and lived in Connecticut or somewhere else on the other side of the Earth—so they didn’t see him much. Their little eccentricities were not so great that they felt stifled by our little town. People seemed to like them, and Sonja’s musical abilities were utilized on the organ each week at church. Doc fell asleep every week in church too, but he always went, even though he kept his pipe stuck in his mouth throughout the service. He never lit it, so I guess the congregation just decided to let him be.

I often thought if it hadn’t been for Sonja and Doc, my brain would have atrophied with nothing to occupy it but chicken feed and recipes and unchallenging school work. They were a balm and ballast to my yearning heart and a stimulant to my intellect.

That summer, I checked the mail every day but only received letters from Samuel sporadically. Two months after he had left town, I received another. Racing home, I threw the rest of the mail in the bill basket for later perusal, and ran up to my room, throwing myself onto my bed and ripping the letter open. I smelled the pages first, closing my eyes and trying to imagine him writing it. I felt like one of those girls who cried whenever they saw Elvis. I shook myself out of my silliness and unfolded the pages. The letter was long, and his precise handwriting slanted forward aggressively. I read it hungrily.

July 31, 1997

Dear Josie,

I hear the drill instructors in my sleep yelling “pivot, align to the right, cover, don’t close up, and don’t rush it!” We drill for hours on end it seems like. I feel like I am marching in my sleep. Antwon Carlton actually did march in his sleep. Tyler was on Firewatch duty night before last and Carlton came marching by in his sleep. Tyler called out,” Pivot, back to the rack recruit!” It worked, and big bad Carlton marched back to his bunk. Tyler had everyone laughing about it- you know he didn’t keep it to himself. Carlton got a little ugly, but a couple of the other black guys told him to relax. They all thought it was pretty funny, too.

Everybody seems to realize if we don’t hang together, we all suffer. One day our squad leader, a tough red-head from Utah named Travis Fitz, had to do punishment exercises every time one of us swatted at a fly or missed a drill order. He paid for our screw ups. It was a pretty big lesson. About half way through, I ended up requesting permission to speak and volunteered to take his place. It bothered me that he was taking the abuse for all of us. Sergeant Blood said that’s what a real leader does—he takes one for the team. He did let me step in for Fitz, but the point was made.

We’ve been spending the last few weeks on the rifle range. I learned how to shoot from my grandma. When we were out with the sheep she would send me off away from the sheep, and I would practice. She called this time ‘loose time’- when the sheep were finished grazing, and they were full and drowsy, and we stayed in one place for a while to watch them. When my grandma was little she actually used a bow and arrow to run the coyotes off. I know how primitive that sounds—most people probably wouldn’t believe it. My grandmother had her own herd at eight years old. If she lost a sheep she would be whipped, because it meant loss of food and livelihood. She wasn’t as hard on me, but the care and well-being of her sheep was the most important thing to her. I’ve seen my grandma ride full out, shrieking at a coyote, shooting from the back of her horse. My grandma probably would have made a good Marine, too. I’ll have to tell her that when I see her again. She’ll get a kick out of that.

I haven’t had any difficulty on the rifle range, and it’s all due to her. Again, some of these recruits have never shot a gun before. It blows my mind—even the boys in Levan all have BB guns and 22’s don’t they? What is America coming to? Our generation is unbelievably soft. Man, I’m starting to sound like my D.I.’s. Anyway, on qualification day I scored a 280 on the course, which puts me in the high end of the expert category. Sergeant Meadows said I should set my sights on sniper school after Marine Combat Training and infantry training. I’m not sure yet what I’ll do. I used to think maybe I’d just go into the Reserves, but I’m thinking I’m going to go Active.

We’re about half way through, and we just got our Marine pictures taken in full dress blues. I felt a little like crying. It’s funny, I haven’t had the urge to cry one time, not when I’ve been sore and tired and screamed at. But putting that uniform on made me get a big lump in my throat. Unbelievable. For the first time, I feel like I truly belong somewhere.

You know I’m going to have to give in and read Jane Eyre one of these days. But I can’t read it during boot camp, so please don’t send it to me. I would never live it down; can you imagine my D.I. during mail call ripping open my package and pulling out Jane Eyre? I’d be on the quarterdeck for a year.

I think I’m having Beethoven withdrawals. What have you done to me? Keep working on the telepathic thing.

Don’t change,

Samuel

I immediately rushed to my little desk and wrote him back.

Dear Samuel,

I listened to some John Phillip Sousa today and imagined you marching in your dress blues. Will you send me a picture when you graduate? I can’t wait to see you all serious in front of the flag. You do serious pretty well, so I don’t think you will look too different to me.

It doesn’t surprise me you are doing so well. I love the stories about your grandma. Someday I’d really like to meet her.

I feel like I am standing still why you are running forward. I feel a little anxious and antsy, maybe even jealous that you are living your dream. I guess I’ll have my chance someday.

I went and helped your Grandma Nettie in her garden today. She talked about you a little. She said you sent her a letter. She told me a lot of the things I already knew, but of course I didn’t tell her so. She’s very proud of you. She’s looking forward to your Marine picture, too. She showed me where she’s going to hang it. She’s picked out a spot next to a picture of Don in his Army uniform. She said he was in the National Guard. I’m sure you know which picture I’m talking about. I saw another picture in her hallway I hadn’t noticed before. I’ve been in the house many times, but usually just in the kitchen or the sitting room. It was a picture of you with your mom and dad when you were about four years old. I know pictures can be misleading, but you all looked happy. You look like both of them—don’t you think? Your dad was such a handsome man and your mom was so pretty.

Life can be kind of cruel. Sometimes I think of my mom, your dad, people we love that have left us. I wish I understood God’s plan a little better. My mom’s death has definitely made me more capable and independent, and probably made me a stronger, better person. I just miss her sometimes. I miss you, too.

Love,

Josie

I didn’t receive another letter until Samuel graduated from boot camp, and I was getting ready to start eighth grade. He sounded so different already, so grown up and focused. He seemed so far away. I mourned the loss of the boy who had been my friend, even though the man he was becoming was impressive to me.

The best part of the letter was the little wallet sized picture he had included. My breath caught in my chest and my heart ached and sang simultaneously. He looked so handsome. His hair was gone, and his strong jaw and cheekbones were prominent in his lean brown face. His ears lay flat against his head, no pixie ears for Samuel. His dark eyes were solemn and staring just below the slim black brim of his white cap. His wide mouth was firm and unsmiling. His deep blue uniform was resplendent, with gold buttons marching down his chest. The flag stood behind him, and there was a look on his face that said ‘Don’t mess with me.’ It made me giggle a little. The giggle caught on a sob, and I threw myself down on my bed and cried until my head ached and I was sick to my stomach.

In the following months, the letters came fewer and farther between. I wrote as faithfully as his location allowed. Then the letters stopped altogether. I didn’t see Samuel again for two and a half years.

Intermezzo

December 1999

Nettie Yates brought over a plate of Christmas cookies and candies two days before Christmas. We had gotten very little snowfall so far, but the temperatures were frigid. I welcomed Nettie into the house with a whoosh of cold air and forced the door closed behind her as I “oohed” and “aahed” over her offering.

“Come into the kitchen with me, Nettie. I have something for you, too.” She followed behind me into the kitchen where I had loaves of chocolate chip zucchini bread wrapped in tinfoil and tied with cheerful red bows. I had at least twenty loaves spread across the countertop. Christmas can be especially stressful in small towns. You don’t always know where to start and stop in the exchanging of neighbor gifts. Everyone is a neighbor, and people get easily offended. The same goes for weddings. You have to practically invite the whole town and have an open house. That way you don’t risk missing someone, starting a Hatfield and McCoy situation that could last for generations. People were generally more forgiving of me because I wasn’t an adult, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

“Zucchini bread? Is it my recipe?” Nettie smiled at me when I handed her a loaf.

“Yep, but I didn’t give you any credit on the Christmas cards.” I smiled back. Chocolate chip zucchini bread had become one of my favorites since I had used it as an excuse to ply information out of Don and Nettie a few years before.

Nettie laughed good-naturedly and pulled out a chair next to the kitchen table where I had been tying the bows on the loaves of foil wrapped bread. She obviously wanted to visit a little, and I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to head back out into the cold night.

“Well, Samuel will be at the Christmas Eve Service with me and Don tomorrow,” Nettie said without preamble. “He sure did enjoy your playing when he went with us before. Remember how he embarrassed us with all that clapping?” Nettie started to giggle girlishly. “I thought we might get kicked out of the church.” Nettie’s giggle turned into a chortle as she reminisced.

My heart had stopped several seconds back, and I stood frozen to the old linoleum floor in my kitchen, hands raised to cut another long section of red ribbon. Samuel? Here?!! I must have been staring dumbly at Nettie, because her laughter stuttered and stopped as she rose to touch my cheek.

“Are you all right, Josie?” she asked, startled.

I shook myself a little, drawing myself up as I did and smiling brightly down into Nettie’s worried face.

“I was just a little surprised is all,” I said briskly, proud of myself when my voice came out sounding almost normal. “Why is he back? Is he just visiting for the holidays?” Memories of Samuel rose unbidden and an ache settled in my chest as I thought of how desperately I had missed him.

“Well,” Nettie sighed, and, satisfied that I was fine, sank back into the chair and resumed tying bows as she spoke.

“He gets leave every now and again, kind of like vacation time. But he’s been so busy and all. They taught him to be a sniper, you know.” Nettie’s voice dropped conspiratorially, like she was delivering good gossip, and her eyes grew wide at the thought of her grandson’s sniping skills. “He doesn’t talk about it much, but Don seems to think he’s had some dangerous assignments.”

I smiled at the thrill that was evident in Nettie’s face. Nettie was a sucker for Tom Clancy novels. I could only imagine what she was thinking.

“Anyway,” Nettie continued more matter-of-factly. “We’ve been begging him to come back for years, but he never seemed to want to. I think Samuel loves us, but I don’t know how many good memories he has of Levan and the months he spent here. It was a hard time for him.”

The little fissure in my heart with Samuel’s name on it cracked wide open. Nettie continued on, completely unaware of my distress.

“Anyway, he’s going to spend a couple of days with us and then go on to the reservation in Arizona for a week or so. His Grandmother Yazzie is gettin’ on in years. She was in her forties when she had Samuel’s mother. Goodness, she has to be nearing eighty now. Samuel says she still looks after her sheep. She herds them on horseback! Lardy, I can’t even imagine it!”

“Is Samuel here now?” I turned away from her and started unloading dishes from the drying rack, trying to seem nonchalant.

“Oh he’ll be rollin’ in tomorrow sometime. We’ll make sure to say hello after the church program tomorrow evening. I sure can’t wait to hear you play, honey. My word, it’s like we have our very own Liberace.”

I smiled at her comparison. I didn’t have much in common with the flamboyant Liberace, but Nettie was sincere in her praise, and I loved her for it.

“Well, I’ll be gettin’ on home now, love. Don will be wonderin’ where I am.”

I walked her to the door, chatting merrily, smiling brightly, all the while having a mild panic attack at the thought of seeing Samuel again. I closed the door behind Nettie and slid down it until I was propped weakly against it, my legs splayed out in front of me. I was sixteen years old now. Samuel was 21. Would he be the same? Would he even talk to me? Would he laugh to himself as he remembered our friendship? Would he be embarrassed that he had been such good friends with someone so young? I suddenly wanted my mother desperately. I didn’t know how I would even be able to play at the Christmas service, knowing he was there. My stomach roiled nervously, and I pulled myself up and slid onto the piano bench, determined that I would play better than I had ever played before.

I spent the next morning digging through my closet in steadily increasing panic. Finally, after I had tried on everything I had in every combination, I gave in and called Aunt Louise. Louise was good with hair and make-up. After all, she made a living with her scissors, but Aunt Louise and her entire brood tended to be a little obnoxious and aggressive and way too blunt. I had shied away from asking for help with my appearance simply because I knew if I gave Aunt Louise or Tara an inch, they would take the proverbial mile. I shuddered as I dialed the phone, knowing Louise would be thrilled to help, but I might really regret asking. She picked up on the first ring. I could hear chaos in the background and had to raise my voice as I identified myself. I quickly gave Louise the run-down on my needs: The Christmas program was tonight and I had nothing to wear, and could she possibly help me with my hair and make-up? Squeezing my eyes shut and crossing my fingers, I asked if she might be able to come to my house instead of me going there. The thought of being on display for my cousins and Uncle Bob was more than I could bear.

“I need an excuse to leave the house,” Louise said matter-of-factly. “When do kids grow out of this Christmas Eve fever anyway? My kids are swinging from the rafters. I think I’m gonna shoot myself.” I heard her shout out a few orders to Bob, a couple of ultimatums to the youngest two, and a demand for Tara to “pull everything out of our closets that might work for Josie.”

“I’ll be there at 3:30. That’ll give us plenty of time to play.” I could hear the grin in Louise’s voice, but I was too grateful to be afraid.

“I love you, Aunt Louise. What would I do without you?” I breathed thankfully.

“Oh, heck girl. You’d be in a world ‘a hurt, that’s what,” Louise cackled. “It’s about time you started caring about how you look. How you gonna ever get someone to notice you if you wear Johnny’s hand-me-downs for the rest of your life? You’ve got a good little figure and a pretty face, but nobody knows it because you hide behind your glasses and your books. What about those contacts we got you a prescription for? You better be wearin’ ‘em when I get there…”

“Thanks, Aunt Louise!” I interrupted brightly, sensing that Louise was winding up for a good nag. “I’ll see you at three!”

* * *

My dad didn’t seem to like the way I looked when Louise marched me down the narrow stairs from my little attic bedroom and announced that we were ready to go to the church. I was pretty happy with the results, however, and slid self-consciously into the kitchen behind Louise, not wanting to meet my father’s eyes.

“Ah, Louise! What’d you go and do that fer?” my dad grumbled. “She’s just a kid, and you got her lookin’ like she’s twenty-five.”

Twenty-five? Yay!

I giggled into my hand and decided it had definitely been the right move to call my aunt. She had brought over a V-necked black dress with long sleeves that hugged my curves and swished around my legs when I walked. It had little black buttons from chest to hip, and it fit me perfectly. I even had on black hose and high-heeled black pumps. Aunt Louise had pinned my blonde curls up on my head, blackened my eyelashes and lightly lined them, and stained my lips and cheekbones with a deep rosy pink. I felt very sophisticated and hoped I could pull it all off without tripping on the way up to the piano when it was time to perform. I knew for sure I would need to kick the heels off before I began to play. It would be just my luck to have my shoes get stuck on the piano pedals and ruin everything.

“She is not a child anymore, Jim!” Aunt Louise folded her arms crossly and jutted out her chin at my dad. “You can’t ignore the fact that your girl is practically grown! You better be ready to hand over some cash after Christmas is over! That girl has nothing in her closet! Nothing! I am takin’ her shopping, and we are gonna throw out all those old T-shirts of Johnny’s and those old Wranglers and cruddy gym shoes and all the other crap she’s been wearin’ for the last eight years since my sister died, and she’s gonna start lookin’ like the young lady she is! It ain’t right, Jim!”

“I like the way Josie looks!” my dad protested. Any mention of my mother usually was a bad move. I started herding the two of them out the door as the bickering continued.

“That’s because the way she looks is comfortable and safe—just the way a daddy likes it. No siree, not on my watch! Not anymore!” Louise was really warming up now. “It’s high time she got a little woman’s help. I shoulda done it long ago!”

My dad climbed into the cab of the truck with a huff. I moved over next to him on the bench seat, and Louise jumped in behind me, yakking all the way. I looked over at my dad and mouthed a silent “sorry Dad.” He just groaned and drove us down the road to the waiting church.

My stomach knotted up as we looked for the closest place to park. The lack of snowfall made parking easier. Usually, the drifts ran up and over the sidewalks and poured out into the poorly plowed roads. Tonight it was just cold and still, with plenty of room along the sides of the road for the assorted farm-trucks and family vans that usually lined the church during services.

“It’s gonna snow tonight. Mark my words,” my dad interrupted Louise, who was still chewing him up pretty good over my lack of feminine clothing. “If it does, I’m gonna be gettin’ a call to go into the plant. It’s just Murphy’s Law. I’ll get called in and Daisy will have her foal...” Dad was worried about his mare that was due to have her baby in the next few days. His pessimism seemed to momentarily silence Aunt Louise who saw Bob and her kids pull into the church parking lot from across the way.

“Oh, there’s my gang. Gotta go, Josie. Don’t lick your lips! You’ll ruin your lipstick! And try not to slouch. That dress bunches up in the front when you do! You don’t want to make the buttons pucker and give everyone a peek at what’s underneath!” With that she hustled off, still talking, and my dad and I sighed in tandem.

“I really don’t care much for that woman,” my dad mumbled. “She’s nothin’ like yer mother. I don’t see how they even came from the same family tree, let alone the same womb.” He sighed again and then said gruffly, rushing his words to get them out, “You look real pretty, Josie. Louise is right about one thing. Yer all grown up. One of these days you’re gonna move away and leave your old man. I’m not lookin’ forward to it.”

“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll always take care of you.” I grinned up at him and looped my arm through his as we walked into the church.

The pews were filling up quick and I tried not to look around for Don and Nettie. And Samuel. I wanted to see him almost as much as I didn’t want to see him. I kept my head forward as I tried to spot him peripherally. Everyone always sat in the same place. It just kind of happens. We’re creatures of habit. There were families who sat in the same pew, generation upon generation. If I didn’t know better, I would think the people of Levan bequeathed their pews in their wills. From what I could see, the Yates’s weren’t there yet. I exhaled in relief and at the same time my heart sank in disappointment.

I kept telling myself not to look for him. I kept my eyes trained on the podium where Lawrence Mangelson was just beginning his opening narration. When it came time for me to play, I was more nervous than I had ever been. I didn’t think my legs would hold me as I carefully walked up the trio of stairs to the piano. I slid across the smooth surface of the bench, straightened my back, and slipped my pumps off to the side. I had to look. I just couldn’t help myself. I let my eyes slide to where Don and Nettie usually sat for service. Samuel was with them, sitting to the right of Nettie, close to the end of the pew. I looked away before my eyes had time to register details. He was here.

With a deep exhale I dug into my piece, allowing my trained hands to take over. It was like watching myself from a few feet away. I didn’t make any mistakes and, as usual, before I had gotten too far into the piece, the music reached out and pulled me in, so that by the time I played the finishing notes, the me that observed and the me that played became one again.

When the evening was over and the last choir notes sung, the congregation gathered around, commending each other on the beautiful service, talking about kids, cows, and who was doing what. I stood next to my family, waiting, with my back toward the direction Samuel had been sitting. I knew eventually Nettie would make her way to us. After ten minutes or so of making polite small talk and graciously thanking those who came up to compliment my performance, I realized, of course, that she would have no idea that I was waiting on tenterhooks for her to appear with Samuel. Maybe she wouldn’t even remember that she had promised to say hello. Maybe they had already gone. Cursing myself for standing there like a cow waiting to be milked, I turned to see if maybe they had left the church.

It took me only a minute to spot Nettie and Don standing at the back of the chapel, chatting with Lawrence Mangelson. There was no sign of Samuel. Nettie caught my eye and waved me over to her. I moved toward her, eyes roving swiftly around the room to see if someone had cornered Samuel in conversation. Maybe he had stepped outside.

“Oh, Josie! You were wonderful. I just cry every time you play.” Nettie hugged me and patted my cheek as she drew away. “Wasn’t she wonderful, Don?”

Don added his less effusive praise as Lawrence Mangelson reiterated what Nettie had said as well. No mention of Samuel. I cleared my throat hesitantly.

“I thought I saw Samuel sitting with you. I’d like to say hello,” I blurted out and then tried to look bored in an effort to camouflage my feelings.

Nettie waved off the question. “He was here, but he slipped out right after the closing prayer. I think he’s plumb tuckered out. He drove a long way today and got in just in time to shower and come with us tonight. The beef stew and biscuits I left on the stove are probably calling to him!”

“Beef stew and biscuits?!” I thought to myself, outraged. He couldn’t even say hello? I looked down at my silky black dress and high heeled shoes and suddenly felt very foolish. I had been passed over for beef stew and biscuits.

Excusing myself with wishes for a Merry Christmas to Don, Nettie, and Lawrence Mangelson, I walked out the wooden double doors and down the steps into the silvery night. My breath made little white puffs in front of me, and I pictured them as desperate smoke signals rising into the sky. Unfortunately, the only Indian warrior who knew anything about smoke signals seemed pretty uninterested in any communication with me.

* * *

My brothers and their significant others—Jacob and Jared were married, and Johnny had a steady girl that he was getting pretty serious with—always came over for Christmas Eve dinner, and we exchanged gifts then. Christmas day had gotten pretty lackluster since we had all grown up and toys and Santa had become things of the past. Dad and I would go to Aunt Louise’s for Christmas Dinner tomorrow afternoon.

After eating half a dozen different appetizers, a huge ham, mashed potatoes, and homemade rolls, we sat by the tree and opened gifts. With full bellies and a warm fire, no one seemed to be in a big hurry to be on their way, so we all sat around and talked about nothing in particular. I had yet to take off my black dress and let down my hair. In the back of my mind, I just kept thinking maybe I would get an opportunity to let Samuel see me up close looking twenty-five, sophisticated, and beautiful. I sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, my only concession to comfort was my kicked off high-heels by the door. My brothers seemed confused by my appearance and started teasing me, only to have Rachel shush them up with a wink and a quick reprimand.

“Sometimes it’s so much fun getting dressed up that it’s hard to take it off at the end of the night.” I smiled gratefully at her, and my brothers shrugged and proceeded to ignore me.

True to Dad’s prediction, fat white snowflakes began to fall as the hour grew later, and with sighs and groans, my brothers bundled up their ladies and headed out. Johnny was spending the night at Sheila’s house so that they could spend Christmas with her family the next day. Jacob and Rachel had purchased a little home in Nephi the previous year, and Jared and Tonya were in student housing at Brigham Young University in Provo. Everybody was heading north across the ridge, and suddenly nobody wanted to wait around for more snow to fall.

The ridge is a ten mile stretch of old two-lane highway between Levan and Nephi. Levanites travel it countless times a week for countless reasons—back and forth from school and work, to the Thriftway for groceries, or to the library for books to hold them over until the Bookmobile traveled through Levan again. Every sixteen-year-old in Levan drove the ridge many times before they actually turned sixteen. It was a farming community, and that was just the way of things. We drove early, and we drove everything from tractors to beat up old farm trucks. I could drive a mean stick shift when I was ten years old, and do it smoothly enough for my older brothers to keep their feet planted in the truck bed as they threw bales of hay off for the cows. The ridge was straight and narrow and very dark at night. Folks flew across it, lulled into a sense of security simply by the sheer number of times we all made the drive. It was made all the worse by the deer that would come down from the mountains looking for grazing and run across the road. The deer were constantly getting hit or causing accidents as people swerved to avoid them. Of course, a good snowfall made it even more treacherous. Every year someone died on that strip of road between the two little towns.

I stood on the front porch in all of my grown-up finery and waved my brothers off. The lights were still on at the Yates place. I could see a truck out front that must belong to Samuel. What possible excuse could I come up with to stop by at eleven o’clock at night so I could see him? I stood there shivering, willing him to come out. Instead, as I watched and wished, the lights flicked out and the house was dark. Trying not to cry, I walked inside and flipped off our front porch light in dejected response.

* * *

My dad woke me up at 5:00 a.m. to tell me he had gotten called in to work at the plant. The supervisor on duty had been in a car accident the night before, and they needed someone to cover the early shift. I told him to be careful and rolled over and immediately started to go back to sleep. I heard him whisper that he would be home in time for Christmas dinner at Louise’s and to make sure I fed the horses when I got up.

I woke up again at eight and considered lying in bed and feeling sorry for myself, all alone on Christmas morning. But the truth was, I didn’t mind having the house to myself, and I figured I would just make myself a big plate of leftovers from last night’s feast and listen to Handel’s Messiah as loud as I could blast it. I pulled on my softest pair of blue jeans, my green and red striped Christmas socks, and a truly ugly sweater with a giant reindeer head on it that I had received last year as a white elephant gift. I’d pulled the pins out of my hair before I’d gone to bed, but I really hadn’t wanted to part with my new make-up… so I’d slept in it. I laughed at my raccoon eyes when I saw my reflection, and decided my makeover had definitely run its course. I scrubbed my face clean, brushed my teeth, ran my fingers through my riotous curls, and called it good. I had just sat down with my plate of food and hit play on the new CD player I had received the night before, ready to hear the sounds of Handel’s opening movement, when I remembered the horses.

“Ah, hell!” I cursed, sounding exactly like my dad. It was hard not to grow up swearing when you lived on a farm. We never took the Lord’s name in vain or said the F-word, but pretty much damn, hell, and shit were part of the vernacular of most folks born and raised in Levan. To tell the truth, those words weren’t really considered swear words. Last week in church, Gordon Aagard was giving a sermon on trials. He referred to horse shit right in the middle of his talk, and nobody really batted an eye.

Pulling on Johnny’s old boots, I trudged out to the corral. Yazzie danced his happy dog dance around my legs as I walked. Yazzie loved to visit the horses. Dad had built a little lean-to adjacent to the corral, and Joe and Ben greeted me with nickers and bunted me with their noses as I mucked out the lean-to and re-filled the feed buckets. The water in the trough was iced over and I broke it with my shovel, spooning the ice out and topping it off.

Daisy, Dad’s mare, was in the barn, separated from the other horses where it was a little warmer and drier, until she delivered her foal. I swung into the barn, eager to be done with my chores, when I saw that Daisy was lying down, her breathing heavy, her back slick. There was a little blood on the floor of the big stall, and I dropped the shovel I was carrying as I ran to her. I’d watched enough foals be born to know that Daisy was well on her way to being a new mama, and I was home alone.

“Dad said this was going to happen,” I said out loud, rubbing my hand down Daisy’s soft nose, “So now what do I do?”

I ran inside and dialed the number to the power plant. Usually there is always someone in the front office who relays messages to the guys on shift. Today was Christmas, and the staff was at the bare minimum. Nobody answered the phone. A recorded message came on with instructions to call back during regular operating hours. I growled in response and hung up the phone. I called Jacob and Rachel’s house and got Rachel’s cheerful voice on the answering machine telling me she and Jacob weren’t home and to please leave a message. They were home; they were just lying in bed enjoying their Christmas morning. I left a slightly panicked message demanding that Jacob get his butt to the farm. Johnny was at Sheila’s parents’ home, and I called their number with the same results, only this time I asked a little more nicely. Jared was too far away to do me any good. I left him alone.

I ran back out to the barn and paced nervously. I couldn’t see anything. I wasn’t sure I knew what to look for exactly, but there were no little hooves or a head sticking out of Daisy’s nether regions. Daisy groaned, and a watery gush swooshed out between her hind legs.

“Oh man! I cannot do this by myself,” I shrieked. Running out of the barn I ran as fast as my muddy boots would allow toward the Yates’s house. Don would know what to do. Out of breath and gasping, I reached the front walk and slipped and slid my way up to the front door, banging on the screen and yelling for Don. I had been so focused on Daisy and the impending birth that I had run right by the truck that I’d seen the night before without really noticing it. I heard a door open behind me and swung around to see Samuel step out of the truck with concern playing across his handsome face. And it was a very handsome face. I momentarily forgot all about poor Daisy. He wore a pair of Wrangler’s and a Carhart jacket. One foot was planted on the ground in a Justin boot and a black cowboy hat sat low on his head. The other leg was still inside the cab of his truck.

“Josie? My grandpa’s not here. He and Grandma headed over to my Aunt Tabrina’s house earlier this morning. They wanted to see the kids open their gifts. I’m heading over there now…would you like me to give him a message?” Samuel was so polite and formal that for a minute I just stared at him, wondering if I had just imagined our past friendship. He stared back at me, one eyebrow cocked, waiting for a response.

“Daisy’s having her baby. Dad got called into work at five this morning, I can’t get a hold of any of my brothers, and I don’t know what to do.” I realized I was spilling words out every which way, and Samuel looked a little alarmed.

“Daisy?” he queried slowly.

“Our mare!” I shouted at him.

Samuel turned off the ignition, pulled his other leg out of the truck, slammed the door, and started walking down the road toward my house. I watched him blankly until I realized he was going to help me. I clumped along after him until I reached his side.

“Nice sweater.” Samuel didn’t even look at me as he spoke, and my eyes flew down to my chest. Antlers and a shiny red nose poked out of my unbuttoned jacket. I groaned inwardly. Where was Samuel Yates last night when I was ready to be seen up close and personal? God must really have a sense of humor, I thought morosely. He’d answered my Christmas prayer—just in his own time. Ha, ha, ha, very funny. And why did I have to display my Christmas spirit this morning? Why hadn’t I thrown this stupid sweatshirt in the compost pile where it belonged? My hands flew to my hair. I could feel loose curls bouncing in sunny disarray.

“Thank you,” I replied stiffly. I might have imagined it, but I think Samuel’s lips twitched.

“Have you ever helped birth a foal?” I asked anxiously as we rounded the house and headed back to the barn.

“Lots of lambs, only one foal,” Samuel replied shortly. “I don’t think there’s too much variation. But I guess we’ll find out. Isn’t there a vet we can call?”

“There’s a vet that covers the county, and I called his pager number, but I don’t know if he’ll get back to me and I’m not going to wait by the phone. Dad says he doesn’t know his ass from his head anyway.” Realizing that the vocabulary that I had worked so hard to build and that I so prided myself on had completely abandoned me in my flustered state, I clamped my mouth shut and swore I wouldn’t say another word until I was in better control of my tongue.

Samuel didn’t respond to my dad’s opinion of the vet, and I led the way into the barn. Daisy still lay quietly, her only movement in the rise and fall of her breathing. Quickly, Samuel shucked his coat and rolled up his sleeves as far as they would go. Samuel knelt above her, stroking her head with his right hand. He sat waiting as her big body suddenly tightened up, a contraction causing her flanks to quiver with strain. As the tightening began to visibly ease, Samuel, speaking quietly and soothing her with his right hand, snaked his left hand between her rear flanks. Daisy’s legs stiffened and she tossed her head, but she didn’t fight him as he inserted his arm inside her all the way up to his shoulder. Yuck. I was so glad Samuel was with me I felt lightheaded with relief. After a few moments of concentrated groping he spoke.

“I think I can feel the head and the forelegs, so that’s good. The baby is facing the right direction. At this point, your mare will do all the work. If all is as it should be, there’s not a whole lot we can do. Let’s go inside, and I’ll wash up and you see if you can reach your dad again. It won’t be long now.”

I hadn’t turned Handel off when I went to feed the horses. The entire production of his Messiah had played out to an empty kitchen, and the “Hallelujah Chorus” was reverberating joyfully throughout the house as we entered through the back door. My boots were muddy and I didn’t want to take the time away from Daisy to pull them off and back on, so walking though the house to turn the music off in the family room wasn’t going to happen; it would just have to play to the end. I ran to the phone and tried the power plant again with no luck. I hung up with an impatient sigh.

“My dad is going to be fit to be tied when he gets home.”

“Isn’t this what you played last night?” Samuel questioned from the sink, his back to me. My mind jumped from the failed phone call back to Handel’s music pouring out of the family room.

“Oh. Uh, yes. It’s Handel’s ‘Hallelujah Chorus.’ It’s pretty wonderful with a full orchestra, isn’t it?

“It was pretty wonderful last night with just the piano, too,” Samuel replied seriously, and turned his head to look at me as he dried his hands and unrolled his sleeves. Pleasure washed over me at his words, and I tried to stop myself from beaming like an idiot as we left the kitchen and headed back out to the barn.

There seemed to be no change as Samuel and I squatted down next to the laboring mare. She huffed and groaned a little with the next contraction, but didn’t seem unduly stressed. I prayed silently that Daisy would be all right and that the birth would go well.

The quiet in the barn became more pronounced as we held our vigil, and I searched my mind for something to say. Samuel certainly didn’t seem to feel the need to talk.

“Handel composed all three parts of his Messiah, including the orchestration, in a little more than three weeks. Two hundred and sixty pages of music in just twenty-four days. No other composer has accomplished anything like that in the history of music. He described it as an out-of-body experience.” I sounded like a tour guide, and my voice faded off uncertainly as Samuel failed to even lift his head. When he didn’t respond after several long seconds, I bit my tongue to keep from trying to continue to fill the embarrassing lull. When he did speak several minutes later his voice made me jump.

“Why did everyone stand last night when you started to play?”

“Did they stand?” I was dumbfounded. I really hadn’t noticed.

Samuel just raised that one eyebrow and looked at me.

I blushed and shrugged. “I really don’t know…”

“Your teacher was the first to stand—Mrs. Grimaldi, right? Everyone just kind of followed her up.”

I giggled, suddenly understanding what Sonja had done. “It’s actually tradition to stand on the Hallelujah Chorus. You see, when the King of England first attended a performance of ‘Messiah,” he was so moved when the Hallelujah Chorus played that he stood up. Apparently, when the King of England stands, everyone stands. I guess Sonja thought Levan should carry on a tradition that’s been in effect for two hundred and fifty years.”

“You really didn’t notice that everyone was standing almost the entire time you played?” Samuel’s smooth baritone was slightly disbelieving.

His tone made me feel defensive, and I waved my hand as if to brush off his doubts. “You know me, Samuel—I lose myself in the music. By the time I came back to Earth, everyone had probably sat back down.”

My insistence that he ‘knew’ me rang in my ears as he turned back toward Daisy, again without comment, and stroked her long neck. He was acting like we had never known each other at all. I thought of how often my thoughts had been filled with him over the last two plus years and felt a lump rise up in my throat.

I was distracted from my misery several moments later when Daisy convulsed strongly and a wet nose popped out between her hind quarters. I gasped, and the little nose disappeared again as the contraction abated.

“One more and that should do it.” Samuel’s voice was calm and reassuring, but my heart was pounding as I waited for the next contraction to come. Samuel ran his hands down Daisy’s damp flanks, talking softly to her, urging her on.

“One more, girl, one more. You’re almost done,” he soothed. “Here it comes, here we go.”

Moments later, the horse shuddered and her flanks shook as a nose and two hooves came plainly into view, followed by a wet tangle of big ears and wobbly, knobby legs. Samuel helped pull the new colt free, wiping blood and slime off the little fellow with handfuls of straw. Daisy turned her head and butted her awkward offspring gently, prodding as she urged him to his feet, licking and nudging him all the while.

“Way to go, Daisy! Well done girl!” I cried, clapping softly. I realized I was on my feet and there were tears on my face. I wiped them off hastily as I knelt back down and placed a kiss between Daisy’s sweat-slicked ears.

“You did it, Samuel!” I grinned at him, my unhappiness forgotten in light of the triumphant birth.

“I didn’t do anything—it was all Daisy,” he replied, but his tone was mild and I could tell he was pleased that it had gone without incident.

I was happily contemplating Christmas names for Daisy’s baby when the sound of a slamming door and boots on gravel carried back to the barn.

“I hope that’s my dad!” I cried out, rising and running for the entrance of the barn. Jacob and Dad had parked the truck around the house and were high-tailing it toward the barn when I intercepted them with the happy news. My dad was beside himself with worry and rushed ahead of me into the barn. I followed him in, sharing details of the morning’s miracle, relating Samuel’s role in the excitement as we approached him where he still perched, balanced on his haunches next to the new colt. He rose smoothly to his feet, wiping his blood-stained hands on his jeans before extending a hand apologetically to my dad.

“Congratulations, sir. Sorry about the hand.”

My dad grabbed it, completely unconcerned about shaking the proffered hand. Clapping Samuel on the back, he thanked him for coming to my rescue.

They all talked for a few minutes, admiring the new colt, commenting on this and that, rubbing his floppy ears, and enjoying the Christmas surprise.

“Well Josie,” my dad turned to me suddenly. “I think you and Samuel have earned the right to name the colt. Whaddaya think?”

I looked at Samuel expectantly, but he just shrugged, dipping his head in my direction as he deferred to me. “Go ahead, Josie.”

“George Frederic Handel,” I said impulsively.

Jacob and my dad groaned loudly in unison and hooted in laughing protest.

“What the hell kind of name is that, Josie?” my brother howled.

“He’s a composer!” I cried out, embarrassed and wishing I had taken a minute to think before I blurted out the first thing that came to my head.

A smile played around Samuel’s lips as he joined in the fray. “He wrote the music that Josie played last night at the church service.”

“I just thought the colt should have a Christmas name, and Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus is synonymous with Christmas!” I defended and then cringed as Jacob and my dad burst out laughing again.

My dad wiped tears of mirth from his eyes as he tried to get control of himself.

“We’ll call him Handel,” he choked out. “It’s a very nice name, Josie.” He patted my shoulder, still chuckling. I felt like I was ten years old.

“Well, my grandparents are going to be wondering where I am.” Samuel extended his hand to my father again. “I’d better get cleaned up and be on my way.”

“Thanks again, Samuel,” my dad called after him. Samuel inclined his head politely to me and Jacob, turned, and strode out of the barn.

I followed him out, my dad and my brother completely unaware that I was leaving. Samuel had picked up his stride and was a good ways in front of me when I exited the barn. Obviously, he was done here. That was it? He was leaving without more than a nod to me? He would probably be gone the next day without giving me another thought. Suddenly, I was very angry and more than a little hurt. Impulsively, I bent down and scooped up a big handful of snow, punching it into a sloppy snowball. I launched it as hard as I could at Samuel’s retreating form.

I am not athletic in the slightest, and I can’t throw a ball to save my life, but for once my aim ran true, and the hard-packed snowball plowed right into the back of Samuel’s head.

He turned, stunned, his hand rising to his head and brushing the snow from his short black hair. I picked up another snowball and chucked it at him, too. He ducked, but I had another one ready to go right on its heels. That one struck him in the chest, snow plastering the front of his shirt where his jacket lay opened, and dripping down his neck. Samuel stared at me as if I had lost my mind. I definitely wasn’t laughing.

“Josie! What is wrong with you?” he stuttered in disbelief.

“What is wrong with me?!” I cried back. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong with me, since you’re so eager to get away from me?” I shook the snow from my hands and shoved them under my armpits, trying to warm them, the cold ache in my fingers in accord with the sting of tears threatening my eyes. Samuel walked back toward me, closing the distance between us until we stood face to face.

“I thought you were my friend!” I sputtered angrily. “Last night you didn’t even come say hello, today you’ve acted like we’re almost strangers, and now you’re just walking away without so much as a “hey Josie, how are you?” It’s been two years and seven months since you left, and I’ve thought of you every day. I’ve written you dozens of letters.” I shook my head in bewilderment. “We were friends Samuel! We were good friends!”

Samuel sighed heavily and shoved his hands fiercely into his coat pockets. He cocked his head and stared at me for a moment, his expression undecipherable. After what seemed like a lifetime he spoke, and his voice was gentle.

“I’m sorry Josie. You’re right. We were friends. Good friends.” He sighed and turned away slightly, kicking at the snow at his feet. “Do you know how old I am, Josie?” he asked me, looking back at me seriously.

“You’re twenty-one,” I shot back.

“Yep, and you are?”

I waited without answering, knowing what was coming.

“You are sixteen years old. It’s inappropriate for me to be anywhere near you.”

I groaned loudly and threw my hands in the air. My physical and intellectual maturity, along with my sensitive nature and my love for English literature should have made me a prime candidate for romantic daydreams and girlish drama. But though I had fallen unabashedly in love with Jane Eyre’s Mr. Rochester and Jane Austen’s Mr. Darcy, the boys I attended school with held little appeal. I felt decades older than my classmates, and I possessed a certain seriousness and reserve that must have made me seem unapproachable and snobbish. Sonja always said I had an old soul. I kept to myself for the most part, took care of my dad, read my books, played my piano, and spent time with the Grimaldis. When I was forced into the company of my classmates, I kept close to my cousin Tara, who liked me despite my peculiarities. But I had never felt like I belonged. Hearing Samuel tell me I was way too young to be his friend just made me want to scream.

“What does my age have to do with us being friends?” I repeated aloud. “You don’t just come back after all this time and act like you never knew me. Last night… I couldn’t wait to see you, to talk to you…and you just…left! That was cruel, Samuel. You may have outgrown me, but would it have hurt you to say hello, to talk to me for a minute?”

Samuel scrubbed his hands over his face in frustration. “Last night you didn’t look sixteen,” he said tersely.

“What does that have to do with anything?” I replied, aghast.

“I was looking forward to seeing you too, Josie. But…after seeing you play at the church, I thought it was wise to stay away from you because I care way more than I should,” Samuel bit off reluctantly.

My heart stuttered in my chest, and I stared at him, uncertain how to respond. He stared back at me, hands in his pockets, feet spread wide, brow furrowed. The expression on his face was so precious and familiar that I laughed and reached up to smooth the deep groove between his scowling eyebrows. He jerked back as my hand touched his face, and his hand snaked out and wrapped around my wrist.

“I didn’t lie when I told you I would never forget you, Josie. But it can’t be like it was. I guess you’re right. I’ve outgrown our old friendship.” His mouth twisted wryly, and he dropped my wrist suddenly. “Take care of yourself, Josie. It’s been really nice seeing you.” He turned without further comment and crunched across the snow without looking back.

I watched him walk away and amazingly enough, this time it hurt even worse than when he left the first time. This time I had no illusions about the future. There would be no letters and no comfort in delusions. Samuel was as gone to me as my mother was. The next morning his truck was no longer parked in front of his grandparents’ home. I took his letters from my desk drawer and his picture and the necklace he’d given me from my treasure box. I put everything in an old shoebox and put it on the highest shelf in my closet. I slid it to the very back and shut the door firmly.

I pretended I had outgrown him, too. One day I would be gone. I would be a famous concert pianist. I would travel the world, and I wouldn’t think about Samuel ever again. Someday, I would be the one to leave.

Interlude

August 2000

A week before my junior year in high school, everything changed. Kasey Judd had lived in Levan all his life, just like me. His family had lived there for generations, just like mine. We’d been born a few days apart, in the same hospital, in the same year. We had attended the same church, rode the same bus, and were in the same classes. Up until ninth grade, he wore braces and glasses and I was taller than he was. His curly hair was always unruly, his shoes always untied, and he constantly challenged me for first chair in the school band, which I found slightly annoying because I regularly trounced him. He had been a fixture on the periphery of my life ALL of my life, just like the comfortable couch in the living room or the patterns on the walls. He was just another boy…until I fell in love with him.

Kasey’s dad was the football coach at Nephi High School. I played trumpet in the school band, so I attended my share of football games and cheered for my share of football players. Tara had a thing for football players, but I really wasn’t interested in hearing about every single player, their stats, the position they played, and the way they looked in uniform.

Tara knew everything about everyone, and I mostly listened with an uninterested ear. Her ability to talk non-stop without any encouragement from me made our relationship work. I never had much to say, and she couldn’t shut up, so it was a win/win all the way around. She was the only person I knew who had business cards touting her gossiping skills. The cards said “If You Want to Know How or Who, Ask Tara Ballow” (Ba LOO). I suppose Tara’s chatter filled a feminine need inside of me. By this time, all my brothers had graduated, married, or moved out, and I lived at home with my dad. He was almost as quiet as I was which meant girl talk—or any other kind of talk—was pretty scarce, and Tara happily filled the void.

My piano playing ability made band a no-brainer, and I was the first chair trumpet player. We didn’t have orchestra at the school, so when I joined the band in seventh grade, I had wanted to learn to play a more classical instrument like the clarinet until Tara told me that trumpet players made the best kissers. I figured someone as awkward as I was needed all the help I could get, and I had played the trumpet ever since. Tara played the flute…quite badly. But the competition wasn’t fierce in a small school, and she managed to keep her chair. She might have played better had she just stopped talking! The huge pink bubble she was always blowing didn’t help much either. Mr. Hackett, our band teacher, had forbidden gum in band, but Tara was constantly cleaning cherry Hubba Bubba out of her mouthpiece.

We started band practice two weeks before the school year started to get ready for the upcoming football season. Practice was ridiculously early because it was “Hell Week” for the football team, which meant two-a-days. The band practiced early to allow members of the football team, who were also members of the band, to make it to morning football practice. At a small school it isn’t unusual for a jock to be in the band or sing in the chorus or to be in the school play. In my opinion, that is the best thing about going to a small school; less competition sometimes means more opportunity. Tara had been telling me all about “that cute Kasey Judd” all summer long. She’d said his dad had all the boys in the weight room getting them ready for football season. Tara had been up at the football field during several practices with binoculars to check out their new muscles.

I dragged into that first early-morning practice with my curly blonde hair in a sloppy ponytail, wearing an old pair of cut-off jeans, a ratty Survivor T-shirt and flip flops, only to discover my chair was occupied. I sighed. When would Kasey Judd ever learn? I looked, and then I stared. Kasey Judd had grown up. His shoulders were broad and his legs were long and stretched out in front of him. No more glasses, and no more braces. His hair was curly, like my own, but where mine was a light wheat blonde just like my dad’s (and his dad’s, and his dad’s), Kasey’s was dark brown and was now cut short to tame the once unruly mop.

I sat down next to him and shyly said, “That’s my seat.” I hoped the freckles I always got across my nose in the summertime weren’t too noticeable, and I cursed myself for not at least applying mascara to my happily long, but sadly very blonde, eyelashes. I had started wearing my contacts on a more regular basis and was thankful that I’d taken the time to put them in that morning, saving myself from total ugliness. He looked at me with a little grin and a quirked eyebrow and said, “We’ll see.”

His eyes were a hazel green, and his smile curled up at the ends. Dimples creased his sun-tanned cheeks. I almost fell right off my chair. I had never had a physical reaction to a smile before, but I felt Kasey’s grin deep down in my gut like a sucker punch, and I was a total goner. Over the moon, gone. He challenged me for first chair in the trumpet section that day and for the first time in umpteen years, he won, though I challenged him the following week and never let him have it back.

Two weeks later, we shared our first kiss under the stars at Burraston’s Pond, and despite our inexperience, it was not an awkward meeting of lips and teeth. That kiss was as natural as a prayer at bedtime. Simple, sweet, sustaining. I fell so hard I saw stars, and the funny thing is I naively thought that that was just how falling in love was for everyone. We became inseparable from then on, to the point that our names became an extension of the other. Kaseynjosie. You couldn’t say one without the other. It was all so easy with him—easy to love him, easy to be loved.

I had many people in my life that loved me...and I was not necessarily lacking in love. What I craved was awareness—awareness of me. I could sit quietly in my chair and read the night away, never demanding attention, never seeking it. I could sit behind the piano and play and have people appreciate the beautiful music and never take notice of the one who played it. I was a steady, quiet presence in the lives of those around me. But sometimes in my reading I would discover new insights or have seemingly profound thoughts that would change my way of thinking. I would be hungry to share my inspiration with someone, so I would try to share my epiphanies with my dad or my brothers. They would remain politely quiet for a few seconds and then become distracted by something more interesting or urgent than my newly acquired knowledge, leaving me to talk to myself. I usually just stopped talking when I could see they really weren’t interested or listening, and they never protested or urged me to continue.

If I tried to philosophize with Tara she would stare at me blankly for a few minutes and then slowly cross her eyes and say, “You’re losin’ me Jos!” I would laugh because I knew it was true, and I would tuck my thoughts away for another audience. My Aunt Louise was too literal, too real, and too down-to-earth to enjoy the profundity of the universe and warned me away whenever I “started gettin’ deep.” Sonja had filled that void in many ways, but her own insights were so precious to me that when I was with her I found myself more interested in listening and soaking up her wisdom than talking myself.

When Kasey became part of my life he had seemed to enjoy letting me elucidate on any subject that had sparked my interest. He would quietly listen and look at me now and again. Often he would agree with whatever I said and hug me saying, “You are so smart, Josie.” He never had much to offer in the way of deeper discussion, but I so appreciated his interest in what I had to say that I didn’t much care. I had needed someone to listen to me and to seek out my opinions. I had needed someone to value me, to give credence to my thoughts, to be awed by my abilities, and there was nobody more aware of a pretty teenage girl than an infatuated teenage boy. It had felt new and wonderful, and his attention had kept me on a constant, heady high that was completely foreign to me.

I had felt God’s power and presence in beautiful music, I had been taught principles of goodness from classic literature, and I had always felt certain both were blessings from a loving Father in Heaven. I was just as certain that God had given me Kasey to assuage my deep-rooted loneliness, the loneliness that even music, words, and the love of my family had not been able to extinguish. I thought Kasey was God’s atonement for taking my mother.

Among my peers I was considered quaint and old-fashioned, but Kasey never seemed to mind. He too was a believer in the principles taught by simple, God fearing, and hardworking parents. We had both been schooled in faith and in a belief in God and family responsibility. We understood what was expected of us and wanted to make our parents proud. I’m sure during those two years our parents worried that we were too close. And we were too close…but they never tried to keep us apart. There is an intensity to young love that is hard to deny, but we managed to hang on to our virtue and keep our hands to ourselves for the most part. We were planning to be married, ending the torture, as soon as we graduated. Kasey had asked me to marry him on Christmas Eve, placing a little tiny diamond on my finger. Our parents shrugged helplessly and gave us their blessing. My dad looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “Josie, are you sure, honey?” I remember looking back at him in amazement thinking what a silly question that was. I had responded with a laugh and a fierce hug. I’d never doubted it for a moment. Not one frisson of doubt. My dad had squeezed me back and kissed the top of my head.

“Okay, honey, okay ...”

Before falling in love with Kasey, I had assumed I would go to college and get a degree in music with a minor in English Lit and play piano professionally, making a living doing the thing I loved most. After Kasey, I wasn’t quite as desperate for that dream. It wasn’t that I had lost my ambition, but I couldn’t imagine any of those things giving me more joy than just being near Kasey and making a life with him. I had received a music scholarship to any school of my choice, and Kasey had a football scholarship to Brigham Young University. I figured I could teach piano lessons and make good money doing it; every Mormon kid takes piano lessons at some point in their childhood. I would get a little car so I could make house calls, which busy moms loved, and I could help support Kasey and myself while we both went to school. When we graduated, he would teach school and coach football just like his dad, and I would play piano professionally and compose, and we would be together forever. We had it all planned out.

Kasey was like air to me. No matter how much time we spent together, it was never enough. He didn’t share my love of literature or my obsession with classical music, but he wasn’t threatened by it either. Kasey was probably the kind of man many women could happily love and be loved by. He laughed easily and liked to tease but never at the expense of someone’s feelings. He could be feisty and competitive but was quick to forgive and ask forgiveness. Unlike me, he never felt awkward giving and receiving affection; he hugged his dad, kissed his mom, and said I love you without me saying it first. He always made me feel like I was the best thing that ever happened to him. He was a very good son. He would have been a good man, a good husband, and a good father. He was the sun in my universe from our very first kiss.

* * *

Kasey asked me out of the blue one time if I had ever been in love before. We were curled up on the big couch in his parents’ living room on a Saturday evening, homemade caramel popcorn between us and a couple of cold Cokes on little coasters on the coffee table in front of us. Things were being blown up and decimated on the big television screen and all was right with the world.

I laughed lightly, surprised at his question, and instantly replied “No!” as I grabbed his hand. He’d responded in kind and let the subject drop, almost as if he had expected my answer and mentally moved on before I’d even spoken. I sat in silence for a minute, holding his hand between mine, studying his palm, tracing his lifeline, and wondering what had inspired his question.

“Why?” I asked, suddenly unable to contain my curiosity.

Kasey glanced over at me distractedly, “Why what?”

“Why did you ask me if I’d ever been in love?” I prodded.

Kasey shrugged one shoulder, turning his attention back to the screen. “I don’t know, I’ve just been thinking. You may not have noticed me until last year, but I noticed you a long time ago.”

“Huh?”

Kasey sighed and picked up the remote, pausing the movie, making the guy who was being hurled through the air pause mid-flight. He looked at me then, his eyes running over my face.

“Josie you’re beautiful, and you have been beautiful your whole life.” I warmed at the praise and found myself smiling sheepishly, embarrassed but pleased. “The nice thing about you,” he continued, “is you don’t seem to know it. When we were in junior high, my friends and I would talk about you. Some of the guys thought that you were stuck up because you were so quiet and you weren’t interested in any of us.” My eyebrows shot up, and it was Kasey’s turn to be slightly embarrassed.

“Well, you were so much more mature than everyone else, heck, you were practically from a different planet. You were nice enough, but you were really distant, kind of like you were just putting in your time, you know? A few of the guys thought maybe you had an older boyfriend or something.” Kasey searched my eyes like he was gauging the effect his words would have—maybe wondering if I would volunteer that I had, indeed, had a secret boyfriend no one knew about.

“You were taller than all of us and looked a lot older, and you were definitely smarter. I knew better though. I knew you were just really shy, not stuck up. You probably don’t remember, but in 7th grade Science you sat right next to me. You were very sweet, never snotty or full of yourself. I looked forward to that class every day. That was when I decided that someday you were gonna be my girlfriend. I’ve liked other girls, but I always had my eye on you.”

I leaned over and gently pressed my lips to his, and the conversation was suspended as he kissed me back. His mom’s voice from the kitchen brought us tumbling back to reality, and we pulled apart and resumed a safer proximity. Kasey hit play on the remote and the unfortunate victim finished his trajectory into the side of an apartment building. Kasey slung his arm around my shoulders, and I leaned against him, pulling my feet in fuzzy pink socks up underneath me.

I spent the rest of that evening in contemplation, feeling almost guilty. I was glad for the Schwarzenegger video Kasey had picked to watch; it had allowed my mind to wander as he enjoyed the destruction on screen. It had been a while since I had actively thought of Samuel. He still tiptoed through my thoughts every now and then. When the Twin Towers and the Pentagon had been hit, I wondered where he was and if he would be one of the Marines on the front lines in the war in Afghanistan. I had even watched the news coverage with his face in my mind. But I had not physically missed him, not really, not for a long time. After all, I hadn’t seen him in more than two years.

But as I sat there holding Kasey’s hand, I had to acknowledge my lie. I might love only Kasey now, but I had been in love before. I had loved Samuel. It was not a crush or infatuation. It had been love. Innocent, out of the ordinary, before its time, but….love. Time had provided perspective, and though I had never admitted it to myself, I knew it was true. The thought left me shaky.

I hadn’t ever told Kasey about Samuel. Not a single word. I wondered at my silence. I wasn’t ashamed of what had been—but there weren’t words. Some things can’t be explained or shared; they tend to lose their luster when passed around. It reminded me of the ‘pearls before swine’ scripture. A pig will never have any appreciation for a pearl, no matter how precious. He doesn’t have the experience or the capacity to comprehend its worth. My relationship with Samuel had been a glimmering pearl in my life, and even those closest to me, though certainly the furthest thing from swine, would be unable to grasp its intrinsic value. The saying “you had to be there” pretty much summed it up. Nothing could be gained by me trying to expound on the subject so I never had. Samuel was no longer a part of my life, and that night as I held hands with my future, I determined to keep him tucked away in my past.

* * *

The day of graduation, May 28, saw us lined up with our classmates, marching down the aisle and getting our diplomas. Alphabetical order put Jensen and Judd side by side, and Kasey and I threw our caps into the air together. I was in the top ten in my class; I would have been Valedictorian had I tried. I made sure I wasn’t. Graduating number three meant I wouldn’t have to say one word into the microphone, and I had no interest in giving a speech at graduation. I didn’t shed any tears as people around me, including Kasey, hugged each other and cried nostalgically. High school had never been the pinnacle for me, and I was so ready for what came next…and what came next was Kasey and me in church, in front of the whole town, saying “I do.” When I was a little girl, I had watched the musical Seven Brides for Seven Brothers eight million times, and I was going to be a June bride. We had the date set, the announcements printed, and my wedding dress, the dress my mother had worn when she married my dad, hanging in my closet where I could see it as I fell asleep each night.

The after-graduation tradition was an all-night party for the seniors at a water park in Provo, about 45 minutes north of Nephi. Kasey was sociable and loved to play, so I happily went along, though water parks and all-nighters that didn’t involve books weren’t really my thing. Afterwards, the graduates would load into a school bus and head back to the high school for a big pancake breakfast served up by some of the moms. Kasey had a job stocking shelves in the early morning hours at the Nephi grocery store. He had to work that morning, so my brother Johnny was going to swing by and grab me at the high school after his night shift at the power plant ended. Kasey planned to grab a shower and a quick nap in the employee break room before his shift began.

As usual, we tried to postpone our parting to the last possible minute. It was just before 5:00 in the morning, and Kasey didn’t have to be to work until 6:30, so he decided he had plenty of time to run me home himself and still get a shower and a catnap. We called the power plant from the phone in the school office and Johnny was paged to a nearby phone.

“I don’t mind, Johnny,” Kasey had said earnestly. Johnny had laughed at him.

“I’m sure you don’t Kasey, and I know Josie doesn’t,” he said wryly, “but you two have had no sleep, it’s 5:00 in the morning, I’ll be ready to leave in forty-five minutes, and there’s no reason for you to make the extra trip.”

Kasey reassured him and I cajoled, and before long we were on our way to Levan in Kasey’s beat-up, green Ford. We liked the old car because it had a bench seat in front, and I could sit right next to him. I sat as close to him as I could while he drove. He kept his left hand on the wheel and the other hand in mine. We both smelled like chlorine from the water park, and our hair had dried in stiff ringlets. I had twisted mine up into a clip, but his flopped into his eyes, and I smoothed the curls off of his forehead as we chatted non-stop all the way to my house.

The sun was just peeking up over the eastern mountains that shadowed the sleepy town when we rolled across the gravel in front of my house. I had spent many a day up Pidgeon and Chicken Creek Canyons in those mountains. That year we’d had a dry, cold winter and not nearly enough snowfall, and as farmers in the West usually do, we’d spent a lot of time fasting and praying for moisture. The canyon wouldn’t see much run-off that year, which would be hard on the farms. But I was too content to worry overmuch, and that morning, with the sun behind them, those mountains just looked like home to me, all framed in pink hope with streaks of golden promise spilling over the tops. Kasey stepped out of the car and I slid out after him, closer to his door than to my own. He leaned back against the door and pulled me up against him, resting his cheek against my head. We watched the sun rise in silence. Teenagers ordinarily don’t like to get up any earlier than they have to, and we were pretty normal in that regard. We had never watched the sunrise together, so that morning was a first for us, and I remember being completely filled to the brim with contentment. There is a silent music in joy, and the music of that morning still makes my heart ache when I allow myself to a revisit it. Kasey’s muscled young arms were strong around my shoulders, and when he leaned down and rubbed his cheek against mine, his breath was sweet and smelled faintly of maple syrup.

“I love you so much, Josie Jensen,” he whispered against my cheek, and I turned in his arms and cupped his face in my hands. I felt a lump rise in my throat as I looked at him, and I felt strangely like laughing with the sweetness of it all.

“I love you too, Kasey Judd, and if you don’t kiss me right now, I’m going to shatter into a million pieces,” I whispered back. He leaned toward me, but I closed the distance, standing on my tiptoes and pulling him down. I tasted the lingering sweetness on his lips and breathed him in. My heart stuttered in a now familiar two-step, and we sank into each other just like the first time. Breathlessly, I had to pull myself from him, for there was a little edge to his kiss and an urgency in the way he held me to him. I thrilled at his passion, but knew Johnny wouldn’t be too far behind us, and I didn’t want to embarrass him or initiate a brotherly lecture on “being careful.”

Kasey’s chin dropped to his chest, and his eyes closed in mock agony. “UGH,” he groaned out. “Three weeks is too long! I’m going to be the one who shatters into a million pieces.” He echoed my words of a moment before.

“We’ll make it. It’s not forever.” I laughed up at him. Pulling me into his arms he kissed me again, hungry like before, and I reluctantly ended it once more, pulling away with my hands linked in his.

His lips turned down at the corners, and his eyebrows curved in his best hang-dog expression. He looked wistful as he sighed out his goodbye. I laughed again, delighted by his need for me.

“Maybe we should stay apart until the big day,” I teased him with a helpful smile.

“It seems like forever,” he said quietly as he climbed into the car.

I stepped back and watched him pull out of the gravel drive. I waved and blew silly kisses. “Call me, later!!” I shouted, and he waved his hand out his window, signaling he’d heard me. I didn’t even watch him drive away. I turned and walked into the house, suddenly eager for a shower and my feather pillow. I had no premonition, no inkling that it really would be forever. It was the last time I saw him alive.

Requiem

Kasey must have gotten drowsy on his way back into Nephi. The officers that arrived at the accident said they think he’d swerved into the wrong lane and started to go into the irrigation gully along the side of the road. He’d overcorrected, slammed on his brakes, and flipped his car. Kasey was thrown through the windshield and killed instantly. The car was facing the other direction and upside down when it came to a stop, and my brother was the first person to drive by and see Kasey’s totaled car. Johnny said he thought we were both in the car because of the way the car was facing, thinking the accident had happened on the way to our house. He said he found Kasey not too far from the car and ran around trying to find me. He couldn’t see into the upside down car because the top was completely caved in. The doors were damaged and he couldn’t get them open. He thought I was inside. Johnny didn’t have a cell phone, and there was nobody on the road at a quarter to six on a Saturday morning. Johnny says he hardly remembers jumping back in his truck and racing home. I had foregone the shower for my bed and awoke to him shouting into the phone. I stumbled down the stairs from the loft and into the kitchen. Johnny saw me and dropped the phone, causing it to swing wildly on its curling cord, and stumbled over to me.

“Josie! I thought you were with him! You’re okay! Are you okay? Kasey…his car! You’re here? How?” He was looking at me and rubbing his hands up and down my arms with tears running down his face, then holding me and pushing me away again as he tried to explain about the accident and how he thought I was with Kasey.

You know how you feel in a really scary dream? How you sometimes wake up and you’re almost paralyzed for a minute? You can’t feel your legs or your arms and you are hot and cold all at once? I remember standing there looking at my brother, his face taking turns contorting with joy at my safety and despair at my loss. The blood slowed in my veins, and my fingers went numb. Meanwhile, Kasey lay along the side of the road as the birds chirped in the blue skies of a flawless May morning. Understanding suddenly dawned.

“You left him there? You left him there?” My voice rose in an uncharacteristic shriek that clanged in my head. I turned and ran from the house, still in my swimsuit and shorts, no shoes on my feet. I was a strong runner and I ran full-out down the road, my brother yelling “Josie! Josie! Wait!” behind me. And then yelling, “Dad!...Dad!...Help me!...Dad!” as he cried for my dad, who must have been out with the horses.

I ran and felt nothing but an all-consuming rage that Johnny had been standing in our kitchen talking while Kasey was somewhere hurt. I had run about a half mile before Dad and Johnny caught up to me. They’d jumped into Old Brown, because it was out by the corral where Johnny had found my dad and the keys were in the ignition. Johnny was behind the wheel, and it was probably a good thing because if he’d tried to stop me, I would have scratched out his eyes. My dad was strong and I’d inherited my long runner’s legs from him. As Johnny slowed, my dad slid out the passenger door and matched his steps to mine. Wrapping his big arms around me, he brought me down like a rodeo calf in the tall weeds along the side of the road.

“Josie!” he’d said roughly. “Josie stop! Honey! I’ll take you to him! Stop it now! You’ll get there faster if you go in the truck!” I had been kicking and bucking, trying to cut loose of him.

As his words registered, I stopped fighting and looked up him, both of us breathing hard. My dad was one of those men with a craggy, sun-tanned, rancher’s face. Mom used to say he was her very own John Wayne. His speaking voice was loud and rough, and he rode my brothers hard growing up, but he was a big marshmallow once you got past the bark. I’d seen his eyes tear up a thousand times, and we all teased him about it. But when I looked up into his face and saw the devastation in his eyes and the tears on his cheeks, my anger became a rush of terrible fear.

“Honey, I don’t think he made it,” his voice caught as he held back a sob. “Johnny said he was gone. He came home to call the ambulance. He thought you were trapped in the car, honey.”

“No!” I started fighting in earnest, and my dad rose and pulled me up in his arms, holding me and crying and struggling to fold both of us into the truck. “I’ll take you to him…I’ll take you, honey, just hold on...”

They’d taken me to him but wouldn’t let me out of the truck. A highway patrol officer had arrived at the accident, and he’d covered Kasey up with some kind of sheet or tarp. My dad wrapped his legs and arms around me to hold me back as Johnny brought Old Brown to a stop and jumped out, running to the officer. It was one of the Carter boys, all grown up and official in his police uniform, dark glasses and all. He was five or six years older than I, but he’d grown up in Levan, too. I had known him all my life, but at that moment I couldn’t think of his name. He put his arm on Johnny’s shaking shoulders as they walked to where Kasey was covered. He knelt and gently pulled back the sheet just a little bit and Johnny nodded in response to something he said. I caught the briefest glimpse of Kasey’s curly head. I heard Johnny say Kasey’s name, and I put my head down on my dad’s lap and wept.

* * *

After his funeral, Kasey was buried in Levan Cemetery next to his Grandpa Judd who had passed away when Kasey was ten. Kasey had loved his grandpa and would have liked that, but I secretly wished he could be buried next to my mom, that in his death I could claim him, that he could be numbered with my family, as I would now never be numbered among his. The anger I felt toward God kept me distracted from my grief for a while. I had suffered my quota already! It wasn’t fair that He should take two people from me. It was someone else’s turn. I fumed at Him. Even when I tried to pray for strength and understanding, I found myself too angry to finish, and would leave my knees in fury.

Underneath the anger there was also a question. In sorrow, I found myself asking Him, “Why was Kasey given to me, God, if you were only going to take him away?” It seemed so cruel, and the God I knew was not that God. It was the first time in my life I questioned His love for me.

The date I was supposed to marry Kasey came, and Tara came and got me, keeping me busy for the day. But when night descended, I found myself in my room fingering my mother’s wedding dress, the dress that would have become mine that very day had Kasey lived. It was simple in style, high-waisted and long sleeved. It looked very Jane Austen to me, and I had loved it all my life. My mother had stored it carefully, and it was almost as white as the day she wore it.

I had a picture of her in this dress, looking up at my dad with the most serene smile on her face. She held yellow roses in her bouquet and wore a flowered wreath in her hair. Her hair was a rich, heavy brown, and it hung down almost to her waist. I didn’t have her coloring, but my wide eyes and my heart shaped face were hers, as well as my slightly fuller top lip, which gave my mouth a Betty Boop effect. Dad had affectionately called us Boop and Boop Two when Mom was alive. She and my dad looked so young and happy. The photographer had caught my dad with his eyes closed, but somehow that just made me love the picture more, like he was counting his blessings at that moment, eyes closed in profound gratitude.

I wondered…if they had known that time would pass quickly and my mom’s life cut short, would their eyes have lingered longer? Would their hands have gripped each other tighter? I was suddenly envious of my parents, of the time they did get. They had twenty years together. They would always belong to each other now. My mother would always be Janelle Wilson Jensen. I would never be Josie Judd.

When the house was quiet and Johnny and my dad were asleep, I put her wedding dress on, arranged my hair, and carefully applied my makeup. I played Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata very softly on my CD player. When I finished the comforting feminine rituals of many a bride, I stood in front of my full length mirror and stared at myself for a very long time. The words of Jane Eyre came to my mind, and I understood my literary friend as I never had before.

“Where was the Jane Eyre of yesterday? Where was her life? Where were her prospects? Jane Eyre, who had been an ardent expectant woman—almost a bride—was a cold, solitary girl again: her life was pale; her prospects desolate.”

My dad found me asleep on the front porch swing the next morning, still fully dressed in my stiff white dress, wrapped in the long lace of my veil. I had come outside to sit in the pale light of the moon, unwilling to remove the dress and relinquish what remained of my wedding day. I had fallen asleep to the creak of the wooden swing. My dad spoke my name, waking me up to the dawn of the day after. He sat down beside me and pulled me into his lap, rubbing my back in slow circles, rocking gently, letting the sun rise and the horses wait while he sat with me and held me in his arms. My anger eventually unraveled as it was sucked into the black hole of my profound disappointment. The life I had envisioned would never be, and I mourned for it almost as desperately as I mourned for Kasey.

* * *

The months after Kasey’s death were like a strange play where I became the leading lady with a helpless supporting cast and where the props of daily life kept me functioning in a stilted parody of existence. No one knew what to do or say. My outrage at my loss would return randomly, causing me to keep my own company in order to not lash out at loved ones who only wanted to help. I played my music constantly, even as I slept. It wound its way around me and through me, and helped me retreat from my reality.

I would run through the hills around my house, down the long country roads that meandered around the familiar farms and homes of my neighbors. The distances became longer and longer, endless nocturnes, concertos and sonatas saving me from thought, the tempo of my breath whooshing in tandem with the percussion of my pounding feet. I’d decided to wait until January to start school, but I was actually looking forward to leaving for the university after Christmas. My life-long dream of musical renown now felt very empty, the loss of someone to share it with had made it seem as hollow as an abandoned shell. But I still wanted it. I needed it. I needed to reclaim it, to reshape it. And I craved the anonymity of a town where nobody knew about my pain. Hiding it would be so much easier.

My dad was relieved that I seemed to be moving forward, and I’m sure a cloud lifted whenever I left the house, though he never would have admitted it. How painful it must have been for him! How intimate his knowledge of my pain! Ten years before his anguish had mirrored my own. But his empathy provided him a seemingly endless patience, and he cared for me now as I had tried to care for him then.

And poor Johnny. I had been so irrationally angry with him. He’d tiptoed around me for the first month, trying to communicate his love for me in little ways…making my bed, stocking the fridge with cold Diet Coke though he and my dad drank nothing but Pepsi. One day he’d even washed a load of my whites, folding each sock and lacy underthing neatly and placing them on my bed. I’d eventually started doing some of the same things for him ... asking his forgiveness and returning his love by gathering the clothes from his bedroom floor, putting Twinkies in the freezer so he could eat them frozen the way he liked them, cleaning the mud from his work boots and shining them up, leaving them sitting neatly on the back porch. Little acts of kindness were easier to perform than words were to speak. And we never did speak of that horrible day.

* * *

About a week before I planned to leave for school, my dad left work early because of a terrible headache. I was upstairs boxing up some of my things when I heard the kitchen door bang open, and I called down to him in question. I heard the cupboards slam and then a glass break and I sighed, wondering what he was up to.

“Dad?” I plodded down the stairs and into the kitchen to find him swaying at the sink with a bottle of aspirin in his hand and broken glass around his feet.

He turned to look at me and teetered, grabbing for the edge of the countertop. He lost hold of the opened aspirin bottle, sending little white pills scattering all over the floor.

He started to speak, but his words were slurred, kind of the way he sounded when he’d had too much to drink.

“Dad! It’s 2:00 in the afternoon! Are you drunk?” I accused angrily, arms akimbo.

“No booze,” my dad mumbled out, and he fell to the floor as if his legs would no longer support him.

Fear slammed through me like a freight train, and I rushed to him, seeing the shadow of death’s long sickle pulling him from me as he tried to right himself, his eyes squeezed shut in a terrible grimace.

“No!” I shouted, momentarily crazed at death’s all-too familiar and terrible visage. I put my arms around him and threw his left arm around my shoulders

“Dad, we’ve got to get you to the hospital!” I helped him to his feet, and we staggered like a pair in a three-legged-race out the kitchen door and down the back steps. Somehow we made it out to his truck, and I toppled him onto the passenger seat and wrapped the seat belt around him, trying to hold him upright. Calling 911 would mean waiting for an ambulance to come from Nephi, and we didn’t have time for that. I didn’t know what was happening, but something was very wrong.

* * *

My dad had had what his doctors called an ischemic stroke caused by a blood clot in his brain. When we got to the hospital, his speech was unintelligible and there was no way he could walk. I had run into the emergency room calling for help and within minutes he’d been wheeled in while I had shouted out exactly what had transpired in the kitchen. After a scan to make sure that the stroke wasn’t caused by a brain hemorrhage, he was put on blood thinners to loosen and break up the clot. But a great deal of damage had already been done.

After a week in the hospital, my dad came home unable to walk and unable to speak clearly. The part of his brain that controls movement and speech had been damaged. His left side was particularly weak, and he was unable even to feed himself.

I drove him back and forth to the rehabilitation clinic in Provo every day, where he spent three to five hours relearning everything from tying his shoes to writing his name.

I learned how to care for him by watching the team of doctors and therapists that worked with him each day. My brothers and their wives assisted where they could. Jacob took most of the farm work on, and I gratefully left that in his capable hands. Often, one of my sister-in-laws would drive Dad to rehabilitation or bring him home, spelling me on one stretch or another, but for the most part I was the caregiver, and I took on his care with a ferocious determination that he would be whole again. I had lost too many, and my dad would not be numbered with them.

Within a couple months, he was walking with a walker and making considerable strides in other areas. His words were not nearly as slurred, although he’d lost some of his cognitive ability and would sometimes forget what we’d talked about only moments before. I’d asked him once what does ‘two plus two equal?’ After thinking for a moment he’d responded, “What’s a two?”

Even his sense of touch was affected. He couldn’t tell hot from cold. It was as if the signal triggering sensation was off somewhere in his brain. One day he washed his hands under scalding water, not knowing he was burning them.

During the week he spent in the hospital right after his stroke, I called the Dean of Admissions at Brigham Young University, as well as the director of the music department whom I’d met with upon accepting my scholarship. After briefing them on my situation, both had been truly kind and told me that the scholarship would be deferred until the following school year. As I hung up the phone I knew I wouldn’t be using it.

* * *

I stopped playing the piano after my dad’s stroke. The first weeks after he was able to come home I was too tired to do anything but see to his needs. I fed him, bathed him, and took him through the exercises I’d been shown that would help him to regain the strength and mobility he had lost. And of course, the long hours in rehabilitation took up the months that followed. Every once in a while I would finger the keys, waiting for that familiar pull in my veins, but the music that had once been forever dancing in my thoughts was strangely silent. I didn’t let myself dwell on it. I don’t know if it was exhaustion or just an unwillingness to face what was happening to me.

Then I stopped listening to classical music when I ran. Instead, I borrowed Tara’s iPod and listened to Tim McGraw and Kenny Chesney—according to Tara they were ‘real men in cowboy hats.’ My dad had always loved George Strait and Johnny Cash. I found the music occupied my thoughts while I ran and left my heart untouched—which was just what I wanted.

When my dad was well enough for me to leave him for any length of time I started teaching piano lessons. Financially we were in trouble, and I needed to work. But the lessons were noisy, and our house was small and not conducive to a recovering stroke patient who needed a great deal of rest, so the bishop of our church gave me permission to use one of the rooms in the church to teach my students. By that time it was summer, and school was out. I could schedule my students around my dad’s rehab schedule. But when school started, my students would not be able to accommodate me as easily, and I needed an additional source of income that still had some flexibility. I had to do something else.

Tara had gone to beauty school and graduated the year before with big dreams and blue hair. One evening she made an off-hand suggestion that I could take classes at the beauty college in the hours my dad was doing his rehabilitation. I decided that cutting hair would be as good a way as any for me to stay close to home and pay the bills. Jared lived in Provo, about ten minutes from the hospital, and when I wasn’t out of class in time to pick my dad up, he would pick him up and take him to his house until I was finished with classes. Somehow we stumbled through that year and, unlike Tara, I graduated with my hair color mostly intact, and no dreams to speak of.

Tara had wanted out of Levan and had gotten grunt work in a pricey salon in Salt Lake City, hoping to learn from the best and work her way up. I’m sure Louise would have like her to come work with her at Ballow’s ‘Do, but she wasn’t surprised at Tara’s need to do her own thing. Tara’s lack of interest in the family business helped me, because Louise let me work in her shop. I was able to cut hair in the day and teach piano students in the evenings, and my dad and I limped along, financially and otherwise.

Tara was the kind of stylist who experimented on everyone who knew her and with mixed results. My hair went through several different shades and cuts before Tara’s mom pulled Tara aside and kindly but firmly told her she was to experiment on someone else. I was a perfect guinea pig as I had absolutely no interest in how I looked. In beauty school, I had practiced on her as well, with much more conservative results, and though I would never be as creative as Tara was, I was conscientious and precise. My loneliness made me a good listener, and I was able to give customers what they wanted, rather than what I thought would bring out their inner sex kitten, as Tara was prone to do.

Every once in a while, I would find myself contemplating how different my life was from the life I’d dreamed of. There was a time when I had dreamed of attending a Performing Arts High School. I never told my dad about that, although I’m sure he would have tried to make it a possibility. The tie that bound me to my home was much too tight, much too strong. Then there was Kasey, and all thoughts of leaving had fled. I remembered the days when Sonja had dreamed that I would perform with the Utah Symphony. But Sonja never made me feel guilty about my choices. She understood what held me. However, I knew she ached for me and worried that I would bury my talent in duty and then someday try to uncover it, only to find it had rusted with time and inattention.

Sonja had aged. The spry seventy-year-old of our first days together was suddenly eighty. She had started getting more forgetful, wandering off, not remembering where she was or how she got there. A year after Dad’s stroke, Sonja was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. Doc called me and asked me to come see her. Sonja was devastated, and I was distraught but somehow unfazed. Life seemed to have become one tragedy after another, and I had gotten good at coping.

Sadly, Doc’s health had deteriorated as well. His mind was sharp, but he was physically ailing. They hired a live-in nurse so they could remain in their home for as long as possible.

It was for Sonja that I started playing the piano again. I would ride my bike up the hill around sundown every day and play for her, just like I had for my daily lessons years before. I played music that demanded great skill but that didn’t engage my soul. Sonja seemed to crave the cascading scales and the pounding chords and never complained that I spent too much time courting the ‘beast.’ The disease that was slowly robbing her of her personality and her very spirit would cower in the face of my musical onslaught. It was as if the neurological synapses and pathways in her mind that had once been forged by her intense musical study were regenerating and re-firing as the music reminded her confused brain of its intricate knowledge. My fingers would fly, and I would pour all my energy into a frenzy of furious music.

After I played, she would be almost normal, invigorated, without a quirk or slip. This was the only kind of playing I ever did. No beautiful Beethoven or dreamy Debussy, no heartbreaking concertos of love and loss. I played only the technical, only the difficult, only the demanding. She was my sole audience. For most of the next two years, she was coherent and healthy enough to remain at home.

Then one day, I rode my bike up the hill to the house, only to have her nurse tell me she was unwell and sleeping. I came back every day for a week. Sonja refused to see me. When I finally insisted on seeing her she seemed fearful, her lip quivering and her eyes filling with tears. She wailed at me to go home. I went to her piano and played desperately, trying to coax her back. For once it didn’t seem to help. She locked her bedroom door, and I could hear her sobbing behind it when I knocked. Her nurse said arrangements needed to be made to put her in a home. Doc and Sonja had made some inquiries and crafted a detailed plan. When it became necessary for Sonja to go to a convalescent home, Doc went with her. Doc passed away in his sleep two months later. Sonja was physically quite healthy, but the spiritual Sonja, her self, was gone—hidden away somewhere, leaving me to grieve as her body lingered to unintentionally mock and remind.

I visited her often at her convalescent home, and she seemed to enjoy the CDs I brought. But she never woke up to the music again, although she seemed to favor the mellow and the melodious now, shunning the powerful pieces of the last two years for the sweeter nocturnes and serenades. I read to her, as I had done many times before as a young girl. She also enjoyed this, but liked Nancy Drew in lieu of Pride and Prejudice. I tried reading her beloved Wuthering Heights only to have her fling it across the room as I had done in her sitting room so many years earlier. The medication she was on made her less fearful, but I could tell she was always relieved when I left. After all, I was a stranger.

Reprise

August 2007

It had been threatening rain all week, dark clouds rolling in, the sky grumbling, only to roll out again without relinquishing a single drop. The horses would stomp and whinny, the air would crackle with static, and then ...nothing. It was late August and the summer had been especially brutal. We’d had little moisture that summer, and we’d had a fairly mild winter as well. We needed the rain desperately. Still, a week had gone by, and the clouds remained stubbornly full.

That morning I woke up at dawn, pulled on my running shoes and walked out to find the skies thick with gray storm clouds. Again. I debated going back to bed, laying under my covers and listening to the rain. I scoffed a little. I knew it wouldn’t rain if I went back to bed, and I would miss my run. The early morning was relatively cool, the darkness of last night having scared off the heat of yesterday. It was perfect running weather, and I wasn’t going to waste it.

I was three miles into the run and just starting to swing back toward home when Mother Nature decided to have a little laugh at my expense. The air grew eerily still, and then there was a mighty crack. Lightening pierced the sky and the thunder boomed. Rain gushed out of the heavy clouds, pounding the dirt road like an overzealous drummer. I squeaked and picked up my feet, flying toward home.

There is nothing like a summer downpour, and I didn’t even mind being caught in it a mile from home. I flew down the road, arms pumping, hair streaming out behind me, shoes squishing. I might have blisters on my feet from the friction, but for now the squishing wasn’t enough to slow me down or put a damper on my gratitude.

I was nearing the place where the dirt road meets the black top, and knew from experience that the blacktop could be slick. I was watching my feet as I rounded the corner, speeding down the homestretch. A sudden whinny and a Whoa! had me looking up in alarm, arms flailing and feet flying, trying to avoid running right into the rear-end of Don Yates’ chestnut mare, Charlotte.

Charlotte did a skittish two-step, and I slid right by her prancing feet, belly down, hands sliding through the gathering puddles. I processed a few things as I slid. Charlotte didn’t have a rider, and I wondered if she’d jumped the corral again. The horse was notorious for escaping. I had found her in my garden a few times, curling her horsy lips around my carrots. But I had distinctly heard a male voice say Whoa! and knew Charlotte had been apprehended before I almost ran face first into her ample rump. After coming to a complete stop and ascertaining that I was not seriously damaged, I pushed myself up to my hands and knees, palms stinging but otherwise unscathed. My lifelong klutziness had taught me a thing or two about falling.

“Josie?” There was astonishment in the deep voice above me. “Are you okay?” Strong arms reached down and gripped mine, pulling me to my feet.

A large hand smoothed my wet hair off of my face and out of my eyes as I wiped my muddy palms on my sopping shorts. The rain was starting to abate, and I tipped my face up against the slowing torrent to apologize to Don for my clumsiness. I found myself face to face with Samuel Yates.

I hadn’t seen him in almost seven years. Stunned, I drank in his familiar face, so dear and yet so different. My old friend on the cusp of manhood was gone. In his place was a grown man, confidence in the set of his mouth, awareness in his observant black eyes. There was a greater resemblance to his father’s family, or maybe he just wasn’t as desperate to disguise it anymore. He was still lean, but definitely brawnier, his neck thicker, his shoulders wider. The long black hair that had once been a symbol of his individuality was short now, almost hidden under his cowboy hat. His hat kept the wet from dripping into his face, but I had no cover, and the water kept running into my eyes. I swiped at the rain impatiently, not quite believing he was there, standing right in front of me.

“Josie?” He’d started to smile, although his black eyebrows were drawn together in question. “Are you okay?”

I realized I’d been staring at him, smiling, but not saying anything.

“Samuel,” I said softly but with great pleasure, and I felt a sweet nostalgia flood my soul with warmth. His lips quirked tenderly, making his eyes crease at the corners, and I saw that he shared my emotions.

I became aware all at once of my very wet behind and the hair that had fallen from my ponytail and was dripping down the sides of my face. I was completely drenched, and my T-shirt and knit running shorts were plastered to my skin. I shivered and pulled self-consciously at the clinging cotton. His eyes widened slightly as he took in my unintentional immodesty.

“You’re soaking wet.” He pulled off his sweatshirt and handed it to me—damp, but considerably better than what I was wearing. I turned slightly from him and pulled the sweatshirt over my head. It was mostly dry inside and hung down past the bottom of my shorts. It was deliciously warm from his skin. It smelled like aftershave and rain, the scent very male and, to me, wonderful. It smelled like safety and soap and my broken dreams. It smelled like coming home feels. I was instantly swamped with a longing so powerful, a yearning to intense, that I gasped out loud and felt my eyes swim with tears.

“Josie? Are you hurt?” Samuel was worried now, and reached for me again, gripping my arms through the baggy sleeves of his sweatshirt. Something cracked around my heart. The crack reverberated through my chest. It felt the way I imagine ice would sound breaking under my feet on a frozen lake. My breath burned in my chest like I’d run 10 miles in subzero temperatures. The icy control I had demanded of myself since Kasey’s death slipped, wobbled, and then lost its hold on me all together.

Without conscious thought, I stepped toward Samuel and laid my head against his broad chest, my hands splaying across his muscled shoulders, my fingers fisting handfuls of his T-shirt. I breathed him in, my inhale a ragged sob. I let go of his shirt and wrapped my arms tightly around his trim waist. I clung to him like my life depended on it. Maybe it did. I hadn’t seen him for so many years, and so much had happened in my life since I had last seen his face, but at that moment I was thirteen again. Someone I had loved had returned, someone lost had come back to me, and I held him fiercely, with no intention of ever letting him go.

I couldn’t see his face, but I imagine he was shocked at my behavior. I hadn’t even spoken to him, other than to breathe his name, and I was suddenly wrapped around him in a rainstorm, in the middle of the road. Slowly, I felt his strong arms come up around me, holding me, enfolding me. I was enveloped in warmth. The pleasure of the embrace was so intense I shuddered with it. I felt his hand in my hair, and he made those soft shushing noises. I realized I was crying. We stood in the rain, and he held me up, letting me hold him in return. No comments, no questions, just comfort.

Eventually, he untangled me, slipped a loose lead rope over Charlotte’s head, and with one arm wrapped tightly around my shoulders, led us both home. I gratefully walked beside him, ridiculously relieved that in this moment I was not alone.

He stopped outside my house, the horse nickering and nudging at his back to get out of the storm. His arm fell from my shoulders, and he looked down at me, his hat dripping with rain.

“Will you be all right?” He asked softly.

I nodded my head.

“Thank you Samuel. It’s so good to see you again,” I said sincerely, then turned and walked quickly up the walk and slid my soaked shoes off under the covered porch. He still stood in the rain, holding the horse steady, watching me. I stepped inside and gently closed the door.

I stood in the bathroom and pulled the sweatshirt over my head so it covered my face; I breathed in the smell. I didn’t want to take it off, though I was cold and shivering and the heat rose deliciously out of the tub I was filling with water. I couldn’t find it in myself to be embarrassed by my actions toward Samuel. Samuel! I marveled that he was here, back in Levan. So many years had gone by! Again, I considered my unusual behavior, and although I knew I would be mortified when I saw him again, for now the sweetness of the contact remained too acute for regret.

I had enjoyed effusive affection from Kasey for two years only to suffer a famine when he was gone. Afterwards, any sympathy or affection had sabotaged my efforts to control my despair, so I had effectively shunned both from anyone who offered them. For a long time I had stiffened at the lightest touch. If you push people away for long enough, isolation become a terrible habit. People start to believe you prefer it.

I felt suddenly ravenous for a gentle touch. Just like physical starvation, the hunger for contact was all-consuming. Human beings are not designed to be alone. Our creator gave us smooth, sensitive skin that craves the warmth of other skin. Our arms seek to hold. Our hands yearn to touch. We are drawn to companionship and affection out of an innate need.

I pulled off the sweatshirt with a jerk, shaking my head to dislodge my indulgent musings. I finished undressing and slid down into the tub until the very hot water covered me completely, submerging my head, my face, and my thoughts. Then I willed my long dormant neediness to retreat before I made a complete fool of myself.

* * *

I turned twenty-three on a Sunday that year. The family typically gathered for birthday parties, which was nice, but we always gathered at home, dad’s home, which also happened to my home, which meant I did all the cooking, as usual. I was actually hoping that I could take a little walk up to the cemetery and visit Kasey’s and Mom’s graves. Maybe I could spend a little time reading against Mom’s cool headstone like I did when I was young. Maybe I would make a chocolate cake for later. There was nothing better than chocolate cake, cold milk, and quiet. But with the family gathering there wouldn’t be any quiet, not until much later.

I felt a little guilty for not wanting my family around on my birthday. I knew I was strange. I was always glad to see them, always glad to kiss their kids and cook for them. I just felt a little melancholy. Seeing Samuel had me thinking about Beethoven. I hadn’t expelled music from my life completely. I taught piano lessons, and I played the organ in church, but my days of listening for the pure rapture of listening had become few and far between; I guarded my emotions very carefully, and the music just oozed its way around my walls. But maybe I could enjoy something that would lift my spirit without widening the cracks in my heart I thought I might listen to a little Hungarian Rhapsody with my chocolate cake.

I went to church that morning, and Dad came along with me, which he had begun to do more often as of late. I hadn’t asked him why; I’d just enjoyed the fact that he would come and be with me. Except for a little persistent weakness on his right side he was completely recovered from his stroke. He looked handsome in his light blue dress shirt and navy slacks. His hair had gone white, as I am sure my hair would one day do. His skin was very brown from his life as a horseman. His vivid blue eyes were arresting, and I wondered why some lonely widow hadn’t gobbled him up. I guess there weren’t too many to choose from. There was always Sweaty Betty down at the diner. She thought my dad walked on water and had hot coffee in his hand before he could say “Please” whenever he found time to sit a while and shoot the bull with the old boys that gathered there every morning. The thought of my dad with Betty had me giggling into my hand, and my dad shot me a look under his furry white brows.

I had chosen to play the hymn ‘The Lord is My Shepherd’ from the 23rd Psalm for the closing number. I loved the 23rd Psalm. The words spoke of such simple faith and beauty; it was a prayer I had often uttered when I found myself teetering on the brink of depression. The congregation sang along with very little feeling ... hard pews, hungry bellies, and impatient kids eager to be free of their Sunday clothes, make sincere expression difficult. After the closing song, the prayer was given, and I stood from the organ, only to see Nettie and Don Yates a few rows back. My heart stuttered and my breath quickened. Samuel was with them, looking starched and pressed in a white shirt, dark slacks, and a red tie. I wondered what he looked like in his ‘dress blues’. I hadn’t seen him since I had literally run into him in the storm. I still had his sweatshirt sitting, washed and folded, on top of the dryer. I had been trying to work up the nerve to walk down to Don and Nettie’s and give it back to him.

My dad was making his way toward them, extending his hand to Don who hadn’t been to church, except for Christmas Eve service, in years. I wondered if Samuel being in town had something to do with their attendance. It seemed unlikely, but I couldn’t come up with another possibility to explain his presence at church today. Samuel saw me walking toward them and something flickered across his handsome face. I was grateful I had worn my red that morning.

Another weakness of mine…red shoes. Tara had given them to me when I graduated from beauty school. She’d purchased them for her mom’s birthday, kind of on a whim, thinking Aunt Louise would have a good laugh at the red, four-inch heels. Louise had laughed all right, and then told Tara to take them back. I can’t explain why I couldn’t let Tara return them, but I had wanted them. I had the same size feet as Louise, and the shoes made me feel happy when I looked at them. For me, happy had been kind of hard to come by. I’d offered to buy them from Tara, but she’d seen the look on my face and was thrilled to declare them a graduation gift.

I didn’t have anything in my closet to wear with them, and ended up getting a bright red dress with little cap sleeves and a full skirt, just to have something to go with the shoes, but it was worth it. I worried that it was a little much for church. Fire engine red shoes, dress, and lipstick were a little conspicuous. I wore the outfit rarely because I felt a little silly in it, but every once in a while, I wore my red shoes while I did house work, just because they made me feel good. There’s just something about red shoes. That morning as I’d dressed for church, I’d decided I should celebrate my birthday with my red dress and my red high heels. I wondered what Samuel thought of my outfit and felt a little flash of guilt that I cared.

“Come on by this afternoon,” I heard my dad say. “We’re having a little barbeque for Josie’s birthday, and we’d love to have you.”

“I’ll bring lemon squares!” Nettie replied firmly. “Then you won’t have to worry about dessert, Josie.” I groaned inwardly. I hated lemon squares. And I wanted to worry about dessert. I wanted chocolate cake.

“That’ll be fine,” my dad said, walking out of the chapel’s big double doors into the Sunday sunshine. I walked at Samuel’s side, trying to think of some way to still make chocolate cake and not hurt Nettie’s feelings.

“I like red,” Samuel said softly. All thoughts of chocolate cake fled my silly head.

I glanced up at him quickly. He was looking down at me. “Happy Birthday, Josie.”

“Thank you,” I said a little too brightly.

“Do you really want us to come for your celebration?” he asked quietly. “Your dad didn’t ask you before he invited us.”

“We’d love to have you.” It was just a little fib, having everything to do with dessert. “Then I can give you your sweatshirt back. I’ve been meaning to bring it by.” I wished I would have kept quiet about the sweatshirt. It made me think of clinging to him in the rain. I looked down at my red shoes shyly.

“I wasn’t worried about the sweatshirt,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you later then.” He turned as his grandparents waved and walked with them to Nettie’s grey sedan.

* * *

Jacob and Rachel had four little blond boys, ranging in ages from seven to two years, who were constantly underfoot. Jacob’s only instructions were “don’t kill yourselves,” and Rachel was always busily doing this or that, setting out food, helping me in the kitchen, and she seemed unaffected by the antics of her wild brood. One time the older boys had tied four-year-old Matty up in the chicken coop. He had been hollering bloody murder for at least a half an hour before anyone realized he was gone. The chickens hadn’t hurt him, but he’d been pecked a time or two and will probably never volunteer to help me gather eggs again.

Jared had married an “out-of-towner” when he went off to school. Her name was Tonya, and she came across a little uppity. She didn’t mix very well, and Jacob’s boys made her very nervous. She kept their two little girls close to her sides, and she spent many of the family get-togethers watching the boys in horror. She was very pretty with her glossy brown bob and perfect makeup, but she had a perpetually pinched look to her mouth, and she was constantly saying things like “Jared, don’t you think you ought to…” and “Jared, you need to ...” Jared had the look of brow-beaten husband these days.

Johnny’s wife Sheila was pregnant with twins and was so big she could hardly move. Her feet were swollen and her skinny arms stuck out to the sides like Popsicle sticks. She sat in a lawn chair and didn’t move the entire time they were there. I kept her in cold root beer, and Tonya kept her bored with tales of her own deliveries, which we had all heard a trillion times.

I’d made rolls that morning before church, letting them rise while we went to the service. I had marinated chicken breasts for my dad to grill, and we’d added some hot dogs for the kids. I’d thrown a big green salad together from my garden and made my dad’s favorite tangy potato salad. Chips, watermelon, and root beer rounded out the simple meal, and I was putting tablecloths over the picnic tables we had set up in the backyard when Don, Nettie, and Samuel arrived.

Every woman, including both the pregnant and the uppity, ogled Samuel when he walked into the backyard. He still wore his slacks and dress shirt from church, but he’d taken off his tie, undone the top two buttons, and rolled up his sleeves. He was brown and muscular and his coloring made a stark contrast to all the fair hair and freckles. He carried lemon squares. I sighed in defeat. I had all the ingredients for a double chocolate cake with butter cream frosting in my kitchen. I would just have to whip it up when everyone went home. The thought cheered me, and I went forward to graciously take the lemon squares from Samuel’s hands.

The food was set out, the blessing given on the dinner, and people were digging in before I got a chance to sit down for a minute. The tables were filled with my siblings and their families, so I settled myself on the steps leading from the back door and picked at my plate. I was never very hungry when I cooked. It must be all the nibbling and testing along the way. Samuel’s shadow soon hung over me.

“Can I sit?”

I scootched over and made ample room.

“This is good food.” Samuel’s voice was polite and formal, and I searched for something to say after the obvious ‘thank you.’

“I remember Johnny from school. He was in a couple of my classes. The kids are nieces and nephews, obviously, but I don’t recognize any of the women, and I don’t know which of your older brothers is which.”

I pointed people out, naming them, organizing them into family groups, telling a little something about everyone.

“Tonya seems tense.” Samuel indicated with his head to where Ricky, Jacob’s oldest, was chasing Matty around Tonya’s chair. Tonya’s four-year-old Bailey was sitting on her lap, shrieking with excitement.

“She isn’t great with kids.” I laughed a little as Tonya let out a panicked “Jaaaarrreeed!”

Just then we were interrupted by Ryan, Jacob’s six-year-old, hollering from around the side of the house.

“Aunt Josie! Ya got company!” He came around the house, holding a bouquet of brightly colored helium balloons so large that he was in danger of being lifted into the air. Trailing behind him were Kasey’s parents, Brett and Lorraine Judd. Lorraine, bless her pea-pickin’ heart, was carrying a huge, triple-layer, chocolate cake.

“Happy birthday, Josie!” Lorraine sang out. I ran to greet them, putting my arms around Brett and getting a big bear hug in return.

“I know chocolate cake is your favorite. I hope you haven’t eaten dessert already!” Lorraine said brightly.

“Oh, Lorraine, I love you,” I breathed, euphoric. “I’m hiding this cake in the kitchen so it won’t get devoured. I’m not sharing!” She laughed with me and looped her arm around my waist as I took the cake from her hands and passed it off to Rachel with explicit instructions to “keep it away from Johnny!”

“So how are you, Josie? I’ve been meaning to swing by the beauty shop, but just haven’t had a minute.”

“I’m okay...”

“Coach Judd!” Johnny came striding up, clasping Brett’s hand in a guy handshake thing. Quick pats on the back in a half-hug completed the greeting.

Everyone called out their hellos, and soon Lorraine and Brett were being introduced to Samuel.

“I remember you,” Coach Judd said, squinting up at Samuel. “I had you in my P.E. class your senior year. You were a good athlete, a heck of a runner. I was hoping we’d get you to sign up for track. Did you ever end up becoming a Marine like you planned?”

“Yes Sir,” Samuel replied in answer, and Brett clapped him on the back. “Well done then. Good for you.”

Lorraine was looking from Samuel to me with something akin to hurt in her eyes. I perceived the direction of her thoughts and felt a twinge of guilt. The guilt was followed by a flash of irritation. I hadn’t dated even once since Kasey died; I hadn’t wanted to. But Kasey had been gone for more than four years. I wondered if Lorraine thought I had a new boyfriend. The thought made me feel a little sick at heart.

When Kasey was killed, the shockwaves had echoed throughout the community with unparalleled intensity. He was very popular in school and well liked by everyone who knew him. The football team had his number retired, put his name on their helmets the following school year, and the football from the first win of the season had been given to Coach Judd in his name.

The Levan church was too small to seat the number of people expected at his funeral service. His family had to hold it at a much bigger church in Nephi where the chapel could be opened up into the gymnasium to accommodate huge numbers of people. There were no empty seats and many people had to stand throughout the two hour service. The line for his viewing extended all the way out and around the church, lasting for hours. I had stood in the line with the family, hugging sobbing friends and neighbors, enduring the endless ridiculous questions and comments of “How are you, Josie?” and “He’s in a better place now.” I spent the viewing wishing the non-stop stream of mourners and sympathizers both curious and sincere, would just, please, go away.

The shock and sorrow was enormous, the sensationalism of small town drama almost cloying. It had been truly awful. Afterwards, every day that I did not grieve for Kasey felt like a betrayal. Everyone wanted to keep him alive; Kasey’s grave was always adorned with flowers, little notes from friends, photos, and stuffed animals. Even four years later, friends and loved ones visited his grave regularly. Kasey was still a priority in his mother’s heart, the grief very fresh. I wondered if it would always be that way. I thought of all this as I studied Lorraine’s pretty face. She was an attractive blonde in her late forties, but the strain of losing a child had aged her face prematurely, and she had a weariness around her eyes that had not been there before Kasey’s death.

“We’ve just been up to Kasey’s grave, Josie,” Lorraine said a little too loudly. Brett’s conversation with Samuel trailed off awkwardly. “We knew he’d want us to stop by and wish his girl a happy birthday.” She patted my arm, but her eyes were on Samuel’s face. Samuel looked at me, his face smooth and expressionless. He excused himself politely and wandered over to where his grandparents were visiting with Jacob and Rachel.

Lorraine prattled on for another half an hour, staying close to my side. Brett had eventually gone to talk football with my brothers, and I was alone with Lorraine, wishing I knew what to say to comfort her. She didn’t ask me about Samuel. There was nothing to tell if she did, but I was grateful all the same. Eventually, she ran out of steam and gave me a quick hug, telling me she’d be sure and stop by the shop this week. I really hoped she wouldn’t and felt guilty all over again.

After Brett and Lorraine left, my head was aching and it didn’t look like my brothers and their families were going anywhere soon. Sheila had fallen asleep in the lawn chair in the shade of the huge maple. The kids were playing a relatively quiet game of duck, duck, goose. Tonya had roped Rachel into conversation about the latest book on child psychology and discipline techniques, and Rachel was holding her sleeping two-year-old son while still managing to cross stitch. Nettie fanned herself contentedly, and Samuel and Don were being included in the debate about the new football season.

I needed to get out. I crept around the house and out the front, snagging a book and my bicycle on the way out. I couldn’t ride the baby blue bike of my childhood anymore, but I had a big goofy bike with large round wheels, handlebars like a Texas Longhorn, and a basket on the front. It made me laugh because it looked like something an English lady would ride through the countryside. It suited me. I breathed as I made my escape and pedaled quickly down the road, winding my way down and over to the cemetery. The sun was dipping low in the west, and the breeze was just light enough to be pleasant.

I went to my mom’s grave first, pulling the long grass around the stone and brushing off the stray leaves and debris. I liked the feel of her name beneath my fingers. I talked to her a minute, told her how I was, that I missed her, and then made my way over to Kasey’s headstone. His parents had purchased the biggest marker they could afford. It was glossy and ornate with ‘Our Beloved Son’ centered across the top. They’d had a picture of Kasey embossed in the stone, so that everyone who visited the grave could see the handsome youthfulness smiling from his happy face. You would have to be made of granite not to feel something when you saw him, not to feel the enormous tragedy of our loss. He had been so alive and bright and beautiful…and his picture only captured a tiny piece of his magic. It hurt to look at him, and I brushed my hand in regret over his image before walking to the other side where I wouldn’t have to see his face as I read.

I had only been lost in Baroness Orczy’s The Elusive Pimpernel for mere minutes when I saw him approaching. Samuel made his way respectfully through the headstones, never stepping over, walking around and down as he made his way to me. I remembered what his grandmother had taught him about anything associated with the dead being somewhat feared among the Navajo. I didn’t know if that was true so much anymore, but wondered at Samuel coming here all the same.

He stopped when he was a few feet away. I sat on the east side of Kasey’s marker, sheltered from the sun. Samuel was facing the setting sun and had to turn his face a little to look at me. He squatted down and found relief in the shade of the monument. I thought he would ask me if I were okay or one of those things that people usually say when nothing else seems appropriate. Instead he just sat with me, not speaking, looking around at the stones, embracing the quiet. It was I who finally spoke.

“That was a little strange back at the house.” I struggled to find words to explain without assuming an interest he may not feel. “I was engaged to Lorraine and Brent’s son Kasey. He was killed in a car accident three weeks before our wedding. It’s been over four years, but for them, and sometimes for me, it seems like yesterday.”

“My grandmother told me.” He didn’t expound further, and I wondered what exactly Nettie had told him and when. I decided it didn’t matter.

“My father’s buried here. Right over there.” He pointed back in the direction he had come. “My grandparents brought me to see his grave when I first came here eleven years ago. I’d never seen it before. I’ve never been back until today.” The silence was heavy around us.

“Does it make you feel better to come here?” he asked solemnly, his black eyes bottomless as they trained in on my own.

I started to answer in the affirmative, and then couldn’t. I didn’t know if I felt better when I came here. Often, I felt fresh pain and a sense of timelessness that kept me rooted in the past. My mother’s grave had once been a quiet place for comfort and reflection. I didn’t know if Kasey’s resting place provided the same solace. Guilt had my stomach churning, and I wished Samuel had not come here.

“What do you mean?” My voice was a little sharp, and I bit my lower lip in censure.

Samuel stood and walked around Kasey’s grave. He looked into Kasey’s smiling visage without reaction. “Do you feel better when you come here?” he questioned me again.

No. “Yes,” I lied. “I like the quiet.” That was true, at least.

“There is quiet, and then there is too much quiet,” Samuel said cryptically.

I waited for him to continue, but he stood still, looking again at Kasey’s picture.

I climbed to my feet, grumpily brushing the grass and twigs from the colorful skirt Tara had brought me back from her vacation to Mexico earlier in the summer.

“Did you love him very much?”

Okay, now I was irritated. Samuel regarded me openly, unmoving. The way he held himself was so still, so contained. He never seemed to breathe, his only movement was the blink of his ebony eyes. He had always had that stillness. I wondered if his training had made it even more pronounced. He definitely didn’t have any scruples about asking very pointed questions. I don’t think that had anything to do with the training. That was just Samuel.

I picked up my book and started making my way toward where I had left my bike. He followed me; I could see him peripherally. He moved so quietly that if I didn’t know he was there, I never would have heard him. I wondered how he had gotten to the cemetery. I couldn’t exactly give him a ride back home on my bike. Memories of him pedaling the two of us home all those years ago when I’d sprained my ankle rose unbidden to my mind. I quickly replaced the image with one of Samuel stuffed in my flowered bicycle basket. It made me feel a little better.

“Did you walk?” I questioned him now.

“I rode.” He indicated with his head toward the grassy shoulder of the dirt road where a chestnut mare nibbled contentedly.

I realized belatedly that he’d changed into jeans and boots. How observant of me. I didn’t want to just ride away, but bikes and horses make awkward riding partners. He didn’t seem in a hurry to retrieve his horse.

“Did you follow me?” I didn’t like my peevish tone, but I was peeved.

“It didn’t take Navajo tracking skills or Marine recon to figure it out, Josie.” His face was serious despite his sarcasm. “I just asked your dad where he thought you’d gone.” He waited a few beats. “You didn’t answer me.” His tone was not accusing, but it was persistent.

“I really didn’t think it was any of your business!” I flushed at my contentious words. I was not good at confrontation, and any time I was forced into one I usually stood my ground but cried later in my room. It was not something I willingly participated in, but Samuel raised my ire. Most people stayed away when someone went to a cemetery, ALONE. Not Samuel. He just walked right in and asked me if I had loved my dead fiancé.

“I’m trying to understand you.” He said it point blank.

I just shook my head in wonder. “Yes. I loved him. I miss him.” My breath huffed out in exasperation. “That’s why I’m here, to visit him, you know?”

“But he’s not here,” Samuel was emphatic. “He’s never been here. Not since his death, anyway.”

I desperately needed chocolate cake. Now. Or I was going to scream and pull my hair out. Or scream and pull Samuel’s hair out. The temptation to do just that had me gritting my teeth.

“Why are you here, Samuel?” I crossed my arms and thrust my chin at him defensively. “I mean…why did you come back to Levan after all this time? It’s been seven years…and here you are. I’m sure you and I could probably be friends again, but…what’s the point? You know? You’ll be gone soon.”

“My grandparents are getting old. I wanted to see them.” Samuel cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at me. “Didn’t you think I’d ever come back?”

“Actually, yes. I just thought you would come back sooner. Where have you been? What have you been doing? I mean…you were gone so long!” Now where had that come from? I flushed and held my hands to my cheeks, mortified. Since the day I had seen Samuel in the rain I didn’t know myself. This was the second time I had acted completely out of character, speaking without thinking, reacting totally on emotion.

“I still have the letters you sent me,” Samuel offered softly.

“I wrote so many of them,” I blurted out and winced again. I didn’t seem to be able to curb my impulse to just tell him whatever came into my head. “But when you came back that Christmas and told me you had outgrown me…well, I thought it was time I stopped making a fool of myself.” My voice faded off awkwardly, and I tucked my hair behind my ear nervously.

Samuel was looking off, almost as if he hadn’t been listening. “Even at boot camp, I didn’t feel right about writing to you, but I couldn’t help it, not then. I needed you too much.” His voice was low, and his eyes swung back to me, a brutal honesty in his expression. “But you were so young, and the feelings between us were too intense. I found myself thinking about you like you were my girl. Then I would remember how young you were, and I would be ashamed of myself. One of my buddies at sniper school asked me one day when I was going to show him a picture of you. I hadn’t talked about you, but you were the only one I ever got letters from and the only one I ever wrote to. I felt like a scum bag, nineteen years old, writing letters to a fourteen-year-old girl. I knew it couldn’t be good for you. You needed to grow up and so did I. I had things I had to do, and I did them.” His gaze narrowed. “I thought maybe it was time to come back.”

The way he said this made it sound like I was part of the reason he had returned, and my mouth grew dry. I cleared my throat.

“And when you leave? What then?” I wasn’t sure what I wanted him to say, and I felt incredibly foolish all over again.

He looked at me wordlessly, considering, and I cursed myself silently. So what if he left? What was wrong with me? I felt like I was thirteen all over again and hated that he could make me feel so vulnerable. I picked up my bike, throwing my book in the basket. I climbed on the seat, twisting my skirt around my legs to keep it out of the spokes. He remained silent, watching me. I didn’t look back as I rode away.

Parody

The following morning I arose early as usual, pulling on my running shoes, slipping on my shorts and a T-shirt, and pulling my hair up in a ponytail. I took a forkful of chocolate cake, chugged down some milk, and walked out into the morning. Lying on the mat in front of the door was a thick manila envelope. Written across it in neat caps, someone had written JOSIE. I picked it up and turned it over. It was heavy, and I tested it in my hands curiously. I had ordered some piano books for some new students, but this wasn’t addressed or postmarked. Someone had set it on the mat early this morning, or maybe even late last night.

Curiously, I peeled the seal and pulled out the contents. Inside were stacks of sealed legal sized white envelopes, all with my name written across them in the same handwriting as the writing on the front of the manila envelope. I sank down on the porch swing and pulled one out. Turning it over, I saw a date written across the back: 8-19-1999. I pulled out another one. Another date was scrawled across the back. Swiftly, I pulled out all the letters, finding them ordered according to their date. Suddenly, I knew what they were. The first date was June 5, 1999, about a year after Samuel left Levan.

My heart pounded, and my blood felt icy in my veins. Reverently, with shaking hands, I opened the one on the top of the pile. It picked up where his last letter, so long ago, had left off. He confessed his agony at not being able to respond to me, asking me over and over again to forgive him. Samuel had written me dozens of letters. Most of them were from the first year. Maybe that was when he had felt the most alone. But they continued on, through the following years. There was a letter written on 9-11-2001. I had thought of him when the towers were hit, wondering where he was, or if he would be sent somewhere. When the U.S. had invaded Iraq, I had watched the television, wondering if Samuel was among those first Marines sent in. Apparently he’d thought of me, too.

I read several of Samuel’s letters, standing there on the front porch, and marveled at the places he’d been and the things he had seen and done. He told me about the books he’d read. I noticed many of them were ones I had read, and some of them were books I hadn’t heard of. There was a definite loneliness in many of them, but a confidence and sense of purpose was present as well. I abandoned my run and went back upstairs to my room. Running could wait. I had some catching up to do.

* * *

I walked out into the front yard a few mornings later, the screen door banging behind me. It wouldn’t wake Dad; he was already up looking after the horses. I sniffed hopefully, trying to smell fall in the air, but sadly got a whiff of summer leftovers instead. I leaned down and re-tied my running shoes, wiggling my toes.

I meandered out to the road and faced my mountains wreathed in sunrise. I breathed and raised my arms high above my head, stretching and arching and working out my morning kinks.

“You look like Changing Woman greeting the Sun.” A voice spoke immediately to my left.

I was startled, and my arms dropped to my sides as I whirled around. “Oh! Samuel!” I cried out. “You scared me!”

“I’m a sneaky Indian, what can I say?”

I looked into his face. It was the kind of thing he would have said at eighteen, but it would have been laced with bitterness. This time he just smiled a little and shrugged. He had on a pair of faded Levis and his worn cowboy boots again. His black T-shirt, with Semper Fi written in white print across the front, fit snugly across his powerful chest and shoulders. His dark hair, military short and spiky, was still wet like he’d just climbed out of the shower. He looked like my Samuel, but not. For many months after he left the first time, I had quietly cried myself to sleep, unwilling to admit to anyone how my youthful heart had ached in his absence. I had missed him terribly. I’d had so few friends, and I knew how rare he was, this friend who was truly a kindred spirit. When he’d left the second time, I had been hurt and angry and had done all I could not to think about him. My heart twisted painfully at the memory, and I swiftly redirected my attention to the man who stood before me, in the present.

“Changing Woman and the Sun ... is that a Navajo story?” I resumed my stretching, trying to portray a casualness I did not feel.

“It’s a Navajo legend. Changing Woman is thought to be the child of the Earth and the Sky. She is closely tied to the circle of life, the changing of the seasons, the order of the universe. She was created when First Man shook his medicine bag repeatedly at the holy mountain. Days later, Changing Woman was found on the top of the mountain. First Man and First Woman taught her and raised her.

“One day Changing Woman was out walking and she met a strange young man whose brilliance dazzled her so much she had to look away. When she turned back toward him he was gone. This happened two more times. She went home and told First Man and First Woman what had happened. They told her to make her bed outside that night with her head facing east. While she slept, the young man came and lay beside her. She awoke and asked him who he was. He said, “Don’t you know who I am? You see me every day. I am all around you. In my presence you were created.” She realizes he is the sun’s inner form. In order to see him each day, she went to live by the Pacific Ocean so that when the sun set on the water he could visit her.”

We were quiet for a moment. The birds started warbling, and I wished they would be still. The silence was silky without them.

“She must have been lonely waiting for him to come see her.” I hadn’t meant to speak out loud, and wondered where my sentiment had sprung from.

“She was.” Samuel eyed me quizzically. “According to legend, she was so lonely for companionship that she created the Navajo people from the flakes of her skin, rubbed off different parts of her body.”

The story was strangely sensual, the beautiful young woman, waiting each day for the Sun to come to her. I gazed up at the rising orb and closed my eyes as I lifted my face to its warmth.

“What do you listen to while you run?” Samuel nodded toward the iPod strapped to my bicep.

The memories of sharing my precious symphonies with him on that bumpy bus bombarded me. I remembered our heartfelt and intimate discussions of “God’s music,” and I turned from him realizing I didn’t want him to know what I listened to when I ran. I stretched back and pulled my right foot up behind me, stretching my quad, pretending I hadn’t heard him. He reached over and took the earphones from my ears, stuck one in his own, and pushed play on the iPod. After a moment he grimaced.

“This is electronic music. The kind you’d hear at a club or an aerobics class! Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom.” He pounded his foot for effect. “The same repeated phrases over and over again. Synthesizers!” he said in mock horror.

“I run with it to keep a steady pace,” I defended myself, chagrined, yanking the earbud out of his ear.

He stared at me thoughtfully, his head tilted, considering. “You run with it so that you don’t have to think,” he answered finally.

I glared at him, stung that he had so easily guessed the truth—at least partially. I listened to the electronic music so I didn’t have to feel. I didn’t want to explain that to him. I resorted to walking away.

Samuel quickly caught up to me. I picked up my pace and started to jog. He started to jog with me. His cowboy boots clopped loudly as we ran. I sped up. So did he. I ran full out for a mile, stretching my legs, knowing he had to be dying in those boots. He didn’t complain, but ran with me, stride for stride. I ran another mile. Then two more. My lungs burned. I had never run this fast. He didn’t seem winded.

“What do you want, Samuel!” I turned on him suddenly, skidding to a halt. “You’re going to hurt yourself running in those boots!” He stopped and looked down into my flushed face. He put his hands on his hips, and I was gratified to see his chest rising and falling, indicating some exertion.

“I’m a Marine, Josie AND I am Navajo, an Earth-walker. I am Samuel of the Bitter Water People.” He grinned, his eyebrows wagging devilishly. He leaned into me and said slyly, “Therefore you can’t outrun me even when I’m wearing shitkickers.” He used the Levan slang for cowboy boots, and it made me laugh despite myself. My laughter seemed to please him.

“Where is ‘Ode to Joy’, Josie?” he said, ever-so-softly.

My eyes flew to his, startled. He remembered the music that had once so moved me that I could not go a day without its company.

Again, I felt at a loss for words. When I’d seen Samuel last I was a girl and he was a man. He had pretty much rejected me outright. I hadn’t written to him again. I had occasionally asked his grandma about him, wanting news, wanting to hear how he fared. The problem was nobody but Samuel and I truly knew of the bond we had struck. It was encapsulated inside those trips back and forth across the ridge, day after day, with kids talking, laughing, and arguing all around us. Nobody was ever aware of our conversations, our discoveries, our shared moments.

His grandma had given me generalities, but never knew to share more with me, never knew how much I desperately wanted to know, and I had been unwilling and unable to explain my interest. Knowing how private and careful Samuel had been, I was pretty certain he hadn’t asked about me. Yesterday, he said Nettie had told him what she knew about Kasey, but Nettie only knew what was on the surface, just details.

“The truth is Samuel, you and I don’t know each other at all anymore.” My voice came out a little more bitterly than I had intended, and the words stung my lips.

He studied me for a minute, but didn’t reply. Wordlessly, we began walking back toward our neighboring houses. We had made a wide loop when we ran, and we weren’t very far from home. I walked alongside him, feeling raw and wrung out.

The silence was strained, and I longed to escape. Nearing his grandparents’ house he spoke again.

“You ran in the wrong direction.”

“What?”

“You ran west this morning, away from the sun. The Navajo always run east, into the sun, greeting the sun. Lift up your face and let the Sky Father shine down a blessing upon you as you run toward him.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I had always had to twist Samuel’s arm to tell me anything about his Navajo traditions. Now he was sharing legends and stories with absolute comfort. He had changed.

Samuel’s eyes were grave. “Changing Woman is called Changing Woman because she grew up so fast. The legend claims she became a full grown woman in only twelve days. She wasn’t a child for very long. I guess in that way you are just like her. You weren’t a child very long either. At thirteen you were far wiser and more mature than anybody I knew, except for my Grandma Yazzie.” Samuel paused, his eyes drilling down into mine. “Changing Woman is also called Changing Woman because she is responsible for the ever moving cycle of life…but in her heart, in her spirit, she is as steady and constant as the sun she loves.”

I shook my head, bemused.

“The truth is, Josie,” Samuel began his sentence just as I had several minutes before. “You’re a full grown woman now. But I don’t think you’re really all that different here.” Samuel lightly touched the smooth skin exposed by the open V of my T-shirt, laying his knuckles against my heart. “I think you’re still you. And I’m still the Samuel you knew.” His fingers were warm on my skin, and I fought myself not to reach up and cover his hand with my own.

Then he dropped his hand, and it was his turn to walk away.

* * *

Over the last few years I’d raised my prices and made a name for myself as a piano teacher. In the summer, I taught piano lessons almost exclusively and made decent money doing it. I’d never had to resort to house calls. I was by far the best pianist around, and I had no children, no husband, no other demands on my time and attention. I had students as far north as Provo, and as far south as Fillmore, almost an hour away in each direction, and they came to me. At home, my piano still stood faithfully in the exact same place it had since I purchased it through the Penny Pincher ad, but even after Dad had gone back to work after his stroke, I hadn’t taught lessons on it. I still used the room in the church for that. I loved the old building; I’d even been entrusted with my very own key. Dad and I needed a quiet place to come home to, without the endless stream of students and the necessary noise that accompanied their learning.

When fall came and school started, schedules changed and my lessons filled the after school hours from 3:00- 6:00. From September to May, I spent my mornings down at Louise’s shop listening to gossip and cutting hair. Louise had a steady clientele; being the only shop in town for twenty years has its advantages. Over the last couple of years she’d been more than happy to shoo a few folks my way, though more often than not, she kept her women clients, who had become attached to her as women are prone to do with their hairstylists. I mostly cut the children’s hair, the men’s hair, and had once even trimmed Iris Peterson’s miniature poodle, Vivi.

September is typically a beautiful month throughout the West—the light is softer, the temperatures abate, the sky is often impossibly blue, and a hint of color starts to tempt the trees with autumn. August had left Levan with an angry huff, leaving heat in its wake, and I was ready for September’s cooler head to prevail. Fall was my favorite season, and I was eager to smell it and feel it on my skin. Unfortunately, as I walked the mile to Louise’s that morning I saw no sign of it. The yellow sundress I had put on that morning (because it reminded me of yellow autumn leaves) now mirrored a persistent summer sun, and I picked up my pace to escape its rays.

I slammed into the shop with a sigh, the screen door whooshing behind me, Louise’s bell tinkling above me. The cool air that hit me felt like salvation, and I closed my eyes and lifted my damp blonde curls off my neck so the fan whirring by the door could blow directly on my skin.

“Good mornin’, Sunshine,” Louise drawled, with a smile in her voice.

“Good morning, Louise,” I sighed again, my eyes still closed and my head still bowed in grateful worship to the humming fan.

“When yer done prayin’ you can say hello to Nettie and Samuel, too.”

My head jerked up, and my eyes flew open at the mention of Samuel’s name. Nettie was sitting in Louise’s pink swivel chair, patiently reading a magazine with Julia Roberts on the cover while Louise rolled her hair in little pink pin curlers.

“Good morning, Nettie,” I said lightly, my eyes darting to see Samuel leaning against the wall next to the swinging doors that led into the general store.

“Good morning, Samuel,” I said, striving again for lightness. Instead, my voice squeaked a little, and Louise looked at me quizzically.

Samuel dipped his head slightly, and Nettie spoke up, never lifting her eyes from the glossy pages. “Samuel wants a trim, Josie, if you don’t have anything scheduled right away.”

“She doesn’t,” Louise supplied without hesitation, and she and Nettie looked over at me expectantly.

“Certainly, Samuel,” I stammered. “Right this way.”

I walked quickly to my station and pulled a black apron over my dress, tying it swiftly and trying to control the nervous heat that pooled in my stomach. I couldn’t understand why I felt so off kilter when he was around me. I hadn’t seen him since we’d ended up running together yesterday morning. Part of me desperately wanted to avoid him, part of me was intensely happy to see him again.

I turned, expecting him to be behind me, and met his gaze across the room where he still leaned unmoving, watching me with an undecipherable expression on his face. In a fluid and easy manner he shifted his weight and walked toward me. Again, I felt the sensation of butterflies dancing in my belly and wished I’d foregone breakfast.

He folded his length into the pink chair, and I levered the chair downward so I could lower his head back into the sink. I made myself busy, not looking into his face. I tested the water temperature and slid a towel beneath his neck so the water wouldn’t drip into his shirt when he sat up. I focused on his thick black hair and the deceptive silkiness of its texture in my hands. The water was warm as it rushed through my fingers and I massaged the shampoo into his scalp. There is something about washing another person’s hair that is very nurturing, and the caregiver in me normally enjoyed the simple act of service. I took pleasure in the sighs of contentment that were invariably expressed. Most people closed their eyes and relaxed under my gentle hands.

Samuel kept his eyes opened and trained on my face. I tried desperately to avoid his gaze. It made the act of molding my hands to his head incredibly intimate, and I longed to shut my own eyes to relieve the tension his perusal was creating between us. I tried to distract myself with thoughts of Kasey. I had never kissed Kasey with my eyes open…I’d never even thought about it. I’d always closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation of his lips on my lips. I wondered if Samuel would kiss me with his gaze locked with mine. I grimaced inwardly and chastised myself, mortified at the direction of my thoughts. I didn’t want him to kiss me! He was infuriating and inquisitive and exhausting, and I wished he would go away!

I rinsed his hair with fervor and shut off the water with a frustrated yank. Levering furiously, I sat him up and briskly rubbed the towel over his hair.

“You seem angry,” he said smoothly. I wanted to slap him. I was angry. Ridiculously and desperately angry. Why did he have to come back? I didn’t want to deal with old feelings that brought fresh pain. I was through loving people who would only leave. I met his eyes furiously in the mirror and saw a humbling compassion in their depths. My anger slipped off me like a soiled silk dress. My hands grew still in his hair, and my eyes held the gaze of my old friend.

“I’m sorry, Samuel. I have behaved very badly since you returned,” I confessed in a whisper. “I can’t seem to get my balance, and I’m not sure why.” I fell quiet, trying to control my unruly emotions. “Will you please forgive me?”

He studied me for a moment before he spoke, which was his way. “Lady Josephine, there is nothing to forgive.” I laughed a little as the memory of my childish wish resurfaced.

“Thank you, Sir Samuel.” I curtsied deeply, and with clippers in hand, finished trimming his hair in silence. When I was done, he tipped me well, offered his grandmother his arm, and left without a word.

* * *

I walked wearily home from the church that evening after teaching piano lessons to some very uninspired and obstinate children. There was no joy in teaching unwilling students. I thought of the quiet house that would greet me. Dad would be on shutdown shift for one more week, and the evening ahead would be spent alone. I felt unusually melancholy at the prospect, and was cheered by thoughts of the leftover chocolate birthday cake from my party Sunday evening. I felt twenty-three going on fifty.

As I neared my house I saw Samuel sitting on my porch in the shadow of the overhang. He rocked slowly in the big wooden swing my dad had fashioned for my mom many years before. I tamped down the telltale flip of my traitorous heart as I approached him. I didn’t have the energy for Samuel right now. Exhaustion descended on my soul, and I considered feigning sickness. But in light of my apology earlier that day, I did not want to seem hostile. I sat down next to him on the swing and greeted him with a tired smile.

“Why do you cut hair, Josie?” Samuel said without preamble.

“Why not?” I was immediately flustered. Couldn’t he just say hello like a normal person?

“When I drove my grandmother to the beauty shop today I had no idea you would be there. Imagine my surprise when I saw you walk in. Then my grandma says to you “Samuel needs a haircut,” as if you work there. I was completely floored. You walked back and put the apron on, and I almost thought the three of you were having a little fun at my expense. But then you looked back at me, and I could see you weren’t kidding.”

“Was it really so hard to believe?” I slipped off my sandals and stretched my arches, my toes with their pink toenails pointing and flexing in relief.

“Yes,” he clipped, with no embellishment.

“Why?” I almost laughed in disbelief at the tightness in his eyes, the grim set to his mouth.

“Did you always want to work at Ballow’s Do’s?”

I was hurt by the mockery I heard in his voice and didn’t answer him. He shook his head, and there was frustration in his expelled breath.

“Do you remember Ravel’s ‘Pavane for a Dead Princess’?”

I laughed in disbelief. “I can’t keep up with you Samuel!” I cried. “One moment you are being snide about my work, and the next you’re asking me about classical music!”

“Do you remember the piece?” he insisted.

“Yes! But I’m a little surprised that you do!” It was my turn to be snide, and I felt childish in my attempt. “It was a favorite of mine,” I added in a more conciliatory tone. He glowered at me for a minute.

“Come here.” Samuel grabbed my hand tightly, yanking me to my feet. Then he was striding across the grass, pulling me behind him.

“Samuel! My shoes!” I yelped as I tried to keep up with him. As we neared the gravel he swept me up into his arms, marching across the sharp rocks without a hitch in his step. I sputtered and squeaked, clinging to his neck. His truck was parked in front of his grandparents’ house across the street about half a block down. I felt ridiculous being carried down the middle of the road. He opened the passenger door to his black Chevy truck, slid me in unceremoniously, and shut the door with a bang.

He climbed in and backed out, gravel spitting up behind us, and roared down the street toward the mountain that jutted up into the sky not a mile from town.

I stared at him in wonder. “Can I ask where we are going without my shoes?”

For once his eyes were not glued to my face, but were fixed intently before him as he began to ascend into the pretty little canyon with the unattractive name we called Chicken Crick.

He didn’t answer me but drove until he found a little turnoff that looked out over the town. The teenagers in the valley regularly used it as a trysting spot. The ledge wasn’t high, and the town lay just below us, surrounded by the patchwork quilt of farmland, softened by the burnished glow of the approaching twilight seeping over the mountains to the west. The big-wheeled sprinklers ran in long rows across the gold and green fields, the water from their spray creating little rainbows in the setting sun. Samuel rolled to a stop facing the breathtaking view, and silence flooded the cab of his truck. He sat for a minute, contemplating the rosy splendor before us. He reached over and pushed some of the buttons on his console. I recognized “Pavane for a Dead Princess,” immediately. I should have known. The music spilled out of the speakers, tip-toeing up my arms and legs, raising gooseflesh on my arms. So beautiful, so melancholy, so... intrusive. I folded my arms across my stomach and held myself tightly. I was intensely grateful when Samuel spoke.

“I think I told you that my Navajo grandfather was a Marine in World War II. He was a code talker. He lied about his age when the recruiter came to the reservation. He had heard about the special program they were experimenting with, using the Navajo language to create a code that could not be cracked by the Japanese or the Germans. He was only sixteen years old when he signed up but spoke relatively good English, so he was a shoe-in. The Navajo code talkers actually created the code using Navajo words to describe military operations—like the word for bombs was a-ye-shi, which meant eggs in Navajo. The word they used for the United States was ne-he-mah, which means ‘our mother.’ They also created a code alphabet by taking an English letter, thinking of an English word that started with that letter, and then using the Navajo word that means the same thing. For instance, ant stood for the letter “A”. The Navajo word for ant is wol-la-chee. So the word wol-la-chee meant “A” in the code. The word for “B” was shush, which meant bear in English. The language of the Navajo was so unique that it just sounded like gibberish to the code crackers.”

“I never knew this!” I said in wonder. I had never heard of the Navajo code talkers.

“The Navajo code talkers were asked to keep quiet about the code, in case it was needed in future wars, so after the war the American population knew very little about their role in the battles throughout the Pacific.”

“That is fascinating! Your language helped save our country! What an incredible honor!” I had forgotten the pain of the beautiful music, which had changed to “Traumerei” by Schumann.

His mouth turned up slightly as he looked at me, listening to my glowing response. “Yes, it was an honor. I didn’t think so when I was an angry young half-breed. I thought the belegaana, the white man, just used my grandfather and others like him. Used them, and then spit them back out when they were done. Out of sight, out of mind. I asked my grandpa why he was so proud of his service. He told me this country is the country of his forefathers. His ancestors lived here long before the white man so it is our country as much as any man’s and we have to defend her. He also said he made many friends among the white Marines. He had a belegaana bodyguard…someone assigned to him to look out for him and keep him alive, because it was so critical that he not be killed or captured by the enemy. Without the code talkers, there wasn’t a safe way to communicate, and the enemy would have loved to get their hands on one of them and torture them to reveal the code. He said this belegaana Marine saved his life over and over again, risking his own in the process. That is why I was named Samuel. I was named after Samuel Francis Sutorius, a Marine from the Bronx, who my grandfather could not speak of without weeping.”

Again we sat silent—moved by the story, lulled by the music.

“So...your middle name is Francis?” I snickered and pinched him affectionately.

“Yes, Josie JO Jensen, it is.”

“Ahhhh,” I moaned theatrically. “You would wound the small-town girl who longs for a classic name?”

Samuel smiled softly, but his voice was grave when he spoke. “You were never small-town, Josie.” He shook his head to underscore his words. “You always had this light that made you seem like royalty...such an incredible mind, such beauty and humility. You took my breath away, time after time, day after day, on that smelly old school bus.”

The lump in my throat made it impossible for me to speak, and I blinked away the wetness in my eyes. He continued:

“The day of the rainstorm, when you realized it was me, your big blue eyes lit up, and I wanted to swing you around and laugh. I couldn’t wait to talk to you and listen to you, and see what you’d read, and finally hear you play again.”

Samuel stopped talking, and his eyes locked on mine. “But you were so sad... and I felt the loneliness pouring off you when you put your arms around me. It was as wet as the rain, and I knew you were changed somehow. You were different. I was angry with you when I heard that silly music that you listen to while you run. I was angry that you seemed so resistant to the things that had once made you so radiant. And today! There you are, working in that little shop, cutting people’s hair, ignoring your gift! Here in this small town that keeps you hidden…a princess acting like a pauper, and I just can’t figure it out.”

My face flushed, and I felt as if I’d been slapped. “Is that what this is about, Samuel? ‘Pavane for a Dead Princess?’ So, I’m the dead princess? Am I not good enough for you anymore? Where would you have me go, Samuel? What do you want me to do?” I cried out in wounded disbelief. “I loved music and books partly because I wanted to escape, to leave this town for bigger and better things. But I can’t let my music to take me away from everything I love, everything I have left!”

“So what changed, Josie?!!” Samuel’s voice was as impassioned as my own. “You’ve just turned off the music? You used to say that Beethoven made you feel alive, made the mysteries of God seem attainable. You said you could feel your mother when you listened to your music. Like you knew she was out there somewhere, living on. Has that changed? Don’t you want to feel your mother anymore?”

“When I listen to beautiful music, I can’t just feel my mother now. I feel other things, too,” I groaned out the words and pressed my hands to my feverish cheeks.

“I don’t understand!” Samuel pulled my hands from my face and pulled my chin up, forcing me to meet his glittering gaze. “Why is that a bad thing?”

“The music makes me feel too much! It makes me long for things I will never have! Don’t you see? The music makes it so much harder to forget.”

Samuel’s hand dropped from my chin and understanding washed over his features. “What things? Tell me what things you can never have.”

I didn’t want to share anymore. I felt cornered. None of this was any of his business. I was suddenly very tired, and I closed my eyes, refusing to answer him.

Samuel lifted my chin again, waiting until I lifted my eyes to his once more. “So that’s it, you’re just done at twenty-three? What about school? I seem to remember you had big plans to travel the world, playing the piano.”

I twisted my head away, pulling my chin from his hand. He was so…infuriating! I didn’t remember that side of him. I tried for nonchalance.

“I was set to go. I had a full-ride music scholarship to Brigham Young University.” I had won the Outstanding Musician Scholarship, allotted to one high school senior in the state of Utah each year. I remembered the thrill of winning, of seeing my career as a concert pianist, composing music in my spare time, stretched out before me. The dream was faded now and buried under layers of responsibility.

“And?” Samuel demanded.

“And Kasey died, and then my dad had a stroke.” I started listing things, my voice rising with irritation, frustrated that I had to defend myself. “Then Sonja was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and I was needed here! Okay?” I threw my hands up in frustration. “I was needed here, so I stayed.”

“I’ve seen you with your family, Josie. You kind of take care of everyone. You’re good at being needed, that’s for sure.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I was very angry now. How dare he?! “My dad had a major stroke a week before I was supposed to leave for school. I decided to defer my scholarship for a while to take care of him. Dad couldn’t work and someone had to. I did what I had to do. Dad started getting better, but the medical bills had piled up, and he still couldn’t work full time, so I decided to wait a little longer. “Then Sonja was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and Doc Grimaldi passed away not long after we put her in a home, and I couldn’t just leave her. Nobody else cared, Samuel. And by then the scholarship was long gone anyway!” I was babbling and I forced myself to stop talking. My breathing was haggard, and my throat felt raw with pent up emotion. Samuel was staring out the window, listening, so reminiscent of the boy I had once befriended.

There was nothing more to say. Samuel seemed at a loss, and I was drained. After a moment, he started the truck and we backed out, turning sharply onto the road, turning our backs on the grandeur of the gloaming.

When we pulled off onto the gravel outside my house, he slowed to a stop and came around to my door. I had opened it and put one bare foot down on the rocks, curling my toes under to protect my sensitive arch from the sharp gravel. Samuel gently swung me up in his arms again, cradling me like I was something precious. He walked easily to the grass and set me down carefully. His big hands came up and framed my face, his thumbs brushing my cheekbones in a brief caress. I shivered involuntarily. He searched my face for several heartbeats.

His voice was low as he spoke. “It’s not too late, Josie.” And with that, he withdrew his hands and left me. I remained standing, barefoot in the grass and buried in introspection, until the sky was cloaked in darkness and the stars blinked back to life.

Modulation

Tara blew into the shop like a hurricane one afternoon—pink hair, red lips, flashing smile, hugging everyone and squealing as if she had been gone for a century instead of three months. She showed up now and then, got her ‘Mom’ fix, and was gone again in a whirl. She threw herself into my swivel chair and proceeded to tell me everything, down to the last detail, that had happened to her since she’d last seen me. All at once her eyes narrowed on my face and she pursed her crimson lips in speculation.

“I like your hair.” She said it with such surprise in her voice that I laughed out loud. “No! I do!” She insisted. “You’re letting it grow out and the curls are all soft and flowy.” I had had Louise cut my hair boy short after starting work with her in the shop. It had been so tortured and teased after living through a year of experimentation by Tara that I had just told Louise to “take it off.” Louise had clucked her tongue the whole time she cut it. She kept asking me, “What were you thinkin’ girl, lettin’ Tara have her way with your hair?”

I touched the hair that hung past my shoulders self consciously. “I guess it’s just longer. I haven’t really styled it any special way.”

“Are you dating anybody?” she queried, and then she laughed like she had just told a hilarious joke. “Who would you date? Everybody’s either sixteen, married, or loooong gone!”

Louise spoke up from her station where she was cutting Penny Worwood’s hair. “Oh, I don’t know ‘bout that. A few days ago, Nettie Yates came in here with her grandson. Now that is one goodlookin’ man!”

“Nettie’s grandson? You mean Tabrina’s son? That man is as homely as a mud fence! You’re gettin’ desperate in your old age, Mom!”

“Not Tabrina’s son! You’re right, you couldn’t pick that boy out in a pen of pigs! No, I’m talking about Michael’s son!” she said triumphantly.

“Who is Michael?” Tara was completely bewildered.

“Tabrina’s older brother.”

“I didn’t even know Tabrina had an older brother!”

“Yep. He died when you were just a baby, which is why you probably never heard about him. Michael Yates was one tall drink of something yummy!” Louise sighed. “He was more religious than the rest of his family, and went on a two year mission for the church, though nobody else in his family had ever gone. He was kind of a quiet guy, but yum, yum, yum, he was something to look at! His poor little sister Tabrina got what was left over, bless her heart, and her kids ‘er even uglier than she is!”

“Mom! Focus!” Tara laughed. “So this guy Michael? He had a son?”

“Yep. He lived here with his grandparents for a while when he was in high school. He’s part Navajo or something. I can’t believe you don’t remember him. What’s his name again, Josie?”

“Samuel.” I turned and made myself busy cleaning my worktable, not wanting to look at Tara, fearing I would give something away that I was not yet ready to discuss.

“Samuel...” Tara scrunched up her face trying to remember. “Oh, yeah! Hey, Josie, wasn’t he the kid you had to sit by all year long on the bus in seventh grade?” She shivered dramatically. “I thought for sure he was gonna kill his grandparents in their sleep!”

“Tara!” I turned and glared at her. “Why would you say something like that?”

“What?” she protested. “He was intimidating! He never said two words to anyone, and he always had a scowl on his face. He wore his hair long, and I swear he carried a tomahawk strapped to his leg. I don’t know how you stood it. I would have peed my pants if Mr. Walker had assigned me to sit by him.”

“I liked him,” I said simply. “We actually became friends. He was quiet and kind of intense, but I’ve been accused of that myself.” I looked at Tara pointedly.

“Wasn’t he the guy that clapped in church that one time?” Penny Worwood piped in with her two cents.

Louise whirled around and pointed her comb at me, waving it wildly and dancing around like she had ants in her pants. “It was him! He stood up and clapped for you after you played your solo! At the time, I just thought maybe he was trying to stick it to his grandparents a little, embarrass them, be a smart ass, ya know? I didn’t realize you two actually knew each other! Woo! Hoo! Man, that was really something when he did that! I still remember the look on your face, Josie Jo! You coulda died and gone straight to heaven right then.”

“So…this Samuel guy…why’s he back in town?” Tara interrupted her mom’s giddy monologue.

“Well, Nettie told me he’s come back to help her and Don get things in order,” Louise responded. “They don’t really have anybody else, ya know, and they’re gettin’ on in years. Tabrina and her husband are no help. Those two together are about as smart as a box of rocks.”

“Louise!” I scolded

“Oh okay, Josie. A box of rocks is kinda harsh.” She amended with, “Tabrina and her husband are about as smart as a box of frogs.” She smirked at me over her right shoulder before she continued.

“Anyhow, this Samuel—and he is a fine specimen now, Tara, no matter what you thought when you were in seventh grade—he’s come back to do some legal work for them, help them get their sheep sold, sell some land, stuff like that. Don’s health isn’t great, and it’s just time to stop workin’ so hard.”

“You said he was doing some legal work for them. Is he some kind of lawyer?” Tara asked with interest. Lawyers meant money to Tara, and money was number one on the top of her marriage-must- haves.

“No, he’s a Marine,” I volunteered.

“He’s a Marine, all right, but Nettie says the Marines helped pay for his college and then he went to officer’s training, and now he’s going to attend law school. He’s on some kind of leave right now.”

I gasped right out loud. Samuel, becoming a lawyer? I felt a little weak in the knees, and then I felt ridiculously like crying. I was suddenly, euphorically, proud of him. I hadn’t read far enough in the letters obviously, and he’d said nothing about it. But when had he really had the opportunity? Each of our conversations had been riddled with emotional grenades and catching up had just not come up. I felt ashamed that I had asked him so little about himself.

“Earth to Josie!” Tara was waving her hands in my face. “You look like you’re gonna cry, you okay?”

I brushed away her questions, smiled brightly, and wished the day were over. I needed to go find Samuel, regardless of whether or not he believed the princess was dead.

* * *

Samuel was not home when I knocked on Nettie Yates’ screen door later that evening. I’d baked some cookies as an excuse for stopping by. I had also filled a basket of vegetables from my garden. Nettie had stopped planting a garden in recent years, complaining that she was just too “brittle to work in the dirt anymore.” It was sweet irony that she had shared with me and my family from her garden for so many years and had shown me how to plant one and care for one, and now I could share my garden’s bounty in return.

Nettie was crocheting something, and she invited me in to sit and chat a minute. “Samuel and Don went to bring the cows down from the mountain early this morning. I didn’t want Don to go; I worry about him sittin’ a saddle all day, but he wouldn’t hear nothin’ of it. I didn’t fight ‘im too hard. He’s been bringing the cows home from Mt. Nebo every fall since he was old enough to tie his shoes, and this will probably be the last time. We’re sellin’ off the cattle and the sheep, ya know. Don’s relieved, but it’s hard for him, too. Samuel bein’ here helps take the weight off his shoulders a little.

“When Samuel came to live with us all those years ago I didn’t know what to think. He never talked to us much, and he seemed so angry at first. But then slowly he started changin’…don’t really know why, but I’m grateful for it. He’s grown up to be a real good man and a blessing to us now when we need him. He says he’ll stay until we’ve got things buttoned up.”

I was terrible at small talk and didn’t quite know what to say to keep the conversation flowing. I decided I would just come out and ask for the information I sought.

“When will they be back?” I ventured casually.

“Oh they should be pullin’ in any time.” Nettie looked at me curiously.

I changed the subject quickly and asked her if I could do anything for her before I left. She hemmed and hawed, not wanting me to bother, but ended up confessing she needed help with the flower beds in the front yard. Before long, I was on my hands and knees in the dirt. I actually liked pulling weeds. Call me crazy, but there’s something immensely therapeutic about yanking the noxious things from the cool brown soil. I got busy and made short work of the flower bed on one side of the front walk and was working my way down the other when I heard a truck crunching over gravel. I had hoped to be cool and composed when I saw Samuel again. Instead, I was on my knees with my rear in the air, pulling dandelions out from among the marigolds.

“Well hello, Miss Josie!” Don Yates stepped stiffly out of the pickup, approaching me with a slightly bow-legged gait. He’d been tall once but had become stooped and shrunken in his later years. He’d been a bull-rider in his younger days, and he’d been beaten up and put back together a time or two. Nettie said he’d broken every bone in his hands by the time his career was over. His fingers were as big around as sausages, his palms thick and muscular. Combine that with his muscular forearms, and he looked a little like Popeye. All arms, no butt, and bowed legs.

“Hello, Mr. Yates.” I brushed my hair back from my face and wiped my hands on the skirt of my now dirty pink dress. “How was the cattle drive?”

Samuel was behind him and without a word he knelt beside me in the flower bed and started pulling weeds.

“It was long, Miss Josie! Woo Wee! I’m gonna go in and have mother make me a cup of coffee. If I don’t keep walkin’ I might fall right over. I’m way too old for cattle drivin’ anymore. You want me to send some lemonade out for the two ‘a ya, or somethin’?”

“Not for me, thanks.” I glanced at Samuel in question.

“Go on in, Pop. I’ll just help Josie finish up.”

A minute later the screen door slammed behind Don Yates, and Samuel and I worked in silence. I figured it would be easier to talk if my hands were busy, so I took a deep breath and jumped right in.

“I’m proud of you, Samuel.” I pulled weeds faster, my hands keeping pace with my galloping pulse.

Samuel looked up at me in surprise. I met his black gaze and quickly looked down to make sure I didn’t start yanking out marigolds with nervous zeal.

“There was some talk today at the shop.” I smiled sheepishly. “Well, there’s always talk at the shop. But today I actually found it to be of interest to me.”

Samuel had stopped pulling weeds, his head tilted to the side, regarding me quietly.

I looked back down, anxiously trying to find a weed within arm’s distance. “I heard you’re going to law school,” I paused, the pride I felt in him swelling in my heart, just like it had earlier. I looked up at him, swallowing to keep my emotions in check. “I can’t tell you how I…I felt when I heard. I just wanted to cheer out loud…and...jump for joy all at once. I’m just so...so...well, I’m just so proud of what you’ve accomplished.” I kept my eyes on his, and he seemed to be considering my words.

“Thank you, Josie. You have no idea with that means to me.” His eyes remained on mine for a moment, and then he resumed pulling weeds until the last stubborn trespasser was removed from the flower beds.

“And Samuel…thank you for the letters…I haven’t had a chance to read them all, but I will.” I struggled to express myself honestly without getting too personal, but gave up when I realized I couldn’t. “It almost made me feel like I was there with you. Most of all, it made me feel like maybe I wasn’t alone all those nights I cried for you and missed you.” My voice was choked, but I remained composed. I made a move to rise from the flower bed, but Samuel’s hand shot out and curved around my bare arm, just above my elbow, detaining me.

“I’m sorry, Josie.” Samuel’s voice was husky and low. “I’m sorry for what I said that night. For making you feel like I was disappointed in you. There’s nothing wrong with who you are and what you do.” He reached up and ran the back of his fingers lightly along the side of my face. “I just hate to see you suffering. I handled it all wrong. Will you let me make it up to you? Will you let me do something for you?” His voice was almost pleading.

I wanted to close my eyes and press my face into the palm of his hand. His touch was feather light, but his eyes were heavy on mine. I nodded my consent, realizing that I didn’t really care what the something was, just as long as I could be in his company a little while longer. He stood and reached down for me, pulling me to my feet.

“I’ve got a day’s worth of sweat and horse ground into me, and I need to shower. I’ll come by in about 30 minutes if that’s okay?”

I nodded again and turned to walk away.

“Josie?” His voice stopped me. “Is your dad home?”

My heart lurched a little at the implied intimacy of his question.

I shook my head this time and found my voice. It came out smooth and easy, for which I was grateful. “He’s on shut-downs for one more night.”

“I’ll be by.” He turned and walked into the house. I tried hard not to run, but ended up sprinting down the middle of the street like a silly kid.

* * *

I was waiting for Samuel on the front porch swing when he came walking down the road half an hour later. I had slipped into the tub and washed the dirt from the flower beds off of my arms and legs. I’d traded my soiled pink summer dress for a skirt and a blue fitted t-shirt that I happened to know was the exact color of my eyes. The skirt was white eyelet, and it was comfortable and pretty. I didn’t put any shoes on my feet. My calves and feet were brown from the recent summer days, and the lack of shoes made my preference for skirts a little less formal. I rarely wore pants and only wore shorts when I was running. I liked the feel of pretty, feminine clothes, and had stopped caring whether or not anyone thought I was old-fashioned. I hadn’t had time to wash my hair, so I pinned it up, fixed my makeup, and put a little bit of lavender on my wrists. I felt silly waiting for him, but I waited all the same.

Samuel wore clean Wranglers and a soft chambray shirt rolled to his elbows, exposing his strong forearms. He wore moccasins on his feet, and his short black hair was brushed back from his smooth forehead and prominent cheekbones. He carried a big jug and an even bigger wooden pail. He stopped in front of me, and his eyes swept over my bare toes and upswept hair appreciatively.

“We need music,” he said quietly. I could tell by the speculation in his eyes that he wasn’t certain how I would respond to his request.

“All right,” I replied evenly.

“Debussy.”

“Debussy it is.”

“I’ll be out back.” He turned and walked around the house, not waiting to see if I would do as he said. Samuel had changed in many ways, but he was still a little bossy. I was glad. I walked in the house to find Debussy.

He was sitting in the back yard on the long bench just beneath the kitchen windows when I opened the screen and set the CD player up on the ledge above him. The light from the kitchen spilled out into the rapidly darkening evening and onto his broad shoulders and bowed head. He was cutting into something with a sharp knife, pulling the outer bark-like shell away, exposing a white fibrous root that looked slick and soapy. Leaning forward, he pulled a big silver bowl from the large wooden pail he’d been carrying. He put the white root into the bowl, picked up the enormous pewter jug he’d been carrying, and poured steamy water over the root. Samuel rubbed the root as if it was a bar of soap, and little bubbles began to form. As the bubbles changed into suds he kept rubbing until the silver bowl was full of thick white lather. Setting the bowl down, he pulled a hand towel and a fat white bath towel out of the wooden pail. He stood from the bench, put the hand towel over his shoulder and laid the bath towel over the bench. Then he turned to me and patted the bench.

“Lie down.”

I had been watching him in fascination, wondering what he was up to. I thought maybe he was going to soak my feet when I saw the big bowl of soapy stuff. I was curious, but I didn’t question him. I arranged my skirt and lay back on the bench. He reached up then and pushed play on the music, flipping through the tracks until he found what he was looking for. He turned the wooden pail over, placed it near my head, and sat on it, using it for a stool. Then, pulling on the towel underneath me, he slid me toward him until my head hung over the edge of the bench and settled in his lap. One by one he pulled the pins out of my hair. His strong fingers ran through my curls, smoothing them over his hands. I belatedly realized that the music that was playing was Debussy’s “Girl with the Flaxen Hair.”

“How very appropriate,” I said softly, the smile apparent in my voice.

“I like it,” he answered easily. “I can’t listen to it without thinking of you.”

“Do you listen to it often?” I asked a little breathlessly.

“Almost every day for ten years,” he replied evenly.

My heart stuttered and stopped, my breath shallow.

He continued quietly as if he hadn’t just confessed something wondrous. “You washed my hair. Now I’m going to wash yours. My Navajo grandmother taught me how to do this. She makes soap from the root of the yucca plant. The root from a young yucca makes the best soap, but the yucca in my Grandma Nettie’s yard was planted many years ago by my father. It’s not indigenous to this area, but when he returned home from his two years on the reservation, he wanted to bring something back with him. I dug up a piece of the root. You have to peel off the outer shell. Then you kind of grind up the white part inside…that’s the soap. I wasn’t sure it would lather up, but it did.”

Gently holding my head in the palm of one hand, he reached down and picked up the bowl, setting it in his lap that was now covered with the hand towel. He lowered my head into the soapy water, holding it all the while. His other hand smoothed the suds through my hair, the heat seeping into my scalp, his hand sliding back and forth, pulling my hair through his fist, sinking his fingers deep down to the base of my skull and sliding them back up again. My eyes drifted closed, and my nerve endings tightened. I pulled my knees upward, sliding the soles of my sensitive feet along the rough wooden bench, my toes curling in response to the sweet agony of his hands in my hair.

Samuel continued, the music of his voice as soothing as the warm water. “My grandmother uses the yucca soap to wash the sheep’s wool after she shears it every spring. She says it works better than anything else. Your hair won’t smell like lavender or roses when I’m done, but it’ll be clean. My grandmother says it will give you new energy, too.”

“Your wise grandmother. I think about her every time I feed my chickens.”

“Why?” There was a smile in his voice.

“Well, you told me once how she had names for all her sheep, and she had so many! I named the chickens when I was a little girl, after my mother died. Somehow it made it easier to take care of them if I named them. I gave them names like Peter, Lucy, Edmund, and Susan after the characters in the Chronicles of Narnia. But your grandmother named her sheep names like ‘Bushy Rump’ and ‘Face like a Fish,’ and it always made me laugh when I thought about it.”

“Hmm. The names do sound a little more poetic in Navajo,” Samuel replied, chuckling softly. “Sadly, I think ‘Bushy Rump’ and ‘Face like a Fish’ have died, but she has a new one named ‘Face like a Rump’ in honor of both.”

I let out a long peel of laughter, and Samuel’s finger’s tightened in my hair.

“Ah, Josie. That sound should be bottled and sold.” He smiled down at me when I looked up at him in surprise.

He looked away and picked up the jug, sloshing the hot water over my hair and into the bowl of suds, starting the process over.

“My mother is the only other person who has ever washed my hair,” I offered drowsily, the slip and slide of his fingers through my hair leaving me loose and relaxed. “It was so long ago. I took for granted how wonderful it feels.”

“You were a child. Of course you took it for granted,” Samuel answered quietly.

“I know why my mother washed my hair,” I said, brave behind my closed lids, “but why are you washing my hair, Samuel? I’ve washed a lot of people’s hair down at the shop. Not one of them has ever come back and offered to wash mine in return.”

“I’m washing your hair for the same reason your mother probably did.”

“Because my hair is dirty and tangled after playing in the barn?” I teased.

“Because it feels good to take care of you.” His voice was both tender and truthful.

My soul sang. “I’ve taken care of myself for a long time,” I replied quietly, incredibly moved by the sweetness of his answer.

“I know, and you’re good at it. You’ve taken care of everybody else for a long time, too.”

He let it go at that, and I didn’t pursue the conversation. It took too much energy, and I felt myself lulled by the music, the spell of the night, and his firm hands.

The sound of Debussy’s “Reverie” slid through the inky darkness as the light pooled just beyond us, leaving our faces in shadows. Samuel held my wet tresses in his hand, twisting the thick sections around his fingers tightly, pulling my head back, and arching my throat as he forced the excess water out of my hair. I heard him set the bowl down and felt him stand, still supporting my head in one hand. He drizzled hot water down the soapy lengths, rinsing them over and over, hands combing through my dripping hair until the water ran clear.

Again he wrapped his hands in my hair, twisting and wringing, and then he swathed my head in the towel he’d laid on his lap. Samuel left me momentarily and straddled the bench below my raised knees. Leaning forward, he grasped my hands and pulled me up toward him until I was sitting, my legs on either side of the bench, my forehead resting on his chest. He took the hand towel and lightly dried my damp curls, kneading my scalp in his hands, blotting the water from my hair. The hand towel fell to the ground as he lifted my face toward his. His hands smoothed my hair back, away from my forehead and cheekbones. My breath caught in anticipation of a kiss, but instead, he threaded his left hand into my hair once more. Lowering his head, he rubbed his slightly rough cheek back and forth against the silkiness of my own, the heat of his breath tickling my neck. The gesture was so loving, so gentle, and my eyes stayed closed under his simple caress. I held my breath as he ran his lips along my forehead, kissing my closed eyelids. I felt him pull back, and I opened my eyes. His eyes held mine in the dark. I wanted desperately for him to lean in and kiss my lips.

Samuel’s hands framed my face, and he seemed not to breathe for an eternity. Then his palms and fingers traveled lightly down my arms and over my wrists until he held each of my hands in his. “Clair de Lune” whispered through the breeze and lightly trickled down my skin, creating little rivulets of desire where his hands had just been.

“Do you remember the first time I held your hand?” His voice was thick.

My thoughts were slow and heavy, my mind soft from his ministrations, but after a moment I responded thoughtfully. “It was after we argued about Heathcliff. You were mad at me. You didn’t talk to me for days,” I replied, remembering my hurt and confusion, wanting him to be my friend again. “I wished I hadn’t said anything. You just made me so mad.” I laughed a little, thinking about how Samuel had seemed intent on proving my every theory wrong.

“You were thirteen years old! A thirteen-year-old who was beautiful, wise, patient…and infuriating! I just kept thinking, ‘How does she know these things?!’ You quoted that scripture like you’d studied it just for the purpose of teaching me a lesson. Then you got up and walked off the bus! I was so blown away that I missed my stop. I was still sitting there when everyone else was gone. I ended up having to walk home from the bus driver’s house. Mr. Walker got nervous and thought I was up to something. I guess I can’t really blame him, I was acting pretty strange.”

I looked down at our clasped hands, goose bumps skipping up my arms as his thumbs made slow patterns on my skin.

“1 Corinthians, Chapter 13…how did you know?” His voice contained a note of wonder. “I don’t care how brilliant you were, thirteen-year-old girls don’t quote scripture off the cuff like that.”

I shook my head a little and smiled. “A few weeks before you and I had our discussion, I was sitting in church with my Aunt Louise and my cousins. My dad didn’t go to church very often, but Aunt Louise dragged her bunch to church every week. She always said she needed all the help she could get...and I liked church.”

Samuel groaned, interrupting me. “Of course you did.”

“Shush!” I laughed, and proceeded to defend myself. “Church was quiet and peaceful, the music was soothing, and I always felt loved there. Anyway, that particular Sunday someone stood and read 1 Corinthians, Chapter 13. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to find it again because, you’re right, I wasn’t very familiar with scripture. I told Aunt Louise I was sick and ran home, repeating 1 Corinthians, Chapter 13, 1 Corinthians, Chapter 13 all the way to my house so I wouldn’t forget it. When I got home I pulled out my…”

“…big green dictionary?” Samuel finished for me, grinning.

“My big green dictionary,” I repeated, smiling with him. “I also pulled out the Bible we kept in the bookcase. I read verses 4 through 9, over and over, looking up every word, even the ones I knew. I wanted to have a perfect understanding of every word. Those verses are like the most incredible poetry! To me it was even better than just a beautiful collection of words though, because it was the truth! I could feel the truth of it when I read it. When I was finished, I wrote verses 4-9 on my ‘Wall of Words’ and read it every night before I went to bed. I had it memorized pretty quickly.”

“Your Wall of Words?” Samuel’s eyebrows shot up.

“You don’t know about my Wall of Words?!” I whispered in mock horror. “I can’t believe I never told you about my Wall of Words!” I leaped off the bench and pulled him up, my hands still clasped in his. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

I went inside, Samuel trailing behind me, and climbed the little staircase to my attic room. Samuel’s shoulders looked huge in the narrow passageway. At the top of the stairs, I stopped.

“Wait! I forgot Dad’s rules! No boys allowed in my room. Darn! I guess I’ll have to take a picture of my wall and show it to you later.” My lips twitched, and my eyes widened with laughter. I acted like I was going to descend the stairs again.

Samuel’s arm shot out and secured me around the waist. “I’ll stand in the doorway.”

I laughed, enjoying the flirtation, and walked into the little room that had been mine since I was old enough to traverse the stairs. Samuel followed behind me and, true to his word, leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. His eyes scanned my masterpiece.

I looked at my wall with new eyes, remembering the books where I had found each word. I pointed out the spot where I’d written 1 Corinthians, Chapter 13. “Here it is ...written before you and I ever discussed the definition of true love.” I turned and looked at him. He moved from the door, walking toward the wall to read the small print. He ran his hands over the wall, like I had done many times before, feeling my words.

“So much knowledge…and it’s all in here now,” he said tenderly, reaching over to gently knock on my forehead. He walked to the window and looked out, pointing down the street to where the lights of his grandparent’s house shone in the darkness.

“It’s strange to think of you at thirteen, up here in this room reading, while I was just a few blocks away.” He hesitated for a moment, carried away, remembering. “That year changed me. I thought about you all the time, had arguments with you in my head, and cursed you when I couldn’t read anything without a damn dictionary.” We both burst into laughter. After a few seconds he continued. “Sometimes I was angry with you because you made me question what I thought I knew. I started thinking maybe I didn’t know anything at all. Half the time I wanted to shake you, the other half I just wanted to be with you, and that made me even angrier. When I left Levan, I swore I wouldn’t come back until I could teach you a thing or two or I could prove you wrong, whichever came first.”

I remembered what he said to me the night he had made me listen to “Pavane for a Dead Princess.” Sadness and regret trickled down my throat and made my stomach turn over. “Now you’re here. And here I am. Not quite what you remember.” I tried to laugh, but it got caught and sounded more like a hiccup.

He turned from the window, his thumbs hooked in his front pockets, and slowly closed the few steps between us. He gazed down at me intently. I looked down at my hands and then tucked my hair behind my ears. My hair was mostly dry now and curling around my shoulders. I stifled the need to run my fingers through it, and held myself still under his scrutiny.

“No, you’re right. You’re not the same. Neither am I. You’re not thirteen anymore, and I’m not eighteen. It’s a damn good thing.” He reached for me then, cradling my face in his hands, pulling me to him. Ever so softly, he brushed his lips across mine. Then again. And again. His breath was the barest caress across my sensitive mouth. He never increased the pressure, never stepped any closer. Deep inside my soul I felt something rumble and quake, and I ran my hands up his arms, wrapping them around his wrists where he held my face in his work-roughened palms.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he whispered, lifting his mouth from mine.

I wanted to exclaim that he would see me more tonight, but bridled my pounding emotions. He seemed to know where he was going, and I had no idea.

“All right,” I breathed, and I stepped back from him, trying to retain my dignity. “I’ll walk you out.”

Just before he descended the stairs, Samuel turned and looked again at my wall. “I remember a few of those words. Some of those words are our words.” He looked at me with tenderness.

We walked down the stairs and through the back door. He gathered the big bucket, the bowl, and the towels, putting the now empty water jug inside with everything else. The music had long since ended. We walked around to the front of the house, silent. I wished he wouldn’t go.

“Goodnight Josie,” Samuel said quietly.

I didn’t respond. I thought I might reveal my desperate disappointment that the night was ending. I tried to smile and then turned and began walking back towards the house. I heard a guttural groan behind me. I heard the pail and the silver bowl hit the ground with a jarring twang. When I turned, Samuel was striding towards me, and I gasped at the vehemence in his face. I was suddenly gripped tightly in his arms, the force of his embrace lifting me off my feet. Then Samuel’s mouth was on mine, his hands buried in my hair. His lips were demanding, his hands holding my head firmly beneath the onslaught of his kiss. My hands gripped his head in return, fisting in his hair, pulling him into me, feeling his arms around me, holding me to him, breathing him in, triumphant. The kiss was endless and infinitesimal all at once. He pulled his reluctant mouth from my lips and rested his forehead against mine, our combined breath coming in harsh pants. He pulled away just as suddenly as he had embraced me, his hands steadying me. Then he let me go, his eyes on my swollen lips.

“Goodnight, Josie.”

“Goodnight Samuel,” I whispered. He backed away, black eyes on blue, and then turned and picked up the items he had thrown to the ground. Then he slowly walked home, turning every now and then to watch me watching him. Then I listened to his footsteps fade as he moved beyond where my eyes could follow.

* * *

That night I tried to lose myself in Shakespeare and ended up staring at my Wall of Words. The writing had changed over the years from the large, loopy letters with heart-dotted i’s, to the neat script of a practiced hand. I quizzed myself absentmindedly, defining every word my eyes focused on.

fractious: tending to be troublesome; hard to handle or control
insipid: dull, uninteresting
docent: teacher, lecturer
immanent:

My eyes stopped on the word, as a memory resurfaced. I remembered the day, many years ago, that I had discovered its meaning.

Samuel and I had been attacking some of Shakespeare’s sonnets for his English homework. I had been reading aloud and had come across the word immanent. I stopped, the usage not consistent with the word I thought I knew.

“You know... imminent, meaning it’s about to happen... it could happen any minute,” Samuel had volunteered.

“I don’t think that’s it…or it’s spelled wrong, if it is. Look up immanent, with an ‘a’ instead of an ‘i’ in the middle.”

Samuel had sighed and opened up the dictionary, quickly skimming the pages until he found the word. He’d read it to himself and then looked up at me, shaking his head in wonder.

“You were right. It is a different word. You have a good eye...or maybe it’s those elfin ears,” he said dryly.

Completely aghast, my hands had flown to cover my ears. I had absentmindedly tucked my hair behind my ears as I read, and I anxiously pulled the hair down again so it shielded them. I hated my ears! They weren’t big, and they didn’t stick out from my head, but they were slightly pointed at the very tips. And to make matters worse, the tips turned out just a bit, giving me the look of one of Santa’s holiday helpers. When I was little, my mother had told me they made me look like a wood sprite. My brothers, of course, said they made me look more like a troll, and I had been hiding them ever since.

Samuel must have seen the dismay his words had caused. The blood rushing to my cheeks had made my face pound in concert with my heartbeat. I gripped the book in my lap tightly and asked him what immanent meant, eager to distract him from my crimson countenance.

He was quiet for several seconds, holding the dictionary, his eyes cast down. Then he reached up and gently tucked my hair back behind the ear closest to him. I froze, wondering if he was teasing me or poking fun at me.

But when he spoke there was no mischief in his voice. He said, “I like your ears. They make you look like a wise little fairy. Your ears help give you an immanent beauty.” His words were sincere, and I felt my curiosity peak. My expression must have conveyed my question, for he quickly supplied the answer.

“Immanent: dwelling in nature and the souls of men.” His eyes met mine seriously.

After a moment, I slowly raised my hand and tucked back the hair on the other side, uncovering my other ear. I then continued on with the reading and nothing further was said on the topic.

When I got home from school that day, I wrote immanent on my wall and looked it up for myself. In addition to the definition Samuel had given me, immanent meant having existence only in the mind. I had laughed to myself and decided if the beauty of my ears existed only in Samuel’s mind, it was good enough for me.

Smiling, I reached out and touched the word as I let the memory warm me. I was strangely soothed and suddenly very sleepy. I turned to my bed, climbed in, and fell instantly into a heavy and dreamless sleep.

Rubato

Samuel was waiting for me in front of my house when I slipped out into the rising sun the next morning for my run. Somehow, I had known he would be. We hadn’t arranged it, but there he was. Today he wore sneakers and mesh shorts, his long brown legs muscled and lightly furred with dark hair. He wore another USMC T-shirt in soft grey. It fit snugly, clinging to his V shaped back and narrow torso. Yum. I walked toward him, not quite knowing what to say. Last night’s kiss was very fresh in my mind.

“Hi,” I said lightly. “Are you coming with me?”

Samuel looked me over silently, his eyes lingering on mine. He was never in a hurry to reply. I had forgotten that about him. He always took his time when he talked, and I tamped down my urge to fill the silence. That was Samuel’s way. He might not reply at all. After all, he was obviously coming with me. The question was pretty rhetorical.

“I’m really hoping you’ll come with me,” he finally said softly, his voice deep and a little rough from sleep, indicating these were probably the first words he had spoken out loud since we’d parted the night before.

It was my turn to study him in silence, not sure what to make of his comment. He met my perusal with steady black eyes. We were quite the pair, standing in the middle of the road, staring at each other for long stretches, not talking. I laughed suddenly at our owlish behavior.

I threw my hands toward the mountains. “Lead on, Super Sam,” I said gallantly. “Wherever you want to go, I’ll follow.”

Samuel’s expression lightened at the old nickname, but he didn’t smile. “I’m going to hold you to that, Bionic Josie.”

Samuel started off at a pretty brisk pace, and I wasn’t naive enough to think he was trying to impress me. I knew better. The man was fit, and he knew how to run. I kept up pretty well, finding a rhythm and settling in. We didn’t converse at all, just ran in quiet companionship, our feet drumming and our breath echoing the cadence. We ran east a couple of miles, climbing higher and higher as we neared the base of the canyon, until the fat orange sun had shoved off its mountain perch and hovered heavily just above us in the early morning sky. Then we turned, with its rays nudging at our backs, and ran back toward town. We picked up our feet as gravity pulled us forward, gaining speed as we hurtled back down into the valley.

Fall was in the air. The light changes in the autumn. Even at sunrise the angle is different, the intensity softened, muted, like looking through a painting under water. The air was just a few degrees cooler than it had been on previous mornings. I felt a sudden weightlessness, a burst of joy, and I looked at Samuel and let myself smile with it, let it pour out. I felt better than I had in a very long time. I felt whole, I realized. Complete. How was it possible that in two weeks I could undergo this radical shift? Like somehow I had discovered the key to the secret garden, a place that had been there all along, but had become overgrown with neglect. I had unlocked the door and stepped inside, and I was ready to pull weeds and plant roses.

Samuel must have felt it too, because his white teeth flashed back at me as his grin stretched wide in his strong golden face. My eyes lingered on his face appreciatively, and then I turned again to the dusty dirt road in front of me. I knew better than to look away from the road ahead for too long. I ran face first into horse butt when I did that.

As we neared the end of our run, my muscles protested the downshift in speed, having become accustomed to the flying sprint we had maintained for the last mile of the home stretch. I needed to run with Samuel every morning; he made me push myself, big time. No more lazy morning jog for this superhero.

Samuel continued on with me past his grandparents’ house, and we slowed to a walk as we arrived at mine. My dad was sitting out on the front porch, feet up on the rail, a Diet Pepsi in his hand. My dad liked his caffeine cold. He called it cheap whiskey and claimed there was nothing better then the burn of that first long pull after he popped the tab. I was my father’s daughter, and I couldn’t agree more, though I favored Diet Coke.

“Looks like ya got yerself a runnin’ partner, Josie Jo,” my dad called out in greeting as we walked across the grass toward him. Like every girl does, I felt a flash of relief that my dad seemed fine with the fact that I had male company.

“Morning, Daddy.” I leaned over the porch rail and grabbed his drink, stealing a swig of ice-cold fire.

“Sir.” Samuel nodded toward my dad and stuck out his hand. My dad’s boots fell heavily to the porch as he grasped Samuel’s hand in his own.

“I’m glad you’ve got someone to run with, for the time being at least, huh, Josie? I always worry a little with you running all alone. Even in a little place like Levan, ya just never know.”

I shrugged off my dad’s worry. On my morning runs I had never seen anything but chipmunks, birds, livestock, and the neighbors I’d known all my life.

“Samuel, come on in and I’ll get us something cold to drink, since I’m sure Dad doesn’t really want to share.” I smiled at my dad, and Samuel followed me, excusing himself with another polite “Sir” to my dad. I liked that.

“The manners, is that a Marine thing?” I said over my shoulder as we walked through the living room into my cheery kitchen. “Water, orange juice, milk, or caffeine?”

“Orange juice. And yeah. Definitely a Marine thing. I couldn’t not say “yes ma’am” or “no sir” if my life depended on it. You live around it for ten years, and it becomes pretty ingrained.”

I poured Samuel a tall glass of orange juice and handed it to him. Then I gulped down my requisite 8 oz of water before I let myself pop the tab on a cold can of caffeine. We leaned against the counter together, nursing our drinks in thirsty silence.

“So what comes next?” I propped my hip against the counter, turning to face him. “I mean, as far as the Marines?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Samuel’s face was contemplative. “I just got back from Iraq three weeks ago.”

“Three weeks?” I yelped, stunned that he had so recently returned. “How long were you there?”

“All told, except for some leave stateside, I’ve spent almost three years in Iraq. Two twelve month tours, with the last one being extended by six months. It was time to come home, whatever that means.”

“Whatever that means?” I repeated, puzzled.

“I didn’t really have a home to come home to,” Samuel said matter-of-factly. “I have been in the Marine Corp since I was eighteen years old. I did two tours in Afghanistan after 9/11, and then did the two tours in Iraq. When I haven’t been deployed, I’ve either been receiving specialized training, or stationed at Camp Pendleton, or on a ship. Anyway, once I was through debriefment, my platoon was given a month’s paid leave. I’ve stored up more than that in the last ten years; I haven’t taken much. I borrowed that truck from a member of my platoon. I don’t own any wheels. No house, no wheels, all my possessions fit in a suitcase. Anyway, it’s been two weeks since I got here, and I have about two weeks more.”

“And then what?” I couldn’t imagine going back to Iraq for round three. I was exhausted just listening to him.

“And then I have to decide.” Samuel’s eyes met mine.

“Decide?”

“Decide whether I want something else.” Samuel was being cryptic again.

“You mean, something besides the Marine Corp?”

“Yeah.” Samuel set his glass down and pushed away from the counter. “What are you doing today?”

He changed the subject abruptly, as if his future was not something he wanted to discuss, and my brain spun with thoughts of his last ten years, wondering at his experiences, his losses and triumphs, his friendships…his life. Somehow, because his letters had dwindled after boot camp, I had always imagined him in the context of that environment, in the relative safety of a military base with drill instructors watching his every move. In actuality, he had spent most of the last ten years in very hostile environments, in very dangerous places. I shuddered a little bit, and shook my head in wonder. Even when his Grandma Nettie had marveled at his sniper skills and his prowess as an ‘assassin,’ I had not processed the fact that he had most likely spent the majority of his time as a Marine in different war zones.

“Josie?” Samuel’s voice prodded, and I realized he had asked me a question.

“Hmm?” Samuel was looking down at me with one eyebrow peaked, patiently waiting for my response.

“What are you doing today?” he repeated.

I glanced at the clock. “I go into the shop at 11:00, work until 2:30, and then I walk over to the church and teach piano lessons until 7:00ish. What about you?”

“Kick around with my grandpa until you’re done at seven-ish.” His eyes crinkled a little, hinting at a smile and softening his assumption that I would be at his disposal as soon as lessons were over. My heart skipped wildly, and I resisted the urge to glance down at my chest to see if the skipping was noticeable under my thin shirt.

The back door off the kitchen swung open, and I jumped guiltily, although Samuel stood several feet away. My dad stuck his white head around the door frame, standing a few steps down on the back stoop. “Hey, Jos?”

“Yeah, Dad?”

“I don’t think I told you, me ‘n Jacob are headin’ out to the Book Cliffs this weekend. Jacob drew out a tag in the bow-hunt out there. We’ve got some days comin’ now that shut-downs are done at the plant, so we’re gonna take the trailer and the horses and go see if we can get us an elk.”

The Book Cliffs were in Moab, about five hours southeast of Levan. They were named the Book Cliffs because that’s what the mountains looked like, books lined up in a bookshelf. It was breathtaking country, and every hunting tag in that area was hard to come by and highly coveted. The only thing my dad liked as well as horses was hunting, and I knew he must be tickled pink about Jacob drawing out.

“Are Jared and Johnny going too?”

“Jared hasn’t been given permission,” my dad grumbled, referring to Tonya’s position as head of the household. “Johnny’s afraid to leave with the twins being so close to comin’, so it’s just Jake and me. I think Marv might come with us, though.” Marv was Jacob’s father-in-law. Marv didn’t miss many hunts, either.

“When are you leaving?”

“I’m thinking we’ll head out later on today and probably be gone til’ next Thursdee or Fridee,” my dad hemmed and hawed, as if I would complain about him being gone the six or seven days he was suggesting.

“Sounds fun.” I shrugged.

“You can come,” my dad offered insincerely.

“Ha, ha, ha, Daddy,” I said sarcastically. “Now what if I said I wanted to, what would you do? Whose bed in the trailer would I take?” I laughed at his chagrined expression. I walked to him and kissed his scratchy cheek. “No thank you, but have a lovely time. And thank you for giving me the heads up. Actually, while you’re gone, I think I will play the piano until all hours of the night and eat chocolate cake for every meal,” I teased.

My dad eyed me soberly for a moment. “That’d be real nice, Jos. It’s been a while since I’ve heard you play. Maybe you could play a little somethin’ for me when I get back; I sure do miss it.” He said the words softly, searching my face as he spoke them. I flushed, realizing Samuel was hearing the exchange.

“It’s a date, Dad,” I said lightly, patting his cheek and turning from him.

I expected Samuel to comment on my dad’s request, but he let it rest, kneeling to greet Yazzie as he lumbered into the kitchen from his bed in the washroom. Yazzie didn’t sleep in my room anymore. He was ten years old, an old-timer in dog years, and he didn’t like climbing stairs, although every once in a while I would wake with him sprawled across my feet. I think sometimes he missed the old days. I missed them too, although on his rare visits I awoke to no feeling in my legs and feet.

“Hey Samuel,” my dad swung his gaze to where Samuel crouched. “You’re welcome to come along. I wouldn’t mind seein’ some real shootin.’ We got room for one more man.” My dad glanced at me apologetically as he clarified “one more man.” Apparently, my dad had learned a little something about Samuel’s expertise at the barbeque on Sunday.

“No thank you, Sir,” Samuel said politely. “I’ve done all the hunting I want to do for a while.” A flicker of embarrassment crossed Samuel’s face as if he had spoken without thinking.

My dad grinned as if Samuel had said something funny and ducked his head back around the corner without further comment, the screen door banging behind him.

“Hey, boy.” Samuel didn’t do the baby talk thing when he talked to Yazzie. His voice was mild and low, and he spent another minute scratching and stroking the big dog. Yazzie yawned widely, leaning into Samuel’s big hands, his eyes rolling back in his noble head and his tongue hanging out in sheer delight.

Eventually, Samuel looked up at me and said simply, “I’ll see you later.”

Yazzie and I followed him to the front door. Samuel waved a hand and stepped outside, striding across the lawn and up the street toward his grandparents’ house. Yazzie and I watched him forlornly, identical expressions on our mugs.

“Oh for goodness sake!” I laughed, looking down at Yazzie. Yazzie ruffed back at me, as if to say “look who’s talking,” before he shuffled away to find breakfast.

* * *

Samuel must have tested all the doors and found the one that was unlocked, because he was waiting outside the church’s little side entrance when I walked my last student out to her bike. I was ridiculously glad that I didn’t have to make friendly small talk with a waiting parent. Or introduce Samuel. I’d had some well-meaning friends try to fix me up in the last few years, and I had had to get downright obstinate with a few folks who just couldn’t stop playing matchmaker. I had refused every date they had arranged. Imagine how the tongues would wag when I was seen with Samuel. All bets would be off, and I would have no excuse. I would be lined up with every cousin, brother, and sister’s roommate’s uncle from now ‘til Christmas. I shuddered at the thought.

Samuel walked toward me as little Jessie Ann Wood pedaled away. I double-checked to make sure I had gotten the light and pulled the door closed, sliding the key into the lock.

“That’s your bike, isn’t it?” Samuel halted beside me, nodding his head toward my old-fashioned bike leaning up against the side of the church. I felt goose bumps dance up my arms. He didn’t invade my space or reach out and touch me, and I wondered if the kisses last night had been a fluke, an impulse brought on by too much moonlight and sweet remember-whens.

“Yes. I rode this morning. It was easier than walking. My legs are shot from our run. I’m not used to running that fast. You’ve pushed me hard twice this week, and my legs are like jello.” I smiled up at him wryly.

“In that case, I know just what you need.”

Samuel picked up my bike and began walking toward his borrowed black pick-up, lifting it up and setting it in the bed of the truck.

“What do I need?”

“You’ll see. Are you hungry?”

“Always,” I admitted honestly, and Samuel looked at me and chuckled. “Well let’s go put a little meat on those bones.”

He opened the door, and I stepped up into the passenger side, smoothing my violet skirt around my legs as I sat. Samuel reached out and fingered the crinkly material gently. “You wear skirts a lot. I like that. You don’t see a lot of women who enjoy being feminine. It’s nice.” His hand dropped from my skirt and shut the door before I could respond with more than a smile.

Samuel climbed in and turned the key. Immediately the sounds of Tchaikovsky’s “Octobre—Chant D’Autumne” slid into the space around us. I forced myself to relax into the leather seat, hearing the music and letting it in. We drove for a few minutes, listening, before Samuel spoke.

“In Iraq it’s hot more often than not, and the sand is this constant presence. I used to dream of Autumn, of the cool mornings with my grandmother herding sheep away from home, waking before the sun rose and actually being chilled, sitting by the campfire and eating jerky and cornmeal cakes and Navajo tea.”

“Is that why you’re listening to ‘The Autumn Song’?” I smiled.

“Exactly.”

“Tchaikovsky was paid to create a short piece for each month of the year. He named the entire work “The Seasons.” He had to have an assistant remind him when it was time to write another ‘month.’ He joked that there are two kinds of inspiration: one that comes from the heart, and one that comes from necessity and several hundred rubles.”

“She’s ba-ack,” Samuel said under his breath in a sing-song voice, and I giggled like a little kid.

“I used to play ‘Octobre’,” I sighed dreamily. “It always made me think of fall, too.” I shifted my attention back to Samuel, “I could feel it in the air this morning when we ran.”

“Is that why your face lit up, and you smiled that great big smile? You looked like you were about ready to take flight. I thought I was going to have to hold onto you to keep you with me,” Samuel teased, his eyes touching mine briefly.

“I’m always pretty eager for autumn to get here.” I tried to be matter-of-fact as I confessed the reason why. “Both Kasey and my mom died when summer was just beginning…and I guess summer brings back bad memories. I’m always glad when it’s over.” I twiddled my thumbs uncomfortably in my lap. “Fall has always felt like a chance to start over. I know nature hasn’t designed it that way, that it’s actually the opposite. The leaves fall off the trees, the flowers die, and winter rolls in…but I love it all the same.”

“What happened to Kasey?” Samuel was very still, his eyes moving from me to the road and back again.

“You don’t mince words, do you?” I murmured, tucking a stray curl behind my ear.

“My Grandma Yazzie says it’s the Navajo way not to hurry. We have all the time in the world. We move deliberately, take our time, and do things precisely. Life is all about harmony and balance. It’s probably the reason I’m a good sniper. I can outwait anybody. But I don’t feel like I have all the time in the world anymore, not now. I don’t want to waste any of the time I have with you.” Samuel’s expression was unflinching, and I flushed at his bluntness.

“He rolled his car not too far from here,” I pointed out my window, at the long narrow highway we were driving on, “He had just dropped me off. It was the morning after we graduated from high school.”

Samuel remained silent, waiting for me to continue.

“I used to marvel at the irony that I had wanted him to spend an extra twenty minutes with me that morning, taking me home, instead of remaining in Nephi like he’d planned. I had another ride, you know. He never would have been driving back into Nephi at all if it weren’t for me. I traded an extra twenty minutes with him for a lifetime. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Have you ever thought that he might have rolled the car there in Nephi just as easily, and if he hadn’t taken you home you wouldn’t have had even those last twenty minutes? There are many ways to die, Josie. You didn’t necessarily place him in death’s only path.” Samuel’s voice and face were blank, like he was discussing the height of the wheat in the fields we drove past or the way the mountains in front of us looked purple beneath the sky.

“There was a guy I served with in Iraq. His mom didn’t want him to go; she was scared to death of him going. Of course, he went anyway. He’d signed up for it, and he went. His younger brother, who still lived at home, was killed in a car accident while he was gone. My friend came home from Iraq without a scratch. That’s irony.”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I didn’t respond at all. I knew the truth of what Samuel said, but sometimes a little guilt was a good distraction from sorrow. The sorrow had faded through the years, but somehow the guilt remained.

We rolled into Nephi, and I wondered if Samuel would pull into Mickelson’s Family Restaurant. It had good food and it sat at the edge of town by the freeway off-ramp, making it accessible to thru-traffic and town’s folk alike. I wondered if I would see anybody I knew inside, someone who would come up and get the scoop and an introduction on the pretense of giving two hoots about how I was doing. I hated making small talk and avoided people in the grocery store and other places just so that I wouldn’t have to think of things to say. I liked people, I cared about them, and I wanted to be a good person, but don’t make me chat idly on the telephone or make pleasant conversation just for the sake of being polite. We neared the restaurant and Samuel kept driving. I breathed a little easier and wondered aloud where he was taking me.

“My grandpa told me an interesting story about a pond in this area. I thought we’d have a picnic. Grandma Nettie packed it, so it should be full of good stuff.”

“Burraston’s Pond?”

“That’s the one.”

Thoughts of Kasey filled my head. He and his friends would swing out of a huge tree and into the pond. Some of the branches extended far out over the water. Some kids had built a rickety platform high up in the same tree to jump from. The platform was about two feet by two feet, and it was a wonder nobody had been killed. They had never been able to talk me up into the tree. I was way too sensible. So, with my heart in my throat, I had watched them climb high into the uppermost branches, steady themselves on the little platform, and then hurl themselves out and over the water, screaming with terror and delight.

We took the old Mona road, and at the turnoff to the pond, veered west on the dirt road pocked with deep grooves and tire tracks. Since school was back in session the campsite was empty, and the little lake was completely void of people and boats. There was no wind, and the setting sun shimmered on the still water, coloring the water a deep amber edged in ebony shadows. I hadn’t been to Burraston’s since before Kasey had died, but felt no overpowering melancholy at returning. This had been a hangout, a place to play, and except for sharing our first kiss here, it was not a spot I was especially nostalgic about.

Looking at it now, I realized how lovely it was. Quiet and abandoned, it seemed to bloom in its solitude. We bounced over the bumpy road and took the fork that took us up and around the pond.

“Where’s the best spot?” Samuel looked to me for guidance.

Burraston’s Pond was actually Burraston’s Ponds, with a few little water holes that broke off the biggest part.

“Keep going around until we’re on the furthest side of the main pond.” Trees were thick in some spots, sparse and others, and I directed him to the famous big tree overlooking the water. Samuel pulled off the dusty road and grabbed a coarse blanket and a little cooler from the back of the truck as I climbed out and gingerly made my way down to a little clearing at the water’s edge where I thought we could picnic.

The silence was broken only by the crickets warming up for their evening symphony and an occasional buzz of a mosquito flitting over the water. I had never been to Burraston’s when it was deserted. It was not surprising to me that I liked it much better this way. Samuel spread the blanket out, and we sat watching the water lap up against the rocks and twigs that littered the shore at the base of the big tree.

“So what’s the story your grandpa told you?” I leaned back against the blanket, propping my head in one hand and looking up at him.

“It wasn’t about the pond, I guess. It’s more about the town. I didn’t ever come to Mona when I lived here. I never had reason to. So when I asked my grandpa if there were any good fishing spots around here, and he mentioned this pond, I asked him about the town. He said Burl Ives, the singer, was once thrown in jail here in Mona. It was before his time, but he thought it was a funny story.”

“I’ve never heard about that!”

“It was the 1940’s, and Burl Ives traveled around singing. I guess the authorities didn’t like one of his songs. They thought it was bawdy, so they put him in jail.”

“What was the song?” I snickered.

“It was called ‘Foggy, Foggy Dew.’ My grandpa sang it for me.”

“Let’s hear it!” I challenged.

“It’s far too lewd.” Samuel pulled his mouth into a serious frown, but his eyes twinkled sardonically. “All right you’ve convinced me,” he said without me begging at all, and we laughed together. He cleared his throat and began to sing, with a touch of an Irish lilt, about a bachelor living all alone whose only sin had been to try to protect a fair young maiden from the foggy, foggy dew.

One night she came to my bedside

When I was fast asleep.

She laid her head upon my bed

And she began to weep

She sighed, she cried, she damn near died

She said what shall I do?

So I hauled her into bed and covered up her head

Just to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.

“Oh my!” I laughed, covering my mouth. “I don’t think I would have stuck Burl Ives in jail for that, but it is pretty funny,”

“Marines are the lewdest, crudest, foulest talking bunch you’ll ever find, and that song isn’t lewd. I’ve sung much, much worse. I tried to remain chaste and virtuous, and I still have the nickname Preacher after all these years, but I have been somewhat corrupted.” He waggled his eyebrows at his ribaldry.

“I kind of liked that song…” I mused, half kidding. “Sing something else but without the Irish.”

“Without the Irish? That’s the best part.” Samuel smiled crookedly. “I had a member of my platoon whose mom was born and raised in Ireland. This guy could do an authentic Irish accent, and man, could he sing. When he sang ‘Danny Boy’ everybody cried. All these tough, lethal Marines, bawling like babies. He sang this one song called ‘An Irish Lament’ that I loved so much I memorized it. In fact, when I saw you in the rain a couple weeks ago, it was the first thing that came to my mind.” The smile had gone out of Samuel’s expression, and his eyes narrowed on my face. His moods were so mercurial, I found myself challenged to keep pace with him. There was now intensity in his gaze where moments before he’d been singing a bawdy tune in a borrowed brogue.

I stared back, trying to wait him out. After a few moments I caved.

“You aren’t going to sing me “An Irish Lament,” are you?”

“It depends,” he countered.

“On what?”

“On whether you will play for me when I take you home tonight.”

It was my turn to become moody. I was not blind to my feelings for Samuel. Where this would all lead, and whether either of us could or wanted to go there was what had me digging in my emotional heels. I knew the incredible power of music and the mood it could set. Exhibit A: the kisses we had shared the night before after Debussy wove his spell. I didn’t trust myself with a large helping of Samuel sprinkled with symphonies. I didn’t know if my heart could take another love lost.

“I think the ‘Irish Lament’ might scare you away.” The sun had lowered itself discreetly behind the western hills. Samuel’s voice was as smooth and quiet as the deepening shadows around us.

“Maybe so…” I avoided his gaze and reached for Nettie’s basket, needing sustenance to keep my wits with Samuel.

Nettie had packed thick turkey sandwiches on homemade bread, chocolate chip cookies, and thankfully no lemon squares. She’d included a few peaches from her big tree, and Samuel had added a couple Diet Cokes and a bottle of water. We dug in without further discussion, except for an occasional moan from me.

“Everything okay?” Samuel smiled after a particularly gusty sigh.

“Food just tastes so much better when I didn’t prepare it.”

“You’re a great cook.”

“Yes I am,” I agreed without artifice, “but there’s something about having someone make you a sandwich. It just tastes better; I can’t describe it.”

“Being a Marine has given me a new appreciation for making my own dinner. Chow hall isn’t so bad when it’s available, but boxed lunches, no thank you. At boot camp we used to call them boxed nasties. I prefer to know what’s in my food, and the only way that happens is if I make it myself.”

“Have you become a control freak, Samuel?” I teased, biting into my peach.

“Hmmm. Yeah, I guess I have.” Samuel looked off across the inky water. “When you realize there’s so much you can’t control, you get pretty stingy with what you can.”

We finished off our meal in silence as the shadows grew and grew and eventually touched, crowding out the light, until all traces of the sun were banished, and the stars began to glimmer overhead.

“I can’t believe I’m here,” Samuel sighed, his arms crossed beneath his head, his long frame stretched out on the scratchy army blanket.

“Why?”

“A month ago I was in Iraq. Suited up day in and day out, camo, boots, flak jacket, glasses, helmet. And I never, ever, went anywhere without my weapon and plenty of ammo strapped on me. This feels surreal.” He paused for a few seconds. “Let’s go swimming.”

“What?” I laughed, and then choked as my laughter caused me to inhale some of the juice from the peach I had been enjoying.

“I want to swim. Look how the stars reflect on the water. It almost looks like we’re looking down into space.”

“You should see it from up in the tree,” I said without thinking, and wished suddenly I hadn’t suggested it.

“Really?” Samuel eyed the big tree speculatively. Instantly, he started shucking off his boots and undoing his pants.

“Samuel!” I felt heat flood me, and I wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or a genuine curiosity about what I was about to see.

“I’m going to climb the tree and jump off into the water.”

I sighed. It must be a man thing. Why did every guy I knew feel compelled to climb that tree and jump?

“Come with me, Josie.” Samuel narrowed his eyes at me, holding his shirt in his hands. His chest was broad and well-defined, his shoulders and arms corded with muscle, his abs rippled down into his boxer shorts. I looked down at my hands as I spoke so I wouldn’t gawk.

“Uh-uh. The farthest I’ve ever gotten was a few branches up, just so I could see the effect of the stars reflecting on the water.”

“This morning you said you would follow me wherever I went.” His voice was cajoling and light. “Please?”

I was wearing a black tank, and I supposed my black panties combined with my tank top would be as modest as a swimsuit. I didn’t let myself think about it too long. I had always been too practical, too sensible, too boring for my own good. I was going swimming. I slid my skirt down my thighs, stepping out of it and my sandals. I reminded myself to breathe. I looked at Samuel and squared my shoulders as if I did this sort of thing every day.

“If I fall and kill myself you’re going to be very sad,” I said, trying to be brave.

As if sensing my discomfort, Samuel’s eyes didn’t linger on my scantily clad form. He turned and hoisted himself up into the tree like it was as simple as climbing a few stairs. I cringed, thinking about how in the world I was going to get up there and retain any dignity. He stood in the broad base, where the branches spread and lifted away from the trunk. He leaned down toward me, extending a long brown arm.

“Grab my arm at the elbow and I’ll pull you up.”

I did just as he asked, wrapping both of my hands just below his bicep. He leaned down, wrapped his left hand around my upper arm and, holding onto a thick tree branch above him with his right arm, began pulling me easily up the tree. I marched my legs right up the trunk and was quickly standing balanced beside him, easy as you please. I felt like Shera, Queen of the Jungle, HeMan’s female counterpart. “Wow,” I breathed and then giggled like a little girl.

“There’s a little platform up there, see it?”

“Oh yes,” I groaned. “I know all about the platform. Please don’t make me jump from there.”

“Let me check it out.” Samuel was monkeying up the tree before I could protest.

“It seems pretty solid,” he called down several moments later. It was solid. It had been there for at least a few generations of dare devils. I sighed dejectedly. I was going to have to climb up there and jump with him. It was too late to back out now.

“Come on, I’ll guide you up.”

I knew I was going to fall out of the tree. Girls as athletically challenged as I was should never climb trees. At the very least, I was going to snag my underwear on a branch and be stuck wearing only a tank top high up in the tree. I shuddered in horror. I was NOT that kind of girl. I had a decent rear end, but I don’t think anyone’s butt looks good climbing trees. At the very worst, I would impale myself on a sharp branch like a pig on a spit. Knowing me, both would happen, and I would soon be pantiless and impaled. I could just see the story in the local newspaper: “Local Woman Found Dead and Half Naked in Tree.”

I focused intently on placing my feet and hands where Samuel instructed and amazingly, I eventually climbed close enough for him to reach down and loop his arm around my waist. He pulled me up next to him on the narrow section of plywood that was wedged and nailed into the wide reinforcement of crisscrossing branches. The view below was truly breathtaking…and terrifying. The black bottom of the pond created an illusion of endless sky below us. The glassy surface reflected the brilliant stars in the firmament above, and it seemed as if we stood on the precipice of a miniature galaxy.

“Oh, dear God,” I whispered, panic flooding my heart with ice.

“It’s beautiful,” Samuel whispered too, only his voice was filled with awe.

I squeezed my eyes shut and clung to his arm, which he had kept braced around me.

“Are you ready? Here we go, on three…”

“No!” I yelped emphatically. “Not yet! I’m not ready!”

Samuel snickered softly, but I was too afraid to slap him.

My eyes were shut so tightly, I was giving myself a headache, my face scrunched up in denial of what I had gotten myself into.

I felt Samuel’s arm pull me against him, and then I felt his breath against my mouth. He smelled like peaches and pine, and I breathed in, relaxing my face, tipping my chin toward him as his mouth came down over mine. And I completely forgot to be afraid. Tipsily, I wound my arms around his brawny shoulder, winding my fingers up into the silky pelt of his closely cut hair. He pulled me in even more tightly, lifting my feet off of the platform, and then, with no warning, Samuel pushed off the platform with a powerful thrust, and we were air born. I was falling….and screaming, and falling. Just before we hit the surface, Samuel released me, untangling himself from my limbs as we shot through the black, star-filled water.

Instinct took over as I kicked my legs wildly and swam upwards, or what I thought was upward. I felt Samuel beside me, and he reached for my flailing hand and dragged me up with him, our heads breaking the surface together. I gasped, spitting pond out of my mouth and sweeping my streaming hair out of my face as my legs tread water furiously to keep me afloat.

“Don’t ever do that again!!”

“What? Kiss you, or kiss you while we’re jumping out of a tree?” Samuel practically drawled the words, they were so slow and mild. He wasn’t breathing hard at all; in fact, he laid his head back in the water and barely seemed to be working at keeping himself afloat.

“Ugh!” I huffed, completely disgusted. “I feel tricked! You didn’t want to kiss me! You just wanted to get me out of the tree!”

“Oh, I wanted to kiss you.” The drawl was even more pronounced. “I just killed two birds with one stone.” He lifted his head up off the water and grinned at me, his teeth flashing, and I was dazzled. So much so, that I stopped kicking and my head sunk beneath the water like a stone. I splashed wildly and popped up, spitting and swiping at my hair again.

“Lean back, Josie,” Samuel commanded, the words gentle and coaxing as he slid up beside me. “Kick your legs out in front of you and float on your back. Quit fighting. Floating’s easy.”

“Ha!” I grumped. “I knew how to swim when you were still wearing floaties in the high school pool!” I wasn’t done being mad at him.

“Very funny,” he chuckled warmly.

I did as he instructed, spreading my arms and legs wide like I was making a snow angel, my head back and my face peeking just above the surface. The stars twinkled down at me sweetly.

“There you go.” Samuel spread out beside me, his fingers brushing mine as we bobbed on the placid pond. My anger slipped away as I exhaled lightly, not wanting to upset my precarious relationship with the water.

“Do you see the Milky Way?” Samuel reached his arm up and pointed.

“Uh-huh.”

“My grandmother says the Milky Way is a pathway for the spirits leaving the earth and ascending into heaven. Navajo legend says the Milky Way was created when Coyote, the trickster, got impatient as First Woman was trying to arrange the constellations in the sky. First Woman made a constellation for almost every bird, every animal, and even every insect. She made a constellation for Atsa’ the eagle, and M’iitsoh, the wolf. She created a lark, Tsidiitltsoii, so he could sing a song to the sun every morning. She even made Dahsani, the porcupine, who was in charge of growing all the trees on the mountains. First woman laid each star in a pattern out on a blanket before she had Fire Man carry them to the sky and touch them with his fire torch to make them shine. Coyote wanted to help, but First Woman told him he would only make trouble. Finally, there were just small chips and star dust remaining on the blanket. Coyote was impatient, and he grabbed the blanket and swung it up into the air, spreading the star dust into the sky creating the Yikaisdahi—the Milky Way.”

“Is there a Navajo name for all the constellations?” I stared up, trying to pick out the few I knew.

“Yes. My grandmother could tell you the story of every one of them, why First Woman placed them where she did, and how they were named. Grandma says the laws of our people are written in the stars. She says First Woman put them there because, unlike the sands that blow away or the waters that flow and shift, the sky is constant. That’s the great thing about the sky. It’s the same in the waters off of the coast of Australia as it is right here at Burraston’s pond. When I was stationed on the U.S.S. Peleliu the first couple years I was in the Marine Corp, I would often climb up to a little upper deck where I could see the sky, and I would name as many of the stars and constellations as I could. It made me feel like I was right there with my grandmother, sleeping under the stars, listening to the sheep.”

We were slowly being rocked toward the shore, and I scissored my legs downward, finding that I could stand, the water reaching just below my shoulders. The water felt comparatively warm to the air, and I was in no hurry to get out. Samuel remained on his back, staring up into the heavens. I thought of him, in the middle of the ocean, searching the firmament, comforting himself with thoughts of the only home he’d really known. My heart ached for him.

“I like being alone, but I hate being lonely. That sounds pretty lonely. At times like those did you ever regret becoming a Marine?” I ventured, studying Samuel’s chiseled profile.

“No. I never did.” Samuel’s voice was low and sincere. “I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. I had nowhere else to go. I found purpose, discovered I was of use, made some damn good friends, lost my self-pity. I did my best to be a man you could be proud of.”

I forgot to breathe. Samuel never gave me time to shore up my defenses; he just said the darndest things right out of the blue.

“Me?” My tone reflected my own feelings of inadequacy. I didn’t want to be the yardstick of righteousness; I was too lacking.

Samuel dropped his legs and stood, the water lapping around his torso.

“Yes you.” Samuel’s reply was contemplative, and he kept his face turned away from me. “You were the bar I measured everything by.” Samuel paused, caught between what he’d said and what he was about to say. His voice was low and solemn when he spoke his next words. “I wasn’t sure what you would think the first time I actually had to pull the trigger and take someone’s life, and how you would feel if you knew about all the lives I’ve ended since.”

His words were so unexpected that I gasped, and his eyes flew to mine, glittering with sudden intensity. He didn’t speak for a moment, his jaw working, clenching, as if he were swallowing the words that he still needed to say.

He turned and waded to the shore, water sluicing off his powerful back and thighs as he climbed out. He shook himself violently, and then picked up his clothes, pulling his shirt over his head and shoving his legs into his jeans.

His back was to me, and I rose up out of the water behind him, uncertain of what he needed from me, but certain he needed something other than my censure, although censure was never what I had intended to communicate. He had just caught me by surprise.

I climbed out of the pond, dripping and shaking, and ran my hands down my legs, removing the excess water, wringing out my hair and my tank top as I pulled my skirt on over my shivering body. I wrapped my arms around myself, both for modesty and for warmth. Samuel picked up the abandoned picnic, stacking everything in the cooler and picking up the blanket. He handed the blanket to me and turned from me again as I wrapped it gratefully around my shoulders. He walked back toward the shore, squatting down beside the shallow pool, and trailing his hand across the silvery water.

My voice sounded uncertain as I spoke. “Samuel. It’s war. I wouldn’t condemn you for defending yourself.” I didn’t approach him, but waited.

He was silent for several seconds before he answered. “I’ve killed some men in firefights...but many of the men I’ve killed, Josie…they didn’t even know I was there. That’s when pulling the trigger is the hardest. I would watch them through my rifle scope, sometimes for days on end, and when the moment was right and I got the order...I would shoot.” He made no excuses, and there wasn’t sorrow or regret in his voice. But there was vulnerability. He wanted me to know.

I walked to the water’s edge and knelt next to him, reaching my hand out as he had, feeling the cold silk of the water kiss my palms. I brushed the tips of my fingers against his hand, wondering if he would pull away. In the bruised darkness my skin shone pale against the starlit surface. I laid my hand on top of his, twining my fingers through his fingers, light on dark. I watched him as he turned his face toward me, his expression full of question. I leaned into him, my eyes on his, and answered in the only way I knew he would really hear me.

I brushed my lips gently across his, the way he had done after he had washed my hair the night before. Only this time, I stared into his eyes, black pools reflecting the water we knelt beside. I heard his swift intake of breath, but other than the clenching of his hand in mine, he held himself completely still as my lips played softly over his. Still, I didn’t close my eyes but watched him, silently soothing him.

“Do you really believe what you do in the service of your country, for the men you fight beside, is something you need to explain to me?” My voice was just above a whisper, my face a breath from his. “You think you have to justify yourself to me? Me? Someone who’s never had to march umpteen miles with one hundred and fifty pounds on her back, or been shot at, or gone days on no sleep? Someone who hasn’t spent the last ten years in harsh conditions, with few comforts, someone who’s never been asked to do incredibly difficult things to keep people safe?” I kissed him again, the tips of my wet fingers resting lightly on his jaw. “Where would we all be without people like you?”

Samuel’s eyes shone down at me, emotion tightening the corners of his mouth. And still he made no move to kiss me in return.

“Do you remember what God told David? How He said David had too much blood on his hands?” Samuel’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

“No. Remind me.” I remembered the story of David, of his lust for Bathsheba, his plot to murder her husband, and subsequently the death of their child. The Bible was full of such stories. Anyone who said it was boring hadn’t read past Genesis.

“God told David he couldn’t build the temple because he had too much blood on his hands. He allowed him to gather the materials for the temple, but God commanded David’s son Solomon to actually build it.”

“I don’t understand what you are trying to say to me, Samuel. Do you think you have too much blood on your hands? That you’ve fallen from grace?”

Samuel simply stared down at me.

I floundered, not following his line of thinking at all. “David caused the death of Uriah, Bathsheba’s husband, because Bathsheba was pregnant with David’s child, and David wanted her for himself. Maybe that is the blood that is referred to, the blood God couldn’t overlook. Not the blood of those that David had commanded in war, or killed in battle.”

“Am I really so different?”

“Samuel! I don’t understand how you can equate yourself with David. Even so, David died in God’s good graces. We have the book of Psalms to prove he was favored by God.” I was truly befuddled. Samuel’s silence lasted several minutes this time. I was getting better at waiting him out. When he spoke, the subject had seemingly changed, and I mentally cart-wheeled to catch up.

“I got a letter from my Grandma Nettie when you got engaged, Josie. She thought I would remember you. She mentioned it kind of in passing.” Samuel paused.

“I remember where I was when I read that letter, where I was sitting, what I had been doing in the moments leading up to it. I was completely leveled by the news, to say the least. I had been gone for almost five years; I hadn’t seen you for more than two. You were still so young, and I thought I had time. You see, in my mind, I always kept track. I would mark time with your birthdays. Josie is sixteen—but I’m twenty-one. Josie is seventeen, still too young. Then out of the blue, this kid came in and snatched you up, and you were suddenly taken.”

I stared at Samuel, my mouth hanging open, completely undone by what he had revealed. Samuel expelled a short, harsh laugh at my stunned reaction, and suddenly his wet hands gripped my shoulders, and he rose to his feet, pulling me with him.

“I didn’t know who Kasey was. My grandma mentioned his name and said that he was a nice local kid. I just remember how angry I was and how much I wanted to hunt him down. I had another two years on my contract with the Marines, but all I wanted to do was come to Levan and kill him and plead my case to you. I wanted to beg you not to marry him. I even wrote a letter to you telling you to wait for me.”

“I never got a letter.” My lungs were burning. I realized I was holding my breath.

“I never sent it. I couldn’t. I had absolutely no right.”

Samuel suddenly held my face in his hands. They were cold and still a bit wet from the water. I shivered as his eyes burned holes down into mine. “A few months after that, my grandma sent me a letter telling me Kasey had been killed. I felt sick, because in my heart of hearts I had wished it. I had wanted him gone. So am I really so different than David?”

I couldn’t answer immediately. My head was spinning with the passion in his voice and the intensity in his eyes. He interpreted my stunned silence as censure once more, and he dropped his hands from my face. “I’m sorry, Josie. I had no intention of telling you any of this. But I just couldn’t let you kiss me and comfort me, and let you tell me what a good man I am, without telling you everything. And the worst part is…I’m glad he’s gone. I’m not glad he’s dead. I don’t wish that. But yes, I’m glad he’s gone. And I don’t know what kind of man that makes me.”

“I guess it makes you an honest one,” I whispered, finally finding my voice, unsure of what to say beyond that. He stared at me intently, and I met his gaze without blinking. “I never would have guessed you would have reacted like that…that you even thought of me after you left. I didn’t know you…you cared,” I finished ineptly, unable to communicate the awe I was feeling at his confession.

“I did, and I do,” Samuel responded flatly. His mouth was drawn into a tight line, his eyes on mine. I exhaled slowly, feeling faint. The water from my dripping hair found its way down my back, and I shivered violently. Samuel reached down and took my hand, and we walked back to the truck, the blanket trailing behind me. He stooped and picked up the cooler and set it in the back as he opened my door and helped me in.

With the heater on full blast, we drove back toward Levan. Music tinkled softly from the speakers, and I heard a hint of Rachmaninoff’s “Elegie.” I had always loved this piece. Rachmaninoff was considered one of the finest pianists of his day. Sonja had a live recording of him playing “Elegie”, and it had brought me to tears when I had first heard it. It had been many years since I had enjoyed the expressive breadth and the rich lyricism in his piece. Hesitantly, I reached up and slid the volume louder, allowing the music to fill the cab and reverberate off the glass.

“This is my favorite piece of music, by my favorite composer.” Samuel’s voice broke through as the music slowed and sighed.

“You always did love Rachmaninoff.” I remembered the first time he had heard Rachmaninoff on the bus and his reaction to the power and the intensity of “Prelude in C Sharp Minor.”

“Rachmaninoff was the last of the great Romanticists in classical music,” I mused. “He was often discouraged by the modernist music that was becoming popular. Once, in an interview, he said that the modern music of the new composers was written more in the head than the heart. Their music contained too much thought and no feeling. He said the modern composers ‘think and reason and analyze and brood, but they do not exalt.’“ I held up my fingers and wiggled them to indicate quotation marks.

“I looked up the word exalt in the dictionary when Sonja made me memorize his quote. The meaning I liked best was to ‘make sublime, to magnify, to praise, to extol.’ Rachmaninoff’s music raises us up, it elevates.”

“I love ‘Elegie’ because it is what yearning sounds like.” Samuel stared ahead as he spoke.

I stared at Samuel for a moment, moved by the simplicity of his description. “I think ‘Elegie’ actually means lament. Some say Rachmaninoff was depressed when he wrote it, but there’s such pronounced hope woven throughout the piece that I tend to think, in spite of his suggested moroseness, ‘Elegie’ wasn’t an expression of defeat. He was just...yearning.” I smiled at him slightly as I echoed his simple synopsis. “He considered quitting early on in his career. His philosophy was one rooted in spiritualism. He wanted to create beauty and truth in his music, and he felt like his music didn’t belong. It’s ironic that he gave his last major interview in 1941, when the world was at war. The world needed truth and beauty then more than ever.”

We drove through Nephi and out onto the long ridge connecting the small towns. Soon, the lights of Levan twinkled before us, and we pulled into the sleepy little town, turning on to a pot-holed side street, driving past the bar and the old church before heading up the dimly lit street toward home.

We crunched over the gravel in front of my house. It was dark and empty, my dad long gone on his way to Moab and the beckoning Book Cliffs.

“Would you like to come in for a minute? You could check the house for bad guys, and I could make us something yummy to eat. I think I have ice cream in the freezer and I could make us some hot fudge topping to put on top?” I waggled my eyebrows at him in the dim interior of the truck, and he smiled a little.

“Bad guys?”

“Oh you know, I’m here all alone, the house is dark. Just look under the beds and make sure no one is hiding in my closet.”

“Are you afraid to be alone at night?” His brows were lowered with concern over his black eyes.

“Nope. I just wanted to give you a reason to come inside.”

His expression cleared, and his voice lowered even further. “Aren’t you reason enough?”

I felt the heat rise in my face. “Um,” was all I said.

“Josie.”

“Yes?”

“I would love to come in.”

We climbed out and walked inside. I flipped on the lights and excused myself for a minute. I ran upstairs to my little attic room and pulled off my wet clothes. I ran around looking for something to wear Sweats? No. Pajamas? No! I settled on a loose pink sundress and ran my fingers through my damp ringlets. My hair smelled a little like pond water…ugh! I spritzed myself with lavender and pulled my hair up into a clip, not wanting to look like I was trying too hard. I left my feet bare and ran back downstairs. My feet got a little tangled up, and I came hurtling off the last stair into the washroom like a bat out of hell. I steadied myself on the dryer and took a deep breath. “Geez! Calm down, woman!” I told myself sternly. When Samuel was around I seemed to be one frazzled bundle of gooseflesh and hormones. “That’s just what we need, fall down the stairs and spend the rest of the time Samuel has in Levan on crutches,” I muttered.

I walked into the kitchen where I’d left Samuel a few minutes before. I gathered the butter, evaporated milk, sugar, vanilla, and cocoa powder as we chatted about this and that. Soon the smell of hot fudge sauce wafted through the kitchen, and I sighed in contentment. Grabbing a couple bowls, I scooped up two large servings of cookie dough ice cream and drizzled generous amounts of hot chocolate over the top.

“Let’s eat!” I declared, sitting down and scooping up a giant spoonful of ice cream.

Samuel laughed right out loud, a rich rumble that echoed in my heart.

“What?” I said, my mouth full of ice cream.

“You make me laugh.”

“Why?”

“You’re this beautiful girl, blonde curls, big blue eyes. You always wear dresses and paint your toenails and you’re completely old fashioned—books, music, you name it…you’re completely all girl. I just didn’t expect you to dig in like that. You did the same thing earlier tonight at the pond. You like food. I thought for sure you would put a napkin on your lap and eat very small spoonfuls like a dainty little lady.”

“Lady, schmady,” I giggled. “I love to eat. That’s why I run every morning. Otherwise, I might grow to be very voluptuous and rubenesque.”

“I’m not sure what rubenesque means exactly, but I’m sure it would look good on you.” Samuel dug into his bowl as well, and we enjoyed our ice cream in silence until the last of the hot fudge sauce was scraped away. I restrained myself from licking my bowl. Samuel didn’t.

“That was unbelievable sauce,” he said appreciatively.

“Yep! My mom’s own recipe. It’s an original.”

I washed our bowls, and Samuel wandered in to the family room and sat on the piano bench, watching me through the narrow door opposite the kitchen sink.

“Will you come with me to see my grandma?”

“Nettie?” I questioned, confused.

“No. I want you to come to Arizona with me and meet my Grandma Yazzie.”

My eyes flew to his face, and I could see from the firm set of his wide mouth that he was serious.

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“But…I have to work at the shop tomorrow and…how long would we be gone?”

“Your aunt wouldn’t let you go?”

“Of course she would. I don’t have anything scheduled. I would just be there for walk-ins.”

“Dilcon is over 700 miles away. We’d need an entire day of driving each way, and I want to stay for three days in between. So five days. Tomorrow is Saturday. We’d be back late on Wednesday night. Could you arrange it?”

I bit my lip as I mulled it over. I was so tempted. The long hours of driving were incredibly enticing. Conversation with Samuel was always enlivening, and the thought of listening to music and talking for hours on end with him was more than I could pass up. My dad was gone. He wouldn’t be calling home. Cell phone reception wasn’t available where he was going. I would have to cancel my piano lessons, but the loss of revenue wouldn’t hurt me. What did I have to spend my money on anyway? I guess I hesitated a moment too long.

“Please, Josie?” His voice was insistent. “I want you to meet her. I’ve told her about you. You’ll love her.”

I turned to face him. “All right. I’ll go. I’ve always wanted to meet her. But…” I held up one finger as a stipulation, “I can’t leave bright and early. I have to call my students and Louise…”

“Call them on the way, Josie. Bring your cell phone. I’ll pick you up at 6:00 a.m.”

So much for “please, Josie.” Bossy Samuel was back. Bossy really wasn’t the right word. He was more blunt and plain-spoken, but calling him bossy made me feel better when he started giving orders. He continued on:

“I want to get to the reservation before dark. It’s hard enough to find Grandma’s hogan in the daytime. And she could be anywhere. I called the trading post when I got back stateside and left a message for her. I told her to plan on me this weekend. I got word to her through the man that works at the trading post. I called him today, and he said she had been in with one of her rugs. He gave her the message for me.”

“Is that how you communicate?” I said incredulously.

“It works. Grandma doesn’t read or write, and she doesn’t have a phone.”

I felt a frisson of unease that this meeting might be very awkward. Talk about two different worlds. Samuel must have seen something in my face, because he stood and walked to where I still stood, leaning against the sink. He reached out and ran a hand lightly down my cheek.

“Don’t worry. Grandma is easy to love. Just think of it as an adventure.”

I smiled tremulously.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, his voice husky.

“I promise to pack some jeans and boots,” I said with a grimace. I’d given up wearing my Wranglers and hand me down T-shirts long ago. I still had Wranglers and T-shirts (who doesn’t in Levan?) but they weren’t my preference.

“My grandma wears a skirt every day too….but, yeah. You might want to bring some jeans, unless you have a big long pioneer skirt you like riding a horse in,” he teased. He said goodnight and slipped quietly out the door, and I heard the truck start up and drive away.

I sped up the stairs and started throwing stuff in my suitcase. It was almost ten o’clock. I would never be able to sleep. My heart thudded in anticipation.

Oratorio

I slept restlessly, getting up to repack my bag several times. I had never been on an Indian reservation. I had no idea what I would need. I woke up before the alarm and laid there feeling tired and wishing I hadn’t agreed to go, wondering what had initiated such a bone-headed move. Actually, I knew why I was going. If I was being honest with myself it was strictly to spend time with Samuel, which again was completely moronic. Samuel would leave again. Soon. And I would be back here again. Soon.

I threw off my covers and showered, trying to get the sleep-deprived, hairy eyeball feeling to retreat. I was ready before Samuel got there and sat on the front porch waiting with Yazzie. He laid his big head in my lap and looked at me with mournful eyes. He knew I was going and that he wasn’t coming with me. Samuel had called after he left the night before and said Nettie would come and feed the chickens and look after Yazzie. It embarrassed me a little that she knew I was going with him, although I appreciated him making arrangements for Yazzie. I wonder what she thought of his invitation. I really didn’t want to know. I hoped she would be quiet about it, but figured the entire town would know shortly. Maybe when I got back it would be old news. I sighed gustily, knowing that I was going to get curious looks for a long time for this little “adventure” Samuel had planned.

Samuel pulled up promptly at six, and my heart sped up like a silly girl when he shut off his truck and stepped out, a small smile playing around his lips.

“Ready?”

I gave Yazzie a hug and a nuzzle and stepped off the porch with my bag. I may not have known exactly what to pack, but I knew enough to realize that showing up at Stella Yazzie’s hogan with a huge trunk full of clothes and toiletries would be all wrong. I’d packed as light as I possibly could.

Samuel looked at my duffle approvingly and took it from me as he eyed my worn Levi’s. I’d dressed them up a little with a gauzy white tunic and hoop earrings. I just couldn’t rough it completely. I had on a pair of sandals, too. I put my old boots behind the front seat of his truck, knowing I would need them once we got there.

“Yep, all girl,” Samuel smirked.

“Hey, I can ride a horse, muck out the stalls, milk a cow and fight off ornery chickens, Mister,” I said tartly. “I just like dressing like a girl. I spent too many years wearing my brothers’ old clothes. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No ma’am. I definitely don’t have a problem with the way you look,” Samuel replied, all signs of teasing gone from his voice.

I swallowed hard and tried not to smile.

Samuel had gassed up the truck before he’d come for me, and there was a Diet Coke in the cup holder waiting for me, as well as a heavenly smell coming from a brown bag sitting on the seat.

“Sweaty Betty’s cinnamon rolls!” I squeaked, recognizing the aroma.

“What did you just call her?” Samuel raised his eyebrows as he slammed his door and started up the truck.

I filled him in on Betty’s unfortunate nickname as I happily munched on the warm, sticky piece of paradise.

“I wish I had known her nickname before I inhaled three of those rolls.” Samuel shuddered in mock horror.

“If you’ve lost your appetite I still have room for this last one,” I supplied, licking my fingers. “Say what you want about Levan, but it definitely has its perks. Sweaty Betty’s cooking is one of them, sweat and all.”

“Honestly, I have nothing but good things to say about Levan.” Samuel rested his forearms against the steering wheel, settling in for the long drive.

“Really?” I was a little surprised. I remembered how his grandmother’s words at my kitchen table so many years ago had left a different impression. “Do you think you would ever want to live here?” As soon as the words left my mouth I viciously regretted them, realizing how eager and desperate I must seem, like a woman who was already making wedding plans and looking at houses. I hadn’t meant it like that.

Samuel stared out his window for a minute and then looked at me soberly, his eyebrows drawn down in a slight V.

“No Josie. I don’t think I’d want to live here,” Samuel said softly.

I considered opening the door and hurling myself out onto the highway. I bit down on the urge to explain myself, realizing that anything I said would just dig the hole deeper. I finished my cinnamon roll without enjoying it and gulped down half of my Diet Coke. The awkward silence between us remained for many miles as the morning sun climbed sluggishly above the hills and stretched its long arms across the sleepy valley to the left of the long stretch of I-15 we traveled along. We would be traveling on I-15 for ninety miles until we turned off onto I-70 and traveled east towards Moab, cutting down through Monument Valley and into Arizona.

We finally relaxed into conversation, and I relinquished my discomfort as he shared experiences of his life in the military. I tried to find humorous anecdotes from daily life in Levan. We had led very different lives for the past few years, but somehow I didn’t feel alienated from him because of his experiences like I once had when I’d read his letters. I just wanted to know more, to understand him better.

We stopped for a late lunch in Moab but were on the road again within fifteen minutes, fast food between us. Samuel wanted to reach his grandmother’s before we ran out of daylight, and we had a ways to go yet. The landscape had steadily grown more stark and dramatic. Huge plateaus and jutting mountains thrust upwards out of the flats, like enormous castles coated in thick red rock. I’d often wondered how the fleeing Mormons had felt when their leader had declared that the Salt Lake Valley was “the place.” They had traveled so far and long, suffering terribly, only to wind up in a rather barren, treeless, waterless valley. How their hearts must have trembled within them and how despair must have threatened to overcome them. But they’d prospered. I wondered now how the ancient Indian tribes had existed and thrived in this desert landscape. However breathtaking and majestic it might be, it was completely inhospitable. I must have mused aloud, because Samuel leaned into the wheel and his eyes narrowed on the scenery around us as he began to talk.

“The Hopi actually have an interesting legend about how they came to be on this land.”

“The Hopi?” I questioned blankly.

“The Hopi Indians occupy a section of land here in the four corners area, mostly in the high desert of northeast Arizona, surrounded on all sides by the Navajo Nation. The Hopi are pacifists—in fact, Hopi means ‘the peaceful and wise people.’ This story kind of illustrates that quality of humble acceptance that is traditionally Hopi. Anyway, the Hopi say that back when the first humans crawled up from the underworld into this world, mockingbird met them with several ears of corn in all different sizes and colors laid out before him. Mockingbird told them that each tribe or family must pick an ear of corn. The ear of corn would tell them their destiny—for instance, the Navajo were said to have picked the yellow corn which meant they would have great enjoyment but a short life.”

Samuel stopped talking at this point and glanced at me ruefully. “I haven’t necessarily had great enjoyment in my life, so I’m hoping the other half of the Navajo destiny won’t apply either.

“So all the tribes started grabbing the corn. The Utes took the flint corn, and the Comanche took the red corn. The Hopi stood by and watched everyone grabbing and jostling for the best ear of corn, but they didn’t take any. Finally, there was only the short blue corn left—the piece nobody else wanted. The short blue corn predicted a destiny of hard work and toil, but also predicted long, full lives. The Hopi leader picked up the blue corn and accepted this destiny for his people, and they wandered around looking for a place to live. Eventually, they came to the three mesas in the desert. The God of death, Masauwu, owned the land. He said they could stay. The Hopi looked around them and said life will be difficult here, but nobody else will want this land, so no one will try to take our land away.”

I laughed out loud at that. “I guess that’s looking at the bright side of things.”

“Well, they had it mostly right. The Hopi were farmers and because they actually came up with successful methods to grow crops in this environment, they were constantly being raided by surrounding Ute, Apache and Navajo tribes who wanted their corn.”

“So nobody wanted their land, but they wanted their crops?”

“Pretty much.”

We drove in silence for many miles more, each of us lost in reflection.

“I like how you know not only your history, but the history of other tribes. You are like my own personal guide of all that is Native American.”

“You’ll find that most of the legends among Native Americans are variations of the same stories. We might tell them a little differently, or have our own slant on things, but they’re all similar, especially among tribes that occupy the same geographic area. The Hopi share a lot of religious similarities with the Navajo. Each tribe is big on religious ceremonies. Both religions center around harmony, of things being in balance, and the importance of having a good heart, which mostly comes from being at peace with the people and circumstances in your life.”

“Hozho,” I remembered aloud.

Samuel gaped at me and then nodded his head. “Yeah, hozho. How did you know that word?”

“I remember talking about harmony with you a long time ago. I’ve thought about it many times since. I even wrote hozho on my Wall of Words.

“Imagine that—a little girl from Levan, Utah with a Navajo word written on her wall.”

“Imagine that,” I agreed. “So Samuel?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you found it?”

“What?”

“Harmony, balance, hozho… whatever you want to call it. Since you’ve been gone all these years, have you found it?’

Samuel looked at me for a moment and then returned his gaze to the road. “It’s an ongoing thing, Josie. You don’t just find it and keep it. Just like maintaining balance on a bike—one little thing can start you wobbling. But I learned that a big part of harmony for me is having a purpose. I also had to let go of a lot of anger and sadness. When I met you all those years ago, I was filled with anger. I started changing when my heart started to soften.”

“What softened your heart?” I asked softly.

“Good music and a friend.”

I felt my eyes burn a little and turned from him, blinking quickly to lap up the sting of tears. “Music has incredible power.”

“So does friendship,” he supplied frankly.

“You were every bit as good a friend to me,” I responded quickly.

“No I wasn’t. Not even close. But as nasty and mean as I often was, you never held a grudge. I could never figure you out. You just seemed to love me no matter what. I didn’t understand that kind of love. Then I had an experience that taught me. You know I took my dad’s scriptures with me when I left for the Marine corp. I’d read them a little. I’d flipped through them, reading this and that, starting and stopping. I don’t think I ever told you about the experience I had. It might be in one of those letters I brought over.

“I was in the middle of Afghanistan in an area where we believed a large group of Taliban fighters had hunkered down. There was one guy in particular that we really wanted bad. Rumors of Osama himself were rampant. I’d been sent on ahead with another sniper—we’re always sent out in pairs—to scout out an area thought to overlook a possible opening to a series of caves the terrorists were supposedly using as a hidey hole. I’d been battened down on my belly, looking through my scope for hours on end for three days. I was exhausted and irritable, and I wanted to blow up the whole God-forsaken country and just go home.”

“It sounds terrible,” I commiserated.

“It was,” Samuel laughed without much humor and shook his head. “Before I’d been sent out on this little scouting trip, I’d been reading the parable about the prodigal son. It’d made me a little bit mad. I felt angry for the son who stuck around and was faithful and then got pushed aside by his dad. I thought I understood what Jesus was trying to teach with that parable. I thought it was all about that Jesus loves the sinner not the sin, and that he will forgive us if we will just return to him and allow him to heal us. And I knew all that was true, but I just kept thinking about how it wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair, and the ‘good son’ didn’t deserve to be taken for granted. I was even thinking that Jesus’ parable wasn’t the best example of welcoming the sinner back into the fold—that he could have used a better story to illustrate his point.

“So here I am, tired, ticked-off, and I’ve got this story of the prodigal son running through my mind. Just about this time, I see what looks to be the target approaching this entrance with two other men. I get excited because I’m thinking—finally someone’s going to get what they deserve. Can you imagine it? I’m critiquing the master teacher in my head, and I’m getting ready to blow another guy’s head to kingdom come. I’m all excited, I’ve got the orders to shoot to kill, and suddenly my partner says—”It isn’t him.”

“It’s him! I’m saying. It’s him! It’s a go! I’m insisting that I shoot even as I’m realizing it isn’t our guy, but I don’t stand down.” Samuel’s voice and body were tense as he retold the story, and he shook his head adamantly, transported back to the craggy overlook in a country far away.

“I’m actually getting ready to pull the trigger and suddenly, out of nowhere, a voice speaks to me, as clearly as if my buddy were talking directly into my ear.”

Samuel paused, and all at once his face was drenched in emotion. “But it wasn’t my partner. He’s still whispering frantically—insisting it isn’t our guy. The voice I heard wasn’t audible to anyone but me. The voice said ‘How much owest thou unto my Lord?’”

The silence in the cab was thick with something akin to anguish—and although I didn’t quite understand what the question implied, I knew Samuel had understood, and waited for him to master his emotions enough to share his insight. He breathed deeply a few times and continued hoarsely, his voice cracking a little.

“The story of the prodigal son isn’t just about the sins of the son that left and came back. It’s about the sins of the faithful son as well.” Samuel looked at me, and I stared back waiting for him to continue.

“That day, in a rocky corner of Afghanistan, I was so wrapped up in everyone getting what they deserved, that I almost killed a guy that I knew was not a target. He could have been looking for his lost goat for all I know. The thing is, what do any of us really deserve, Josie? What are we entitled to? The words that I heard that day were words from the very next parable Jesus teaches in the book of Luke about the unjust steward. I’d read it right after I’d read the parable of the prodigal son—but I’d been so wrapped up in what I had perceived as injustice in the one parable, that I hadn’t really read the words in the next. ‘How much owest thou unto my Lord?’ How much? How much do I owe? The truth is I can’t ever pay my debt. Ever. We ALL owe everything to God. There is no level of debtedness. I am no less in debt than that man who almost lost his life at my hand. The more faithful son is no less in debt that his prodigal brother. We all owe Jesus Christ everything. Yet at the end of the parable the father says lovingly to his angry son, ‘Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine.’ Now that is love. Two sons that were undeserving, both of them loved and embraced. That day, with a gentle reminder, a merciful father showed me how undeserving I was—and saved me in spite of it. That’s the day I really started to understand.”

I unhooked my seatbelt and slid over next to Samuel on the wide bench seat. I laid my head on his shoulder and wrapped his right hand in both of mine. We sat with tears in our eyes, hands clasped, beyond words for many miles.

* * *

We arrived in Dilcon just before sundown. It looked a lot like any other small town. The landscape was a little different, and its signs boasted Navajo rugs and jewelry—but it didn’t seem that different from Levan, truth be told. We wound through the town and out again, traveling down roads without signs or markings, occasionally passing a herd of sheep or an occasional double wide trailer. I counted a few abandoned pick-up trucks. I saw a hogan standing forlornly in the middle of nothing and pointed it out to Samuel.

“When the owner of a hogan dies it is not lived in anymore. Do you remember chidi? How the bad spirit remains? Whether you believe in chidi or not, respect for tradition just dictates that the hogan be left uninhabited to return to Mother Earth. You’ll see abandoned hogans here and there. Fewer and fewer Navajo live in hogans these days. It’s just more comfortable to have running water and electricity and temperature controls. We’ve got some hold-outs, though. Grandma Yazzie is definitely one of them.”

I didn’t know how Samuel found his way, turning down this road and up another until finally he bounced his way over uneven earth to a lonely hogan with an old pick-up truck that looked like Old Brown’s older brother parked out front. A huge corral made of juniper logs was knit together in seemingly haphazard fashion to the north of the hogan. At least a hundred sheep were confined within the enclosure. The hogan faced east. The door was open, and the deepening shadows of the setting sun created shade in the front where a little old woman sat combing what looked to be wool around a large wooden spool. She didn’t move or rise as we slowed to a stop, and the truck heaved a grateful sigh of arrival as Samuel turned the key. We stepped stiffly out our respective doors, and I held back as Samuel strode forward and picked the little woman up off her stool holding her tightly in his arms. Her wool and spools fell unheeded to her feet as she clasped him to her, her small hands running up his arms and strong back, patting his cheeks and muttering something I could not understand.

Samuel eventually let her down and turned toward me, reaching back his hand, and with the Navajo language bouncing off his tongue introduced me to his beloved Shima Yazzie.

Grandma Yazzie was beautiful in the way old wood is beautiful. Warm and deep brown with a depth of wisdom that had me searching the lines in her face for the answers to life’s biggest questions. Her hair was white and thick and pulled back and looped in the traditional Navajo bun. Her shirt was a faded purple, the sleeves long, and her skirt was full and layered and dusty blue. She wore ancient lace-up cowboy boots on her feet and large turquoise and silver rings on the ring finger of each wrinkled hand. She wasn’t very tall, maybe five feet, but she was sturdy and compact—a stiff wind wouldn’t blow her over; in fact, I had the distinct impression that very little would blow her over.

She nodded to me almost regally, and then turned her attention back to her grandson. She gestured toward her hogan and bid us come inside. The hogan was more spacious than I expected. A huge loom took up almost one whole side. A pallet lay against an adjacent wall with a small chest of drawers and a small wood burning stove. A large table with two chairs made up what consisted of the kitchen area.

“Grandma is worried that you will be uncomfortable here,” Samuel spoke softly to me. “I’ve told her you’ve never had anyone fuss over you, so she shouldn’t fuss over you either. I told her you will only be uncomfortable if she is uncomfortable. I think that made her feel better.”

I marveled briefly how well Samuel understood me.

We ate a simple meal of fry bread and mutton stew. I felt my eyes getting heavy as I sat outside on one of the chairs from the kitchen and listened to the gentle cadence of Samuel and his grandmother conversing. Grandmother Yazzie’s hands were always busy. She had shown me, with Samuel interpreting, the rug she was working on at her loom. The rug had only the natural colors of the wool woven into the complex design. She said she mixed some of her own dye from different plants, but she would use no dyes on this rug. The red, brown, black and grey in the design were the colors of the wool taken from her sheep. I asked her if she planned the pattern beforehand. Samuel answered for her, before he even translated what I’d said.

“The pattern will emerge on its own. The wool lets you know what the pattern will be. There are traditional patterns—I forget what they all mean. But each pattern tells a story. Some stories are complicated and involve very intricate detailed patterns. Grandma says this is a ceremonial rug.”

This made sense to me, and I mused aloud, “Weaving is kind of like writing music. The song almost writes itself. You just have to start playing.”

Samuel immediately launched into Navajo, telling his grandmother what I had said and what he’d told me. She nodded her head as he spoke, agreeing with his explanation, smiling a little at me as he must have told her what I’d said about music.

That night, Samuel slept outside in his truck bed, and I slept in a bedroll in the hogan, with Samuel’s grandmother lying silently beside me. That night I dreamed that I sat at the loom, weaving a rug patterned with ears of corn in red, yellow, blue, and white. A mockingbird sat at my shoulder and told me to choose my destiny. Every time I would reach for the yellow corn the mockingbird would peck my hand and chirp “not for you! Not for you!” in a squawky parrot voice.

* * *

We spent the following day on horseback, herding sheep down the canyon to grassier climes. Winter set in early in the higher elevations, and in another month the sheep would stay pastured near Grandma Yazzie’s hogan. We’d gotten up before the sun, and I did my best to look pretty, even without much to work with. I knew my days with Samuel were numbered, and I wanted to make them count. I hadn’t examined my feelings for him beyond the pleasure of having him back. I knew my avoidance of any deep contemplation on the subject was self-deception, but I just couldn’t make myself consider what came next. It’d been a long time since I’d spent any real time in the saddle, and I knew I’d be feeling it the next day. I had never herded sheep before, and I knew Grandma Yazzie didn’t necessarily need my help so I hung back, waiting for direction, and mostly just enjoying the quiet companionship of Samuel and his grandmother.

The chill of the morning eventually gave way to sunshine and blue skies, with an underlying reminder of fall in the smell of the wind. When we reached the valley where the sheep would spend several hours, we climbed off our horses, hobbled them by tying their back legs together, and enjoyed a little jerky and some fry bread left over from the night before. We then settled in for some quiet time while the sheep grazed.

I had started to doze a little, listening to Samuel talk to his grandmother, not understanding anything of course, not feeling the need to. I felt Samuel brush at my arm, and opened one eye blearily in question.

“You had a tick crawling on you. Grandma says they’ve been bad this year.”

The thought of a tick burrowing its way into my arm was as effective as a cold-bucket of water on my sleepiness. I sat up, brushing down my arms and legs and running my fingers through my hair.

“You know why a wood tick is flat don’t you?” Samuel sat where he’d been resting against a large rock. He didn’t seem all that concerned with the idea of a wood ticks crawling around.

“I’ve never looked at one long enough to know they were flat,” I admitted, still brushing off my jean clad legs.

“Another Navajo story…Grandma tells it better than I do….but the legend is that Coyote, the trickster, was out walking one day when he met an old woman. The old woman tells him there is a giant nearby and he should turn around and leave. Coyote says he’s not afraid of anything, especially not a giant, and he keeps walking. He picks up a sharp stick though, just in case, thinking he might need it if he comes across the giant. Eventually, he comes to the mouth of this huge cave, and curious as most coyotes are, he walks in to explore. After walking a little ways, he sees a woman lying on the floor of the cave. He asks her what’s wrong. She says she is so weak she cannot stand. Coyote asks her if she is sick. She says she is starving to death from being trapped inside the belly of the giant with nothing to eat. Coyote says ‘What giant?’ The woman laughs and tells him he is inside the giant’s belly, too. The cave that he had walked into was the giant’s mouth. ‘It is easy to walk in,’ the woman says, ‘but no one ever gets out.’

“Not knowing what else he can do, Coyote keeps walking and exploring. Then he comes upon many more people, all weak and starving to death. Coyote says to them, ‘If this is the belly of a giant, then the walls are made of muscle and fat, and we can cut into the walls and eat this meat.’ So Coyote uses his sharp stick and his teeth and cuts meat from the walls of the giant’s belly. He feeds all the people, and they are happy. They say, ‘thank you for feeding us, but we still can’t get out.’ Coyote says to them, ‘If this is the giant’s belly, his heart can’t be too far away. I will find his heart and stab him and kill him.’ One of the people say, ‘See that big pumping volcano over there? That is the giant’s heart.’

“Coyote crawls up the volcano and stabs his stick into the heart of the giant. The giant yells out. ‘Is that you, Coyote? Quit cutting me and stabbing me, and I will open up my mouth and let you out.’

“But Coyote doesn’t just want to just save himself, he needs to save the others, too. Thick lava starts to spill out of the volcano that is the giant’s heart. The giant starts to shake, and Coyote tells the people that the volcano is causing an earthquake and the giant will open his mouth, and the people can run out. As the giant is in his death throes, he roars in pain and the people trapped in his belly run out of his mouth. Coyote has saved them.” Samuel finished his tale and sat looking at me, expectantly.

“That’s a good story…but I’m not sure what it has to do with the wood tick.” I raised my eyebrows in question.

“Oh yeah,” Samuel smiled back. “See, the wood tick is the last to get out, and he is just crawling out when the giant dies and his jaws close. Coyote has to pull him out between the giant’s teeth, and he gets flattened in the process.”

“Ahhh, that makes perfect sense.” I laughed out loud. “I like how Native American legends seem to be a mix of the very far-fetched and the very practical.”

Samuel’s grandmother had been sitting nearby, working with her wool again, and she looked up as I chuckled. She seemed to have followed our conversation, and I concluded that she must understand English better than she could speak it.

She spoke to me now, though I didn’t understand. Her face was kind and her words soft.

“Grandma says that just like the stories in my Bible, the legends have hidden lessons if you look deep enough. It is the lesson behind the story that is the most important part.” Samuel translated for me as he gazed at his grandmother, his expression matching hers.

“Like parables?”

Grandma Yazzie nodded her head, like she understood my question. She spoke to me again, this time in stilted English, and I listened attentively, knowing it was uncomfortable for her and knowing she tried for my sake.

“Coyote not know he trapped.” She looked down at the wool she was carding, and didn’t say more.

I looked at Samuel for further clarification, not really understanding what his grandmother was trying to communicate. Samuel was still for a moment, and then he leveled his gaze on mine, squinting a little against the sun that had infiltrated our limited shade.

“Coyote was inside the belly of the giant, and he didn’t even know it. He was completely unaware that he was trapped. I think that’s what grandma was trying to say.”

“You could also argue that Coyote was the only one who wasn’t trapped.” I shrugged, knowing that Samuel’s grandmother’s interpretation of the legend had reminded him of me. My stomach twisted at the knowledge, and I was suddenly eager to turn the tables on him. “Coyote had no trouble getting out—but he knew he couldn’t leave everyone else behind.”

“Hmm. I should have known you’d see it that way.” Samuel reached out and brushed his fingertips down my cheek. “I feel like I’m back on the bus, trying to keep up. You were always two steps ahead of me.”

“Would it make you feel better if we arm wrestled?” I poked at him, “I’m sure I wouldn’t stand a chance.” I was relieved to turn the conversation in a different direction.

Samuel laughed out loud, and his grandmother looked up sharply, her eyes resting lovingly on his grinning countenance. Her gaze slid reluctantly from his face to mine, and her eyes were full of questions.

Crescendo

There are supposed to be links between math, music, and astronomy—some of the greatest composers have been avid star-watchers. The connections between math and music made sense—although there is more to the connection than timing, counting, and notes on a line. In fact, there is something neurological that occurs in the brain when certain types of music are played. That neurological change is said to positively affect our mathematical abilities. I’d been fascinated by what some researchers have called the Mozart Effect, and have used the study to convince more than one mother to keep her struggling child in piano lessons.

But the only connection I’d ever made between astronomy and music was in the way each made me feel. When I looked up into the firmament, I felt the same reverence that moved in me when I listened to the swell of great music. I’d never had anyone teach me about the stars like Samuel’s grandmother had done for him. What I’d learned in school textbooks failed to inspire me, as if some vital piece was being omitted. The galaxy was a riddle that everyone pretended to know the answer to, but no one really did. At school, I’d often find myself growing impatient with facts and figures that seemed like paltry suggestions for something that was beyond words and explanations.

After dinner on our third day there, Samuel and I climbed a rocky rise near his grandmother’s hogan as the sun set. And as the purple dusk was overcome with black, we watched the stars blink and awaken above us. As the night deepened and the display became more dramatic, I felt that familiar, humble wonder that I always felt when I contemplated the heavens. My limbs were heavy and my belly was full, and I felt more content and relaxed than I could remember feeling in a very long time.

Samuel’s grandmother had killed a goat in honor of his visit, and she’d spent the last two days cooking and preparing dishes. I was not especially squeamish, but when Samuel had told me that his grandmother used literally everything from the goat, I had been a little doubtful about my ability to take part in the feast being prepared. I’d even watched her make blood cakes, and amazingly enough, in spite of the gruesome name, they weren’t bad. They were heavy and filling and when they were cooking they smelled delicious. Two of Grandma Yazzie’s friends came and helped her with her preparations, and I was struck by how similar they were to the women in my church, laughing and giggling and working side by side. I marveled at the ingenuity and resourcefulness of these people. They even used ash from the juniper trees to leaven and thicken their bread.

The goat feast had been a lighthearted gathering of Grandma Yazzie’s friends, all who seemed to know and hold affection for Samuel. His mother had come as well but seemed ill at ease and confrontational towards Grandma Yazzie. In some ways, she looked older than her mother, although she was probably only in her late forties. Deep lines and sunken eyes told a tale of a very sad woman. Samuel seemed glad to see her and embraced her warmly, but shrugged with acceptance when she left not long after she arrived.

Now, lying beside Samuel on the smooth surface of the sandstone rise, looking up into the endless expanse of the night sky, I asked him about the woman who was his mother.

“She still lives with my step-dad, although I haven’t seen him since I left that last time my senior year in high school. My shima’s hogan has been neutral ground for my mother and I to see each other over the years.”

“She doesn’t seem to like Grandma Yazzie very much,” I said truthfully.

“She can’t ever get a rise out of Grandma. I think she tries to provoke ill-treatment from her to justify her own bad feelings. But my Grandma just loves her and, from what I can see, offers peace whenever she comes around. Sadly, my mother has betrayed herself too many times, and she is turning into a bear.”

“A bear?” I questioned, confused.

“Another legend. When I was little, my grandmother told me a story about a woman who was captured by the bear-clan. At night they were bears, but in the day, human. The woman marries the chief of the bear clan and eventually, after living with the bear clan for many years, she starts to grow fur and becomes a bear.”

“And your mother is becoming like the bear she married?”

“Ahh, you catch on quick, Josie. Actually, in the legend, the bear is selfless and loving, and dies for his family in the end, but I was always struck by the idea that we become what we surround ourselves by,” Samuel sighed. “Or maybe it’s just easier to blame my step-dad for what my mother has become than to hold her accountable.”

“I think the legend is truer than you even realize. Have you ever noticed how old married couples start to resemble each other after many years of marriage?” I giggled at the thought of some of the very old couples in Levan, and how they could almost be brother and sister they looked so much alike.

“So if you marry me, in fifty years my hair will start to curl and my eyes will be a brilliant blue?” Samuel teased softly, not turning toward me, his eyes trained on the stars above us.

My heart stuttered, and the image of growing old with Samuel suddenly played through my mind in moving pictures. I sat up abruptly, wrapping my arms around my knees, and struggled to think of something, anything, to say that would take the pictures from my head and the longing from my heart.

If Samuel perceived my discomfort, he didn’t pursue it, and his voice was soft as he moved the conversation to less personal ground, but he stretched his hand out and ran his fingers gently through my curls as he spoke.

“I’ll be at Camp Pendleton in San Diego for the next couple of years, Josie. I accepted an assignment at the base with the sniper division. I will be an instructor, training and working with Marines who are expert riflemen. I won’t have to live on base, and I won’t be considered active for deployment with my unit. I’ve been accepted to law school at San Diego State, and I can attend classes in the afternoon and evenings.”

He had it all planned out. I guess he’d figured out what he’d wanted. When we’d stood in the kitchen the morning after our run, he’d claimed he hadn’t decided what came next. It seemed he now knew. I was proud of him and frustrated all at the same time.

“How do you do it, Samuel?” I asked, and I was surprised at the confrontational edge to my voice, “How do you come here and see your grandma, see her growing older, knowing one day she’ll be gone, not knowing if this time might be the last time you see her, and then leave again?”

“Do you think my shima needs me to stay, Josie?” Samuel sat up beside me, and the fingers that had been gently twined in my hair now slid to my chin, turning my face to his. “Do you really think she wants me to stay?”

I tried to jerk my face from his hand, but he leaned into me and answered his own question. “I accomplish nothing by staying here. My grandmother knows I love her, and she expects me to keep moving forward. Do you remember how, when I was born, my grandmother buried my umbilical cord in her hogan so that I would know I always have a home?”

I nodded a brief yes.

“This place is in my heart, but it can’t be my home, not now, maybe not ever. Do you remember how Grandma knew it wasn’t right, so she dug up the cord and put it on the gun rack?”

Again, I nodded.

“There are many kinds of warriors, Josie. I’ve been one kind, and you know the saying goes, once a Marine always a Marine, but now I need to be a different kind of warrior for the Navajo people. I want to get my law degree so I can help native people retain their lands, and not just the Navajo people. Our government doesn’t need acres and acres of land. Do you know that the United States Government OWNS more than half of the land out west? As much as 60% of the land in some states. The government goes in and takes the land in the name of the people, but what it is doing is taking the land from the people. The founding fathers, as well as a few of the great chiefs, would be rolling in their graves if they knew about the land grab that has happened by our own government.”

Samuel breathed out in frustration, dropping his hand from my face and running it through his hair. “Don’t even get me started, Josie.” He paused and then confronted me again. “So you think I should live here with my grandma in her hogan? Is that what you’re saying, Josie? Live here and herd sheep? Do you think my grandma would think I loved her more if I did?”

I felt like the lowest of life forms, and I shook my head miserably. “No, Samuel, I don’t. I’m sorry. I’m not really sure what I meant.”

The silence around us was broken only by the occasional distant laughter floating up from the hogan below and an orchestra of happy crickets united in their evening song. Several long moments passed before Samuel supplied gently, “Maybe we aren’t really talking about me, Josie.”

Samuel waited patiently for an answer, but after significant time passed without a response, he silently rose to his feet. He reached his hand down, and I took it, letting him pull me up beside him.

“We’ve got an early morning tomorrow, Josie. Let’s go back and see if they’ve saved us any goat gut ice cream.”

“Ugh!” I cried out, totally falling for it.

“Just kidding, sweetheart. Goat eyeballs are actually quite tasty, though. They’re considered a delicacy among my people.”

“Samuel!”

His laughter eased the churning in my heart, and I followed him down the steep path back to the dim light of Grandma Yazzie’s hogan.

* * *

There were no tears when Samuel and his grandmother said their goodbyes the next morning. The sun was just peeking its way over the eastern mountains as they spoke in low tones, their cheeks pressed together, Samuel’s forehead resting on her shoulder, his back bowed to accommodate their embrace. I turned from them, embarrassed to find my own eyes were moist when theirs were not. I guess I just didn’t like goodbyes.

I felt a gentle touch on my sleeve, and turned to see Grandma Yazzie standing close beside me. Her eyes searched mine, noting, I’m sure, the wet that was threatening to overcome them. She reached up and patted my cheek with her warm, rough palm. When she spoke, her English was almost perfect.

“Thank you for coming. Samuel loves you. You love Samuel. Go and be happy.”

I put my hand over hers and held it for a moment. Then she stepped away from me, and my eyes overflowed. I turned from her quickly, stepping into the cab of the truck. Samuel must have heard what she’d said; he was only a few feet away. Our small bags and the two bedrolls were already stowed in the truck bed ready to go, so it was only a minute before he climbed in beside me and started the truck.

As we pulled away, I found myself gulping as I tried to stem the flow of tears that would not be calmed. I jabbed at the jockey box, seeking reinforcements, and grabbed a handful of brown Taco Bell napkins and scrubbed at my face, desperately trying to dam the stream of my unruly emotions.

“Oh Josie,” Samuel sighed gently. “Your heart is too tender for your own good.”

“I don’t usually cry like this, Samuel. Geez, it’s been years since I’ve cried like this. Since you’ve been back I can’t seem to stop. It’s like a cloud has burst inside me, and I’m caught in a constant downpour.”

“Come here, Josie,” Samuel said, and when I slid over next to him he kissed me gently on the forehead and smoothed my hair from my damp cheeks. “Well then, maybe you should go ahead and just let it rain for a while.”

And so I did. I cried until I was all wrung out, and I didn’t think I would cry again for a good many more years. Then I laid my head down on Samuel’s right thigh and fell asleep with his hand in my hair and Conway Twitty singing “Don’t Take it Away” on the radio.

* * *

We made good time on the way home. Apparently, all those tears I’d cried had been heavy, because I felt strangely weightless and empty for most of the drive. Samuel and I talked of this and that, but the conversation was light and roaming. We got caught in a downpour, of the natural variety this time, and when the rain cleared a huge rainbow traversed the sky. This prompted another Navajo legend about Changing Woman’s sons trying to reach the Turquoise House of Sun-God across the Great Water. The story told how, when they reached the Great Water, they followed Spider Woman’s directions and with songs and prayers, put their hands into the Great Waters and a huge Rainbow Bridge appeared to take them to the Sun-God. The story also involved the sons meeting a little red headed man who resembled a sand scorpion and spitting four times into their hands, but it was a good story regardless.

The peculiarities in the story made me wonder if many of the Native American legends had started out as truths long ago, and had gotten warped in the telling from one generation to the next, like that game children played at parties where everyone sits in a circle and one person whispers something in the ear of the person sitting next to them, and that person repeats what he heard to the person sitting next to him and so on, until it travels around the entire circle. If the circle is big enough the phrase at the end rarely even resembles the original phrase. I asked Samuel what he thought of my theory.

“Most likely some of that has happened,” Samuel acquiesced. “There was no way to accurately record the stories because we didn’t have a written language. Many of our legends and our history have been recorded now, however, and I guess you could say that is one bright spot in the assimilation of the Navajo children into American schools. We can speak and write in English and can preserve our culture in that way.

“I think many of the legends weren’t ever truths to begin with, though. Not in the way you mean, at least. Many of the legends were stories the native people used to teach their children and to create a code of conduct in which to live by. They didn’t have a Bible to teach their children about a loving Savior, His atonement, and a life after this one. I think many of our legends are an attempt to explain what they didn’t understand—including where they came from and why they existed. They wanted to know what we all want to know. Who am I? Why am I here?”

I pondered what Samuel had said and wondered about my own desperate questions after Kasey had died. It hadn’t been until he died that I really questioned God’s plan for me. I hadn’t really questioned who I was and why I was here until I could no longer look at my future with any kind of joy or anticipation, until I needed help finding a reason to continue. It was then that I had needed answers most of all, and the only answer I had found, my only reason for being, had become my father’s need. Then Sonja had needed me, and I had found a measure of joy in service, and it had sustained me. Until now. Now I had questions again.

* * *

We rolled into Levan at about six-thirty that night. I felt haggard and filthy, but was loath to part with Samuel for any length of time. I suggested that we rendezvous back at my place for dinner in an hour, giving each of us a chance to freshen up after several days of showering with a bucket and a hand towel.

I greeted my happy dog with a hug and a kiss and stumbled into the bathroom avoiding the mirror entirely, deciding that what I didn’t know couldn’t hurt me. I scrubbed and lathered and moisturized and came out of the shower feeling almost new again. I threw all the clothes from the five day trip into the wash and pulled on a skirt, a light weight pink top, and enjoyed putting on make-up with a full mirror for the first time in days. My nose was a little sunburned and my cheeks had a few more freckles, but when I was done I looked refreshed, and my hair gleamed around my shoulders.

I started some pasta on the stove and defrosted some sausage in the microwave. I fried it up and poured some homemade tomato sauce over it that I had canned a few weeks previous and decided it would suffice for an easy meal. I ran out to my garden on a whim, craving fresh vegetables in a salad and was just straightening up with my basket full of produce when Samuel surprised me, walking around the corner of the house towards me. My heart performed a series of flips, and I caught my breath before it left me senseless. How, after only an hour apart, could I be so desperately happy to see him? His black hair shone, and his warm skin glowed as he shot me a smile that sent a jolt from my stomach to my now wobbly knees. I curled my bare feet in the cool dirt pushing up between my toes and smiled back at him, waiting for him to reach me.

He stopped in front of me, and without missing a beat, he took the basket from my hand, set it down beside my feet, and wrapped his arms around me. He smelled wonderful—like juniper trees, Ivory soap and temptation all mixed together. My eyelids fluttered closed as his lips found mine and didn’t retreat for several long minutes.

“I missed you,” he breathed, and there was a rueful expression on his face as my eyelids lifted heavily to meet his gaze. He dropped another kiss on my needy lips as he leaned down and picked up the basket of vegetables, looping his free arm around my waist as we made our way into the house.

We ate with Yazzie sleeping at our feet, and the sound of a distant lawn mower humming through the open kitchen window. Beethoven softly serenaded us from the living room stereo, and I had been lost in the music and the meal for quite some time when I realized that Samuel had stopped eating and was listening intently.

I watched him, waiting for him to tell me what was wrong.

“What is that called?”

“The piece?”

“No…not the name of the piece. The musical term. You explained it to me once. I just remembered it as I was listening to the music continually return to that one sound. What is it called?

“Do you mean the tonic note?” I asked, surprised.

“Yeah, I think that’s what you called it.”

“Your ear has become very sharp. You’re hearing the tonic note, even when it isn’t being played. It’s more subtle in this piece than in some other works.”

“Explain it to me again,” he demanded, his expression one of deep concentration.

“Well…a tonic note is the first note of a scale, which serves as the home base around which all the other pitches revolve and to which they ultimately gravitate. If a song has a strong tonic base you can hum the tonic note throughout the song, and it will blend with every note and chord.”

“That’s right. I remember now.” Samuel seemed to be pondering this bit of musical theory very seriously, and I kept stealing looks at his frowning countenance. I cleared the dishes, and we washed and dried side by side, Beethoven’s 13th String Quartet winding down behind us. He walked in to the living room and switched it off as I put the last dish in the cupboard. He moved to the piano and lifted the lid over the keys.

“I haven’t heard you play for so long, Josie. Will you play for me tonight?” His voice was wistful as his fingers ran over the piano keys.

“I don’t know. You never did sing me the Irish Lament,” I teased gently, reminding him of our agreement at Burraston’s Pond.

“Hmm. That’s true. We had a deal. Okay…I’ll tell you the Irish Lament; I won’t sing it. But you have to promise me something first.”

I waited, looking at him.

“You have to promise you won’t run away.”

Samuel moved from the bench, tall and straight, and looked down at me. “I don’t want the poem to make you feel uncomfortable. It’s a poem about lovers. It might scare you and make you run away, or it might make you fall in love with me.” I blushed and snorted as if his suggestion was ludicrous.

“So I can’t run away but it’s okay if I fall in love with you?”

“That depends,” he retorted smoothly.

“On what?”

“On whether you run away.”

“You’re speaking in riddles.”

He shrugged. “Do we have a deal?”

“Deal.” I held out my hand, but my heart lurched a little in my chest.

Samuel closed his eyes for a minute, as if to pull the words from some recess in his mind, then he tilted his head toward me and began to recite softly:

Oh, a wan cloud was drawn o’er the dim weeping dawn

As to Josie’s side I returned at last,

And the heart in my breast for the girl I lov’d best

Was beating, ah, beating, how loud and fast!

While the doubts and the fears of the long aching years

Seem’d mingling their voices with the moaning flood:

Till full in my path, like a wild water wraith,

My true love’s shadow lamenting stood.

But the sudden sun kiss’d the cold, cruel mist

Into dancing show’rs of diamond dew,

And the dark flowing stream laugh’d back to his beam,

And the lark soared aloft in the blue:

While no phantom of night but a form of delight

Ran with arms outspread to her darling boy,

And the girl I love best on my wild throbbing breast

Hid her thousand treasures with cry of joy.

There was a giant lump in my throat, and we stared at each other. I breathed deeply, trying to halt the emotion rising over me. Samuel closed the final step between us.

“That’s exactly how it happened, too. You suddenly came out of nowhere in the middle of a rainstorm. And then you were in my arms.”

“Are you trying to seduce me, Samuel?” I’d meant to sound playful, but my voice came out in a low plea.

“No.” Samuel’s voice was warm and intense, and he shook his head as he spoke.

“Am I the ‘girl you love best’?” Again my striving for lightness fell short, as I was unable to clothe the words in jest. I didn’t want him to answer my question and quickly withdrew my gaze from his and walked to the piano. I slid onto the bench and launched into Chopin’s “Fantasie Impromptu,” my fingers flying dizzily over the keys, the music as frenzied and frantic as my racing heart. The second movement smoothed into the lovely melody and I played for several minutes with Samuel standing behind me, unmoving. When the piece resumed the flying pace of the opening movement, he moved behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders, and I struggled to finish the number.

“You ran away. You said you wouldn’t,” Samuel sighed behind me.

“I’m right here.”

“Your fingers are flying, trying to escape.”

I put my hands in my lap and bowed my head. Music was too revealing. Chopin had just told Samuel exactly what I was feeling, despite my attempts to avoid him.

One of Samuel’s hands rose to my bowed head and he traced a loose curl that had been lying against the nape of my neck with his calloused fingers. I shivered.

“Will you play something else?”

“You can’t touch me. I...I can’t concentrate when you do.” My voice was a whisper, and I cringed at the childlike breathiness.

Samuel’s hands fell away from my shoulders, and he moved away without response and leaned against the living room door, where he could see my face as I played. That wasn’t much better. I tried to close my eyes so I could concentrate. I knew what he wanted to hear. I knew what I wanted to play, but worried that once again, it would lay my heart open, revealing too much.

I let my fingers dance lightly across the keys, giving in to the vulnerability that I knew echoed in my very first composition. I hadn’t written any music for a very long time. I had composed feverishly until I met Kasey, and then I’d let myself be seventeen. I’d been young and in love, and I hadn’t felt the melancholy that induced my most creative moments, and I hadn’t wanted to write. I’d wanted to be seventeen. I had enjoyed acting my age for once in my life. Of course, since he’d died, melancholy hadn’t been a problem. But my gift had been strangely silent in the last five years.

Now “Samuel’s Song” rose lovingly from the keys and wound its way around us. I embellished as I played, remembering all the old feelings. A girl in love with someone she couldn’t have. My heart ached in my chest, but I let it. I wasn’t going to hide anymore. I kept my eyes closed, and my hands knew their way. The keys were cool against my fingertips, and I lost myself in the sweet agony of my song.

Suddenly, Samuel was next to me on the bench, his long body sliding next to mine, my hands falling discordantly from the keys as his arms wrapped around me and his lips captured mine anxiously. My arms rushed to embrace him, as my right hand rose to his face. My head was pressed into his shoulder, and he pulled me across his lap, his mouth moving feverishly over mine.

I heard myself say his name as he moved his lips from mine to rain kisses across my jaw and down the silky column of my throat. I shuddered deep down in my stomach, and my hand tightened on his face, pushing him from me to stare into his eyes. He looked down at me, and his breath was harsh, coming in pants like it never did when he ran. His eyes glittered and burned, and his lips were parted as he struggled to control his breathing.

“How am I going to keep my promise if you keep kissing me?” I whispered urgently.

“What promise?”

He hadn’t released his hold on me, and I was still grasped tightly in his arms.

“Not to fall in love with you,” I murmured emphatically. The heat from my belly defied gravity and rushed to my already flushed face.

He didn’t respond, and I pulled myself from his arms. He let me go. I rose and stepped away from him.

He stood behind me, and I moved toward the door.

“Josie.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t let me answer your question.”

“Which question was that?”

“You asked me if you were the girl I loved best.”

Now I didn’t respond.

“You’re not the girl I love best, Josie.” My shoulders tightened against rejection. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever loved,” he finished quietly. My breath caught, not quite believing what I was hearing. “I know I’m moving too fast. I just can’t seem to help myself. I watch you and listen to you and all I want to do is hold you and kiss you, and I…I’m sorry if I am pushing you...” His voice faded off. I didn’t know how to respond. My heart had resumed its gallop, and I laid a hand against my heart to ease its rhythm. His hands were gentle on my shoulders, and he turned me to face him. I looked up into his face and was lost in what I knew was coming.

“I want you to come with me to San Diego. I want you to marry me. Now, next week, next month, whenever you’re ready. You can go to school—or just play the piano all day. I don’t care as long as you’re happy and you’re with me.” Samuel’s hands framed my face and his eyes pled with mine.

“First you tell me not to fall in love with you and five minutes later you ask me to marry you!” I blurted out. I was reeling, euphoria threatening to bubble up and carry me away while the weight of my responsibilities clawed in my throat.

“Oh Josie! I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I? Please try to understand,” Samuel groaned out. “I do want you to love me, Josie, because I love you so much it makes me ache. But if you’re going to run away, loving me will just make you unhappy.”

“I’m not the one leaving, Samuel! Why can’t you stay here? Why do you have to leave?” I cried, sounding to my own ears like a very young child.

“For the same reasons I can’t live on the reservation. My future isn’t here. I have commitments that I have to keep to the Marines, to myself, even to my people. This isn’t where I’m needed.”

“I need you!” Again the child in me made her appeal.

“Then come with me.”

“I can’t go. I can’t leave. I’m needed here.”

“I need you,” Samuel implored softly, repeating my words. “I need you because I love you.”

I felt strangely detached, as if I was watching this scene play out in a Jane Austen novel. I felt grief, but it was a sympathetic grief, the kind of grief I often feel for someone else’s pain—almost the way I’d felt at my mom’s funeral—like it wasn’t real yet. I stepped back from Samuel.

“I can’t go with you, Samuel. I’m sorry.” My voice sounded funny, and it felt heavy on my lips, similar to those awful dreams where you try to speak but can’t because your mouth is suddenly unable to form the words.

Samuel’s face tightened briefly like he was angry with me, and then it softened as he gazed down at me. His black eyes lingered on me for a moment more.

“I was afraid of that. I realized something tonight when we were listening to Beethoven. You’re like the tonic note. You’re the note that all the other notes revolve around and gravitate to. You’re home. Without you, the song just might not be a song, your family might not be a family. That’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it? Who will step in and be the home base, the tonic note, if you go?” Samuel’s eyes were bleak as he continued, his voice husky and low. “That’s what you’ve been for me ever since I met you. The note I could hear, even when it wasn’t being played. The one I’ve gravitated toward all these years.” He leaned into me and kissed the top of my head gently. His hand cupped my cheek briefly, and his thumb traced my trembling lower lip.

“I love you, Josie,” he said. Then he turned and walked out of my house.

The following morning his truck was gone, just as it had been the day after Daisy’s colt was born all those years ago.

The Leading Note

Samuel had been gone for two weeks, and I kept myself as busy as I could. I did all my regular duties—I cut hair, I taught piano lessons, and I ran several miles a day. In addition, I harvested what was left in my garden. Then I canned until the early morning hours, bottles of beets and tomatoes and green beans and pickles. I made lasagnas and casseroles and stuck them in the freezer in single serving sizes. When there was nothing left to bottle or freeze I alphabetized and reorganized my food storage. Then I decided the house was in need of a deep clean. I scrubbed blinds and washed curtains and steamed carpets. Then I started in on the yard. In other words…I was a mess.

I made myself listen to the music I loved as I worked. I would not be a coward anymore. If I acted like a lunatic, so be it! In my mind I raged and I vowed that Samuel’s leaving would not make me resort to musical holocaust. I was done with that nonsense! I played Grieg until my fingers were stiff, and I worked with the frenzy of Balakirev’s “Islamey” pounding out of the loud speakers. My dad came inside during that one and turned around and walked right back out again.

On day fifteen, I made a chocolate cake worthy of the record books. It was disgustingly rich and fattening, teetering several stories high, weighing more than I did, laden with thick cream cheese frosting, and sprinkled liberally with chocolate shavings. I sat down to eat it with a big fork and no bib. I dug in with a gusto seen only at those highly competitive hotdog eating contests where the tiny Asian girl kicks all the fat boys’ butts.

“JOSIE JO JENSEN!” Louise and Tara stood at the kitchen door, shock and revulsion and maybe just a little envy in their faces. Brahms “Rhapsodie No. 2 in G Minor” was making my little kitchen shake. Eating cake to Brahms was a new experience for me. I liked it. I dug back in, ignoring them.

“Well Mom,” I heard Tara say, “what should we do?!”

My Aunt Louise was a very practical woman. “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em!” she quoted cheerfully.

Before I knew it, Tara and Louise both had forks, too. They didn’t seem to need bibs either. We ate, increasing our tempo as the music intensified.

“ENOUGH!” My dad stood in the doorway. He was good and mad, too. His sun-browned face was as ruddy as my favorite high heels.

“I sent you two in for an intervention! What is this?! Eater’s Anonymous Gone Wild?”

“Aww, Daddy. Get a fork,” I replied, barely breaking rhythm.

My dad strode over, took the fork from my hand and threw it, tines first, right into the wall. It stuck there, embedded and twanging like a sword at a medieval tournament. He pulled out my chair and grabbed me under the arms, pushing me out of the kitchen. I tried to take one last swipe at my cake, but he let out this in-human roar, and I abandoned all hope of making myself well and truly sick.

“Tara! Aunt Louise!” I shouted frantically. “I want you gone!! That’s my cake! You can’t have any more without me!”

My dad pushed me through the front door and out onto the porch, the screen banging behind him. I sunk to the porch swing, sullenly wiping chocolate crumbs from my mouth. My dad stomped back inside the house and suddenly the music pouring from every nook and cranny stopped abruptly. I heard him tell Louise he would call her later, and then the kitchen door banged, indicating my aunt’s and Tara’s departure. Good. They would have eaten that whole cake. I saw the way they were shoveling it in.

My dad lumbered out the front door and sank into the swing beside me. We rocked in silence for a while, my feet tucked under me, his feet in his old boots pushing back and forth, back and forth. There was a briskness to the night air that hadn’t been there a week ago. The fall was in full thrust now, the leaves brilliant in their death throes. I felt the winter coming on. What had Samuel told me about Changing Woman and spring being a time of rebirth? Changing Woman ushered in the seasons, brought new life. This season wouldn’t be ushering in a new life. My life would remain the same.

I suddenly felt very old and tired…and full. Shame and fatigue crashed over me, and I reached for my dad’s hand. His palms were chapped and worn, and they were almost as brown as Samuel’s. How I loved my father’s hands! How I loved him. I had made my dad worry about me. I looked up into his face and saw the emotions I was feeling mirrored in his eyes. I brought his hand to my cheek and leaned my face into his palm. He cupped my face in that big palm, and his eyes filled with sadness.

“Josie Jo. What am I going to do without you?” His voice was gruff and tired.

“I’m not going anywhere, Dad,” I said softly, my voice cracking a little as I thought of Samuel.

“Yes honey, you are.” Emotion shook in his voice. “You are going to go. I won’t let you stay here anymore.”

I felt the bottom drop out of my chest and my heart plummet, crashing in tiny pieces at my feet. My hand, still holding onto his, fell to my lap.

“Don’t you want me to stay with you, Dad?” My voice quavered, and I bit down on my bottom lip.

“Honey, it isn’t about what I want anymore. I’ve let you take care of me and your brothers since you were nine years old! I just can’t, in good conscience, let you do it anymore.”

“Dad!” I cried out in denial. “You’ve taken care of all of us! I just did my part!”

“You did more than your part, Josie. You never were a child—not after your mother died. You always had this wisdom and maturity that made me feel like maybe it was okay to let you have your head. But your heart rules your head, Josie. You would stay here forever just to take care of me and stay true to a love that will never be returned. Not in this life. Kasey’s gone, baby. He isn’t coming back.”

“I know that Dad, believe me, I do….I just don’t know how to say goodbye this time. It isn’t the same as it was with mom. I knew it was coming, even as young as I was. I knew she was going to die. I knew she was going to have to leave me. And I knew she expected me to go on living and loving and learning. I just don’t know how to say goodbye this time,” I repeated, and bit back a sob. My dad pulled me into his lap, just like he’d done over four years ago when he had found me in my mother’s wedding dress.

He rocked me, rubbing my back, and smoothing my hair as I wept into his shirt. I thought I was done with tears. I didn’t want to cry for Kasey anymore. But I knew I wasn’t crying for him. I think I was crying out of self-pity, and that was even worse. I rubbed angrily at my cheeks and pressed my fists into my eyes, willing myself to stop.

“I’m in love with Samuel, Dad.”

My dad’s feet stuttered a little in their rhythm and then, with barely a hitch, resumed rocking.

“I thought maybe you might be. You’ve been acting so strange lately.” He lifted me up off his chest so he could stare into my face. “But honey….isn’t it a little too soon to know? He was only in town about a month.”

I laughed out loud, the sound harsh and humorless. “I’ve loved Samuel since I was thirteen years old, Dad,” I responded, staring back into his eyes, smiling at his shock. I patted his cheek, reassuring him. “Don’t worry, Dad. It wasn’t like that.” I leaned back against him as I told him our love story. For that is what it was.

“Samuel and I met on the school bus. We were assigned to the same seat. For eight months we rode that bus back and forth from Nephi, and we slowly became friends. We fell in love to Beethoven and Shakespeare. We argued about books and bias and principles and passion. Our friendship was truly unique.” I paused, gathering my thoughts. “I didn’t know how special he was until he was gone. I didn’t realize I was in love with him; I just wanted my friend back. And he was gone so long. He was gone long enough for me to believe he was never coming back—gone long enough for me to fall in love again. The second time, with Kasey, I was old enough to recognize it for what it was. I was smart enough to hold on tight, and that made losing Kasey even harder. I had been in love before, and I knew how it felt to lose it.”

“I never knew anything about Samuel, Josie.” My dad’s voice was disbelieving.

“Nobody did, Dad. I didn’t know how to share him. I thought if I talked about him it might make you nervous. He was eighteen years old, and half Navajo Indian to boot, which would have made you even more uncomfortable because you didn’t know anything about him or where he came from. I was your thirteen-year-old daughter. Do you see the dilemma?”

“Yeah. Not an easy sell, huh?” my dad muttered and chuckled sympathetically at my long ago plight.

We rocked in silence once more.

“So what now, Josie?” my dad said slowly. “Where is he?”

My heart contracted fiercely. “I told him I couldn’t marry him, Dad. This is my home. He’s a Marine, and he has responsibilities. He can’t stay, I can’t go. That’s all there is to it.” My voice carried a bravado that was all pretend.

“Is it because of what you said before, Josie?” my dad asked gently.

“What do you mean?” I asked hesitantly, not following.

“When you said you didn’t know how to say goodbye this time. Why can’t you say goodbye? You just said yourself you loved Samuel even before you loved Kasey. Why would you give Samuel up when Kasey is lost to you, anyway?”

“I’ve never been the one to leave, Dad.” I didn’t know how to put any of this into words. My dad looked at me somberly, waiting. “Everyone has left me… Mom, Samuel, Kasey, even Sonja. They left. I stayed. I don’t know how to leave. It just feels wrong. It feels wrong to leave Sonja, wrong to leave you, and it feels like a betrayal to let Kasey go.”

“Don’t you think he’d want you to?”

“I honestly don’t know, Dad. Being left behind is horrible.”

“Ah honey, you’re not thinking straight.” He was quiet for a moment, and I could tell he was struggling to say what came next. “And don’t think I didn’t know that some of your dilemma is leaving me. I won’t have it, Josie. I am your father, and you are not going to stay here your whole life out of loyalty to me. Growing up and moving out is not the same thing as leaving, and you can’t think of it like that.” His voice was stern, and I decided not to argue with him.

“Do you think Kasey loved you, Josie?” my dad asked after a moment or two.

“I know he did, Dad,” I answered, and felt myself getting choked up all over again.

“I know he did too, honey. But I don’t know that you woulda been as happy as you coulda been if you’d married him.”

I was stunned. “What are you talking about?” My dad had never expressed any misgivings to me about Kasey.

“Kasey was a good boy. He was everything a man wants for his daughter. He would have been loyal and hardworking. He would have been loving and faithful and committed to you all your life.”

“But…?” There was a ‘but’ in this equation, and I couldn’t even guess at what it might be.

“But you woulda been lonely deep down. You woulda been fightin’ it all your life.”

“I wasn’t lonely with Kasey ever!” I argued sincerely.

“You woulda been, honey. You have this hunger for…for things that are a mystery to me. You’ve got music in your blood. You see beauty in things other people just take for granted. You need understanding, and, and…deep conversation, and someone who can keep up with that mind of yours! When you were just a little kid you would ask me the strangest things about God and the universe…things that would blow me away. One time, you were playing with this puzzle on the floor, and you couldn’t have been more than five or six. You stopped and looked at the puzzle for a long time. Finally, you asked me, ‘Dad, do you think this puzzle could ever put itself together if I shook it just right?’ and I said, ‘No honey, I don’t think there’s any chance of that.’ Do you remember what you said then?”

I shook my head in soggy bewilderment.

“You said, ‘Well, then I guess there’s no way the world just happened by itself. Someone had to put it together.’ I thought about that for two weeks! Hell, Josie…I don’t understand half of what you say when you talk...and I know for dang sure poor Kasey Judd didn’t have a clue most the time either.”

I didn’t know what to say. I just sat there with my mouth agape.

“You said you and Samuel fell in love to Beethoven and Shakespeare. That tells me somethin’ right there.” My dad leaned forward resting his hands on his knees, looking off into the moonlit sky. When he spoke again his voice was hoarse with emotion.

“What does Samuel do when you talk to him, Josie? What does he say? Does he hear you, the way none of us can?” My father gazed at me then, and there were tears in his eyes.

I brought my hands to my dad’s face, deeply moved by his understanding. An understanding I had never given him credit for. Tears trickled down my cheeks and ran along my jaw, spilling down my neck.

“The way I see it Josie, is God knows your heart.” My dad’s eyes never left mine, and we both wept unabashedly. “He took Kasey away for a reason. Kasey was not for you. You would never have seen that on your own. I know you’ve thought God turned his back on you. But He’s looked out for you, Josie. He’s prepared someone for you who can love every part of you. I don’t want you holdin’ back all your life, sharing yourself in doses that people will accept. If Samuel is man enough to take it all, every last drop...then I hope you know where Samuel is…because I expect you to find him.”

My dad stood up, walking toward the front door, the emotion of the evening getting to be too much for him. He needed his horses like I needed “Ode to Joy.” His hand rested on the handle of the door, and he turned toward me again. “You have somethin’ written on that wall in your room. I remember reading it….it’s been there forever. It’s scripture, I think…but you changed it a little. Somethin’ about what true love is. If what you and Kasey had was true love Josie, he wouldn’t want you to stay.”

He sighed. He’d said what he’d needed to say and was eager for a cessation of conversation. “I love you, Josie. Don’t stay out here too long. You’ve gotta do somethin’ with that cake mess in there.” He smiled at me and was gone, trudging through the house and out the back door, escaping to the solace of his equine friends.

“And true love suffereth long, and is kind; true love envieth not; true love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil. True love rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; true love beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. True love never faileth…” I whispered the words to myself, and finally found a way to say goodbye.

* * *

Dear Samuel,

When two complimentary notes are sung or played in perfect pitch, a phenomenon occurs. The related frequencies actually split, like light through a prism, and overtones can be heard. It almost sounds like angel voices singing along in perfect harmony. They can be difficult to hear, they glimmer in and out like faulty radio reception, but they are there, a little miracle waiting to be discovered. The first time I heard them I thought of you and wanted to tell you that I’d finally heard it, a strain of God’s music. When I’m with you a similar phenomenon occurs. I hear music.

Wherever you go, I’ll follow. I just want to be with you. Will you marry me?

I love you,

Josie

Postlude

I married Samuel Yates a month later, the day after Thanksgiving, in the beautiful chapel in Levan. Samuel had a friend, a fellow Marine, who played the piano by ear. He was stateside for our wedding, and after listening to “Samuel’s Song” a few times, was able to play it flawlessly as I walked down the aisle. Sonja was unable to attend, but she was there in that song. I remembered her words to me when I’d poured my heart and soul into it so long ago. “If I didn’t know better, Josie, I’d think you were in love.”

Samuel was breathtaking in his dress blues. Both of his grandmothers and his mother sat together and wept as a trio. My dad and Don Yates were equally overcome. The chapel was full of family and friends. Even Kasey’s parents came. I like to think maybe he and my mother were able to attend, to step into our realm for a brief moment.

I wore my mother’s dress and swept my hair up under the long white veil I’d wrapped myself in years ago on our front swing, mourning the bride I thought I’d never be.

Tara was my only bridesmaid, and she wore yellow and gleefully tossed pink rose petals as she pranced down the aisle. When it was time, I walked with measured steps toward Samuel, and his face reflected the joy that sang in my soul. He reached out for me, accepting my hand as my father gave me away and then slid into the pew next to Aunt Louise, letting her hold his hand while he cried, unashamed.

Samuel and I exchanged the simple vows of countless generations, but he surprised me by reciting the verses written on my Wall of Words from 1st Corinthians, Chapter 13. As he spoke the words with such heartfelt devotion, I marveled that God had brought me to this day and to this man.

When the words were spoken and we were pronounced man and wife, Samuel slid a ring on my finger, a stone to represent each of the four sacred mountains of the Navajo Nation embedded in the silver band. It had been his mother’s ring, given to her by Samuel’s father.

Then I kissed my husband for the first time. He whispered something in my ear, and I looked into his face as he repeated the word softly.

“It is my Navajo name.”

I touched his face reverently.

“You are my wife, and the closest person to me. You should know my name because it is yours now as well.”

My heart was so full I couldn’t speak.

“I have a Navajo name for you too, Josie. I gave it to you long ago. My Chitasie,” Samuel murmured.

“What does it mean?”

“Teacher.”

Author’s Note

Like the main character in my book, I grew up in Levan, Utah. My family moved there when I was just shy of six years old. We didn’t have any family in Levan, and it was a series of strange coincidence that brought us there. Levan is a great little place, full of wonderful people, and it holds a special place in my heart. There really is a beautiful old church there, built early in the 1900’s. There really was a ‘country mall’ and Pete’s bar. There actually was a Shepherd’s Mercantile and an old school. The Levan Cemetery does sit about a half mile north of Tuckaway Hill—and many of the descriptions are very accurate.

Every author has to write about what they know, and though I used many of the last names that you’ll still find in Levan, I tried very hard to get the feel of the people and the place without using actual people or their names for my story. Any similarities are simply coincidence and were not intended to personify any real living person or persons. The events and people described in this book are completely fictitious.

The stories and legends of the Navajo and Native American people are retold with the utmost respect and no copyright infringement was intended. The song used in the book is not an actual Navajo song, though I tried to contain the sentiment of many of their ancient songs. I have been fascinated by the Native American culture for many years. As a second grade teacher I spent an entire quarter on Native American studies, and my students and I fell in love.

A wise person once told me that if we don’t know each other’s stories, how can we learn to respect and love one another? I have found this to be true—the more I understand a culture or a people, the more I grow to love them. Any mistakes in the retelling of the stories are my own, and any possible misrepresentations about the people or the culture were not intended. I did my absolute best to simply educate my readers about a fascinating portion of our combined American Heritage that is mostly unknown. There really were Navajo Code Talkers. Their story is incredible. My hope is that I inspire an interest in the Navajo people that will engender respect and further study. There are many websites and books out there that are worthy of the topic.

To the United States Marine Corp: Words aren’t enough! Thank you for who you are and what you do. I believe there are many lives you save, not just in the fields of battle, but within your own ranks. In my book, the Marine Corp gave Samuel a home and something to believe in. In the USMC he found his purpose. I know that is the case with many young men. And again, any mistakes or mischaracterizations about the Marine Corp or its procedures and history are my own and were unintended.

Finally, the music Josie loved to play and listen to does indeed exist. I love so many of the great composers and sought to bring them and their music to life in my book. I highly recommend the book ‘Spiritual Lives of the Great Composers’ by Patrick Kavanaugh, and encourage you to check it out. Try listening to some of the music mentioned in my story as well. I believe many of these compositions are life altering.

I hope you enjoyed reading Running Barefoot as much as I loved writing it.

Other Works by Amy Harmon

Slow Dance in Purgatory

Prom Night in Purgatory

A Different Blue

Making Faces

About Amy Harmon

Amy Harmon knew at an early age that writing was something she wanted to do–and she divided her time between writing songs and stories as she grew. Having grown up in the middle of wheat fields without a television, with only her books and her siblings to entertain her, she developed a strong sense of what made a good story. Amy Harmon has been a motivational speaker, a grade school teacher, a junior high teacher, a home school mom, and a member of the Grammy Award winning Saints Unified Voices Choir, directed by Gladys Knight. She released a Christian Blues CD in 2007 called “What I Know”–also available on Amazon and wherever digital music is sold. Her first two books, “Running Barefoot” and “Slow Dance in Purgatory” are rich with humor, heart, and fast paced story telling.

For more information about Amy and her books, visit:

Website

Facebook

Goodreads

Twitter

The Reluctant Bachelorette

by Rachael Anderson

For my Taycee Lynne.

Your smile makes me happy.

Chapter One

Flowers everywhere.

Literally everywhere. Five vases spanned the wall of Pat’s diminutive, enclosed patio, another sat atop a small table, and a dozen more covered the brick floor. Roses, lilies, daisies, car-nations—a floral menagerie of pink, yellow, purple, red, blue, and white. And if that wasn’t enough, rose petals dotted the ground. Thank goodness the patio wasn’t large, or Pat would have emptied his entire savings filling the space.

“Wow.” What else could Taycee say? As a florist, she loved flowers—breathed them in and used them in creations every day. But this display was something else. Something else entirely.

“Do you like it?” There was apprehension in Pat’s voice, the desire to please. “I know you love flowers, so I thought I’d get you some of everything.”

And he had. Even sunflowers. Yikes.

“It looks like my shop,” Taycee managed.

Pat grinned, showing his two dimples. “Exactly what I was going for. I’m glad you noticed. I wanted it to feel like home.”

But she didn’t live at her shop. She worked there. And at the end of the day, Taycee only brought home a small bouquet, and for good reason. There can be too much of a good thing. Way too much. The proof surrounded her.

Although it was sweet of Pat to go to all of this trouble, dates with him were becoming increasingly romantic and extravagant, which wasn’t okay. Taycee didn’t want him thinking they were serious or spending this kind of money on her. “Pat, I, uh… don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll marry me.” Pat knelt in front of her, mashing a few red rose petals under his knee.

Taycee froze. Oh no. Not this. Not now. How did she not see this coming? If she had, she’d have ended the relationship weeks ago—before Pat had gone to all this effort. Before she’d have to tell him no.

Taycee shook her head back and forth in slow motion. How could she tell such a nice guy that she didn’t feel the same way? That she never would. This was exactly why Taycee had always ended relationships before they reached this point. To avoid moments like this.

“Taycee, I love everything about you—from your love of flowers and the outdoors, to your kindness, your beauty, and your smile. You are everything I’ve wanted to find in a wife. Please say yes.”

Taycee bit her lip. She should have said something before he launched into the obviously prepared speech. Now it would be even worse.

“Pat.” Taycee pulled him to his feet. His hands tried to circle her waist, but she held on to them, keeping space between them. “Listen. I think you’re a great guy. One of the best, actually. But—”

“Don’t say but,” Pat said, freeing his hands so they could frame her face, with his thumb resting against her lips, shushing her. “Please don’t say but.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his thumb.

The light faded from blue eyes that always glowed with happiness. Because that’s who Pat was. Ever and always happy, with a ready smile and dimples that appeared often. But now only sorrow remained—a sorrow that bored a hole into Taycee’s heart and made her want to run away. “I’m so, so sorry.”

A slight nod and he took a step back, his eyes pleading with her to stop him. Another step and he was gone, leaving Taycee alone on his back patio. The front screen door slammed shut, and a car engine rumbled in his driveway. As the sound faded off down the street, Taycee sighed and located a pad and pen on his kitchen counter.

Pat, I hope you’ll find a girl sometime soon who’s worthy of you and these beautiful flowers. I’m so flattered that you thought that person was me, but it’s not. Trust me, there’s someone better for you out there. I will always think the world of you.

Leaving the note on the patio, Taycee walked through the empty apartment and out the front door to her white Toyota Camry. She would miss Pat and his quick, boyish smile—but not enough. It was never enough. Not when a vivid image of dark brown eyes still frequented her dreams.

For crying out loud, it’s been ten years! Forget him already! He’s gone and won’t be coming back. He lied to you. Broke his promise. Deal with it and move on.

But at the back of her mind, Taycee worried that he’d ruined her. That no matter how nice, how smart, or how handsome a guy was, he wouldn’t be able to erase the memory of Luke Carney—someone who’d left their small Colorado town nearly a decade ago, took her heart with him, and had never come back. Sometimes Taycee felt like hunting him down just so she could punch him hard in the face. More than once, like one of those scenes in a movie. That’s for leaving and never coming back. That’s for breaking your promise. And that’s for breaking my heart!

Lately, dating had become an almost frenzied quest to find a guy who could free her from the shackles of Luke’s memory—someone who could make her feel something stronger than respect and like. Someone who could make her want to say “yes.”

But it was no use. Taycee only ended up hurting unsuspecting guys. Guys who didn’t deserve to be hurt. Like Pat.

Well, no more. It had gone too far this time, and Taycee was through. Through with flirting. Through with dating. Through with trying. Maybe if she moved on with the rest of her life, Luke’s memory would move on, too.

Chapter Two

The Bloom boutique, a refurbished cottage on Main Street, charmed Shelter Springs with its flower lined walkway and yellow siding with white trim. It exuded cozy, and the moment it hit the market three years earlier, Taycee had been first in line to make an offer. Now, it was hers.

The bells on the front door jingled.

“Be right there!” Taycee called from the back.

“No need,” a light, breezy voice announced. Jessa McCray waltzed through to the back room and hopped up on the counter next to Taycee, swinging her strappy sandaled feet and showing off her pedicure. Always dressed to impress, with her short, highlighted blonde hair, she never looked anything less than stunning.

Taycee pushed one last sunflower into the green foam and stepped back to study the arrangement. Perfect.

“It’s gorgeous. Who’s it for?” Jessa asked.

“Mr. Benion.”

“Our old biology teacher?”

“One and the same.”

“Why?” Jessa’s perfectly tweezed arched eyebrows drew together. “Unless… wait. Don’t tell me he’s actually dating someone.”

A laugh escaped Taycee’s mouth. Jessa sounded so shocked, as if no one in their right mind would ever go out with poor Mr. Benion. “You didn’t hear it from me, but when he ordered the arrangement, he asked if I knew what Maris’s favorite flowers are.”

Jessa’s jaw dropped, as well as her voice. “Shut up. Are you serious? Mr. Benion and Maris?”

Taycee shrugged. “Who knows? I just do as my customers ask.”

“You never do as I ask.”

“I meant my paying customers.”

Jessa let out an exaggerated sigh. “And you call yourself a friend.”

“Your best friend, and don’t you forget it,” Taycee said as she pushed in the plastic card holder and slid the white envelope into place.

“Um, yeah…” Jessa hedged. “Funny you should mention that.”

“Why?” Taycee said, wary. It had been awhile since Jessa had played the “best friend” card, and it wasn’t a good thing when she did. Her favors were never small.

“I’m actually here to call in a little favor.” Jessa bit down on her lower lip, moving it back and forth between her teeth.

“What’s up?”

Jessa hopped down from the counter and focused her light brown eyes on Taycee. “Remember in high school when you snuck out past curfew to meet David at the movies?”

“Uh… yeah.” Oh no, not this. Not the favor of all favors. Taycee had secretly hoped it had joined the archives of forgotten memories. If only she could be that lucky.

Jessa stepped closer. “And remember how your parents called my house, and I lied for you and told them you were studying with me?”

“Maybe.”

“And remember how you promised me you’d do anything to pay me back?”

“That part’s a little hazy.” Why oh why had she ever made such a promise? Especially knowing full well Jessa would never forget and it would come back to haunt her one day. Today, as it turned out.

Jessa picked up a discarded sunflower and plucked the petals one by one. “Hazy or not, I’m calling in that promise, best friend of mine.”

Taycee grabbed the sunflower from Jessa, saving the remaining petals. “Sorry, but I think there’s a clause somewhere that states all promises are null and void after seven years.”

“Not a chance.” Jessa smirked. “Those kinds of promises never expire. Besides, it’s too late anyway.”

Oh no. What did Jessa do now? “Too late for what?”

“To say no.” Jessa shrugged as if it were no big deal. “You’re already committed.”

“Committed to what? Jessa! You can’t commit me to anything without asking first. Even you should know that.” Not that it really came as a shock. Jessa always did whatever she wanted, because if Jessa thought something was a good idea, then of course it was.

With a sweep of her hand, Jessa brushed her layered bangs to the side. “So how did your date go with Pat last night?”

“Not so fast. I want to know what this favor is first.”

“And I want to know about your date with Pat.”

Taycee’s fingers itched to strangle her friend, but Jessa was nothing if not resilient. Going up against her took Taycee back to her sixth grade spelling bee, when she’d made it to the final round where she’d faced off against Daphne—the school know-it-all. Taycee had been determined to win, but after going back and forth and back and forth for over four hours—yes, four—Taycee finally misspelled a word on purpose just to put an end to it. Pure torture. That’s what it had been.

Just like trying to win an argument with Jessa.

“So… how did it go?” Jessa repeated.

Taycee sighed. “It didn’t. We broke up.” She left it at that. If Jessa ever found out that Pat had actually proposed—especially how he’d done it—the poor guy would become the subject of one too many jokes. He was too nice for that.

Jessa examined her nails. “And another one bites the dust.”

“A little harsh, don’t you think?” Pat hadn’t tried to call or stop by, and probably never would again. Which was fine. But Taycee didn’t like the way things had ended—so unfinished. As if she’d broken something, and then left without repairing it.

“Harsh, but true,” Jessa said. “How many guys have you been through this year? Three so far, right? And it’s not even May yet.”

Taycee frowned as she fiddled with the sunflowers in the finished bouquet. Jessa was right, but that part of her life was over now. She’d always wanted to get more into the wedding business with her flower shop, and it was time to focus on that instead.

“Hey, you heard Luke Carney’s back in town, right?”

A sunflower stem broke between Taycee’s fingers, and the flower landed with a small thud on the countertop at the same time her heart thudded to the floor. She stared at the fallen flower, feeling a creepy-crawly sensation move over her body. Like a million tiny somethings had landed on her and were now picking away at her skin. She wanted to shake the feeling off. Start jumping up and down and bat it all away.

Luke? Back? Impossible.

“You know, Caleb’s old friend?” Jessa said. “The guy you used to be secretly in love with?”

Taycee turned to Jessa as if she’d said the most outrageous thing. Something that couldn’t possibly be true even though it was. “I was never in love with him.”

“Please,” Jessa said. “If I had a nickel for every story you told me about him, I’d be rich enough to save Shelter. I feel like I know the guy, and I’ve never even met him.”

Taycee swallowed, fighting back that creepy-crawly feeling again. Ten years and the mere mention of his name brought on a panic attack. Pathetic. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. In. Out.

“Is he here to visit?” Taycee managed. Please let it only be a temporary thing.

“Nope. For good,” Jessa said. “Or so the rumor mill says. According to the mayor, Luke bought the old McCann place and is planning to set up a veterinary practice here.”

It were as if the room suddenly drained of oxygen. Taycee couldn’t breathe. For good? Why? Why Shelter? Why now? His parents had moved away years ago, so why come back here? Why not find some other small town to post his sign and open for business?

No. He couldn’t come back. He’d already done enough damage, and besides, Shelter Springs was already taken.

By her.

“Earth to Taycee,” Jessa cooed.

Taycee’s hand shook as she reached for another sunflower to replace the broken one. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Nothing important.” Jessa pushed away from the counter and stole an Andes mint from the candy jar. “But about that favor… you’re good for it?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Who cared about some stupid favor? Taycee had bigger things to worry about.

“Ta ta.” Seconds later, the bells rang again, and the door fell closed behind Jessa.

Taycee slumped against the counter, needing the support it offered. A reoccurring nightmare had just become reality. Luke was back. In town. For good.

Heaven help her.

Chapter Three

Taycee breezed into the diner and held back a groan. Fabulous. Liza was working today—Liza Woolrich, president of the Taycee Emerson Not-a-Fan Club. It had all started back in high school, when Liza’s boyfriend dumped her and asked Taycee to the prom. Taycee had been paying for it ever since. Even more so now that Liza worked at Maris’s Diner—the only diner in town, and therefore Taycee’s only option on days like today when she didn’t have the time or the inclination to drive home for lunch.

Not that coming here would be any faster now.

Taycee glanced at a clock. Only thirty minutes until she needed to be back at her shop. Was it enough? The diner was practically empty, so there was at least a chance. Stupid high school grudges. Why couldn’t Liza get over it already?

A deep breath, and Taycee stepped up to the counter.

“Well, if it isn’t Taycee Emerson.” Liza’s smile was as fake as her hot pink nails and current peroxide-blonde hair color.

“Hey, Liza, how’s it going?”

“Just peachy. What can I get ya?”

Did she really have to ask? It was the same every time. “I’ll have a chicken salad on wheat with some curly fries on the side. Just like always.” Taycee’s fingers drummed on the marble counter as she eyed the clock once more. “I actually have to leave in about twenty minutes. Do you think it will be ready by then?”

Liza flashed another smile and flipped through her pad. “There are several orders in front of yours so I can’t say for sure. I guess you’ll just have to wait your turn like everyone else.”

Everyone else? Only two other people sat in the diner, both of whom had their lunch already. The bell on the door jingled, and someone shuffled in behind Taycee. “Are you talking about orders for pick-up?” Taycee asked.

“What?” Liza blinked at her through mascara-caked eyelashes.

Taycee spoke slowly. “You said there are several orders ahead of mine, and since Will and Kris already have their lunch, I’m wondering if the others are call-ins.”

The pencil tapped against the pad. “Uh, yeah. Of course.”

“Whose?”

“Whose what?” Liza frowned.

Once again, Taycee slowed her speech. “Whose. Orders. Are they?” No way was Liza getting away with this. Not today. Not after the sleepless night Taycee had spent agonizing over seeing Luke again. Liza had picked the wrong day to mess with her.

Liza’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, but that’s really none of your business. It’s, uh… classified.”

Classified? That was the excuse she chose? Taycee almost laughed out loud. “So relieved to know you keep everyone’s orders private.” She leaned across the table and whispered loudly, “Because I’d die if anyone found out I’d ordered a chicken salad sandwich with curly fries.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that then,” a deep voice spoke from behind. “I’d hate to see you die before we have a chance to catch up.”

Taycee froze even as her heart pounded. No. Not now. Not here. Not when she was wearing her oldest jeans and rattiest T-shirt and arguing with none other than Liza Woolrich. It wasn’t right.

Slowly, Taycee twisted around, and then clenched her jaw to keep it from dropping. It was like watching the Captain America movie where the scrawny guy goes into the machine and comes out looking… well, everything but scrawny. Not that Luke could have ever been called scrawny before. Skinny, maybe, but that was about it. Now, he looked toned. Robust. Solid. And drop-dead gorgeous. His dark, wavy hair was shorter now, but his eyes—those amazing, beautiful eyes—were still that rich coffee color that used to melt her heart.

Used to. Used to, Taycee! Get a grip. It’s been ten years for Pete’s sake.

Luke flashed a disarming smile—the same smile pictured in several of the photos she kept stashed in a scrapbook at the bottom of her pajama drawer. “Wow, look at you, all grown up and everything,” he said.

For some reason the comment made Taycee feel like a little girl playing dress-up with adult clothes. He only remembered her as the gangly fourteen-year-old with braces and a rat’s nest for hair. Taycee forced a smile that strained her cheeks. “Luke? Wow. What’s it been? Five years?”

“More like ten, but who’s counting?”

Who indeed. “So… what are you doing back in town?”

His arms folded, and he cocked his head toward the street outside. “I’m leasing the McCann place just outside of town. Thinking of setting up a veterinary practice here.”

Leasing—not buying. Jessa needed to get her facts straight. Taycee gave him three months before he was gone again. “That’s… uh… great. So… so great.”

The register slammed shut, and Taycee twisted back around, grateful for Liza’s interruption. “I’ll let you know when your order’s ready,” Liza said with a touch too much sweetness. “You’re welcome to wait at the bar.”

“Thanks.” Stomach rumbling, Taycee stepped away and slid onto a barstool.

“Wow. Luke Carney, is that really you?” Liza’s squeal made Taycee wince.

“In the flesh.” Luke planted his hands on the counter as he studied the menu.

“I heard you were back in town. I hope this means we’ll see you around the diner often.”

“Thanks, uh…” Luke eyed her nametag. “Liza. I’m sure I’ll be here often enough, especially if the food tastes as good as it used to.”

“Oh, it does. You can trust me on that. What can I get you?”

Taycee forced her attention to some daytime talk show playing on the TV. Her fingers played in her lap as she fought the desire to peek at him again. Why hadn’t she put on her cute jeans that morning? Dabbed on a little more makeup? Actually styled her hair instead of pulling it back?

Taycee shifted in her seat. What she needed was an excuse. A reason to leave and come back later—after Luke had gone. Her shop. Yeah, that would work. And it wouldn’t be a complete lie since she really did have to be back, just not this second.

Perfect. It’s settled. Now leave.

But Luke had already pulled up a stool next to her, and now he sat with his elbow on the counter, facing her with that lopsided smile she used to love. A day or two’s worth of growth framed his face, and Taycee felt the urge to reach out and run her fingers along the scruff. He looked really good. Taycee should have run when she had the chance.

“So, how’ve you been?” he asked.

“Good.”

Luke’s head shook as he studied her. “It’s crazy how the town looks pretty much the same and yet everyone has changed so much. Is Caleb still around? I can’t believe we didn’t stay in touch.”

And whose fault is that? Taycee wanted to ask. “He’s in Phoenix now, but he should be back in a few weeks. He wants to set up a practice somewhere near here.”

“Practice?”

“Law.” How pathetic Luke didn’t know that.

“Really? Caleb went to law school?” Luke chuckled. “He always did love a good argument, didn’t he?”

“Still does.” Which he would know if he’d bothered to keep in touch.

“And he’s coming back to Shelter? Awesome. It’ll be just like old times.”

“Yeah… totally.” Not. Taycee shifted in her seat, willing Liza to hurry for once in her life. The creepy-crawly panicky feeling was back, making her antsy to leave.

Luke’s hand dropped to the counter and tapped out a rhythm. “Your parents still around?”

Good. Neutral topic. Taycee could handle neutral. “No. They retired and moved to Florida a few years ago. Warmer climate and all that.”

“But you’re still here,” Luke pointed out. “I would have thought you’d be long gone by now. What kept you here?”

So much for neutral. A quick glance at the clock and Taycee pushed the barstool back. “Believe it or not, I actually like it here,” she said with an edge to her voice. Before she made a complete fool of herself, she added, “Sorry, but I’ve got to go. Great seeing you though, and good luck with your practice.”

Taycee started past him, but a hand on her arm stopped her. His touch felt like a warm jolt—uncomfortable yet nice at the same time.

“Hey, are you free for dinner tonight?” Luke asked.

Her eyes flew to his. Did he just ask her out? “Uh, d-dinner?”

His hand still on her arm, Luke nodded. “Yeah. You know that meal you eat in the evening? Between lunch and dessert? What do you say? I’d love to catch up.”

A traitorous thrill shot through Taycee. Not good. She couldn’t say yes. Wouldn’t. “Um, sure, that’d be great.” Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Luke’s hand fell from her arm as he reached for his cell. “What’s your number? I’ve got a few things to do this afternoon, but I’ll call you later when I know what time I’ll be done.”

Taycee rattled off her number as Liza approached, flashing Luke a smile. Before she could say anything, Taycee asked, “Hey, Liza, any idea how long it will be? I really need to get back.”

Liza shot an annoyed look her way. “Not sure, but you know what they say, ‘Good things come to those who wait.’”

If by good, Liza meant a warm and soggy chicken salad sandwich, then Taycee would have to take her word for it. “Can I pick it up in an hour or so?”

“Sure, whatever.” Liza turned her attention back to Luke. “So, you’re setting up a vet clinic?”

Taycee offered Luke a quick nod and nearly bolted for the door, leaving him in Liza’s obviously capable and collected hands. So not fair that Liza could remain so composed while Taycee could barely utter a coherent sentence. What she needed was air. Fresh air. Air that didn’t smell like Luke and make her do idiotic things.

The first meeting is always the hardest. It’s all downhill from here.

Taycee breathed in deeply. The further from the diner she got, the calmer she felt. Maybe it was actually good that Luke was back. Maybe now she could learn to see him as a regular guy, just like everyone else. Maybe she could finally get over him. And maybe, just maybe, when he left again—which he would, she was sure of it—he would take all of those memories with him.

* * *

Taycee waved goodbye to Mr. Benion, who left with yet another sunflower arrangement, and then made her way to the back of the shop. One rose bouquet to go and she could return to the diner for her lunch. Her cold lunch. Taycee frowned.

Her fingers ran across the shelf of vases, finally pulling down a clear, square one. Perfect. Different enough to make the unoriginal red rose bouquet look a little more original. Red roses might symbolize love, but in Taycee’s mind, different was always better. Much, much better. Which was why she always kept a stash of flowers like Jean Giono’s on hand for those blessed customers who said, “Surprise me.”

They were never disappointed.

Taycee hunted through the floral refrigerator for the best roses and baby’s breath. Minutes later, two dozen long-stemmed roses dropped to the counter next to the clear glass vase. Time to create—her favorite part of owning a floral shop.

Bells jingled, and someone stepped into the store. Taycee leaned sideways to get a better look, only to immediately duck back out of the way. Luke. Here. In her shop. Why? Taking another step sideways, Taycee’s elbow caught the vase and sent it shattering to the floor. She groaned inwardly. So much for staying hidden.

“Taycee? That you? Everything okay?” Luke’s voice called out.

Taycee eyed the storage closet longingly, wanting nothing more than to disappear inside and hide like a coward. Instead, she sank to the floor to pick up the bigger pieces. “I’m fine. Be right there.”

Footsteps approached, and a pair of sneakers came to a stop beside the broken glass. “What happened?”

Taycee’s eyes travelled up his body. Toned calves, plaid shorts, dark T-shirt, beautiful eyes. Why did he have to look so good? Why couldn’t he have hair growing from his nose? Nasty warts covering his face? Why couldn’t he smell like the animals he took care of?

Luke set a Styrofoam box that he’d been holding on the counter. “Here, let me help you with that. Do you have a broom?”

The spicy, fried aroma of curly fries wafted through the room. Glass shards forgotten, Taycee rose slowly, staring at the white take-out box. “You brought me my lunch?” No, don’t be nice. Please don’t be nice.

“Just call me your own private delivery boy.”

“Liza actually let you?” If only Taycee could have been a fly on the wall for that conversation.

“It took some coercion, and I had to sign a waiver that I wouldn’t tell anyone else what you ordered, since, you know, it’s classified info.” He grinned. “She also made me promise not to eat any, which I tried really hard not to do.”

Taycee laughed. “Liza probably laced them with something and didn’t want you to suffer the consequences.”

“She loves you that much?”

“And then some.”

Luke shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the counter. “I did eat a couple on my way here. But I feel fine, so they must be safe.”

“Wow, how kind of you to risk your life for me.”

“I’m thoughtful like that.”

As if. Thoughtful people didn’t just disappear. Taycee opened the take-out box and stuffed a fry into her mouth to keep from saying as much.

Luke glanced around. “Where’s that broom?”

“Broom?”

He pointed to the floor. “Broken glass?”

“Oh, right. Just a sec.” Taycee retrieved the broom from a storage closet and started sweeping up the mess.

“I can do that. You should eat. I could hear your stomach growling from the diner.” Luke took the broom from her hands and started sweeping.

Taycee frowned as she shoved another fry in her mouth, chewing slowly. Luke wasn’t supposed to be the kind of guy who would sweep her floor so she could eat. He was supposed to be thoughtless, annoying, and forgetful. He was supposed to be a jerk.

Hmm… maybe he could be a jerk for not being a jerk. Yeah, that might work.

Luke dumped the glass into the trash and nodded toward the food. “You’re not eating.”

Probably because she was staring. At him. Her cheeks burned as she forced her gaze away and picked up another fry.

The broom went back in the closet, and Luke scanned the shop. “Nice place you got here. I’d never have pegged you for a florist.”

The fry turned bitter as she swallowed it. Wow. Did Luke really not remember? The goodbye present? Her strange fascination with flowers that he used to tease her about? She’d relived those memories over and over and over again. Every word, every look, every smile. But had Luke? Apparently not. Taycee suddenly felt as memorable as a blade of grass.

“Flowers have always been a hobby of mine,” she said. “I opened the shop three years ago.”

“Looks like business is good.”

“It’s hit and miss, but most days I stay busy enough. I’m really hoping to get involved with more weddings at some point. I’ve done a few for some local families, but they couldn’t afford much, so we kept it small. I’d love to do something bigger though—something fun and extravagant, with a little more earning potential.”

Luke nodded. “Hopefully I’ll stay busy enough with my practice.” He leaned against the counter and folded his arms. “I have to admit, I’m a little worried. The town seems… slower somehow. But it could just be that I’ve lived in a larger city for the past decade.”

“It’s not you.” Taycee twisted a curly fry between her fingers. “Shelter’s kind of floundering right now. Because of increased competition with commercial farms, the in-dependents aren’t able to sell their crops for as much as they used to and can’t pay off their loans. The banks, of course, are now refusing to loan them any more money, which is why so many farms have gone under, and why more will continue to do so. If things don’t start picking up soon, there won’t be enough people around to keep the few businesses left afloat. In fact, the only reason I’ve been able to keep my shop open is because most of my business comes from neighboring towns.”

Luke’s expression turned pensive, possibly even worried. “I was actually shocked to see the McCann farm on the market. Never thought they’d move.”

“They had no choice.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yeah, it is,” said Taycee. “But there is some light at the end of the tunnel. My friend, Jessa, came up with an idea to hopefully turn things around. She’s convinced that if the farmers will pool their resources and start their own farmers market chain, they can sell their crops locally and get a much higher return than they would get through wholesalers.”

Luke nodded slowly, as if considering it. “That’s going to take some major work and money to get going. Not to mention the fact that it will put a lot of extra strain on the farmers to do their own selling.”

“I know, but it’s their only shot right now.” And pretty much the main topic of conversation around town these days. What will the farmers do if they’re forced into foreclosure? What will become of Shelter Springs? A pit formed in Taycee’s stomach every time she thought about it. “A few months ago, the mayor even hired Jessa to come up with some fund-raising ideas. Supposedly she has something in the works, but she hasn’t said what that is yet. Whatever it is, I hope it will be successful because the farms will be ready to start selling mid-June, which means we have to come up with 50K by then.”

Luke whistled. “50K in two months. She’s got her work cut out for her, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, but she’s pretty motivated,” Taycee said. “When she was fifteen, her aunt and uncle—Sue and Martin McCray—took her in. They even helped pay for her college, and now she’s determined to use her newly acquired business skills to help them back. If she doesn’t, the McCray’s will be forced to foreclose on their farm when the loan comes due this fall.”

Luke shook his head. “Here’s hoping it works and she can pull together that much money. I’d hate to see this town die, not when I’ve only just come back.”

Only then did Taycee realize that she’d given Luke a reason to think his vet clinic could survive here also, if Jessa’s plan worked. What was she thinking? She should have kept that info to herself and told him it was only a matter of time before the town went kaput, so he should really get out while he still could.

Luke pushed away from the counter and flicked her under her chin. “Well, it’s nice to that you’re still around. Enjoy your lunch.”

Taycee’s eyes followed him as he left. Seriously? Chin-flicking? Granted, ratty jeans and an old T-shirt didn’t exactly scream sophistication, but Taycee was no longer fourteen. Nor was she the little girl who used to follow him and Caleb around like a lost puppy.

She’d grown up and had a mind of her own now—a mind that was smart enough to know that if she wasn’t careful, Luke would break her heart all over again.

Chapter Four

Three days and not a word from Luke. No promised phone call, no dinner, not even a text to cancel. Nothing. It was like he’d already packed up and left town. So pathetic that Taycee had kept her phone nearby the entire time, willing it to ring.

Luke really hadn’t changed. Ten years and he was the same old, unreliable, undependable Luke. Out of sight, out of mind. That was his mantra. If only Taycee could adopt it as her own and stop thinking about him.

She sighed and turned her phone to vibrate before walking in the back door of the crowded town hall. Wow. Were all town meetings as packed as this one? There wasn’t an empty chair in sight.

“Why, Taycee,” said Lexie, her crochet needles pausing, “how nice to see you here, supporting the town. I can’t remember you ever coming before.”

Probably because Taycee had always avoided town meetings. Long, depressing discussions about the town’s troubles wasn’t her type of thing. In fact, she wouldn’t be here now if Jessa would just call her back. “Hey, have you seen Jessa anywhere?”

Lexie’s finger pointed toward the front of the room. Sure enough, on the second row in an aisle seat sat Jessa. Even in the florescent lighting, her gorgeous highlights shone. Was it possible for Jessa to have a bad hair day? So unfair. Taycee grabbed a folding metal chair from the back and carted it up the aisle, setting it up beside her friend. “Hey, Jess.”

Startled blue eyes glanced Taycee’s way. “What are you doing here? You never come to the town meetings. And you can’t sit there.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s the aisle.”

Taycee plopped down in the chair and gestured toward the space between her and the next chair. “There’s still room for people to get around me.”

“What are you doing here anyway? You hate town meetings.”

“You left a message saying you needed a couple bouquets made for something tomorrow night, but you didn’t give me any details. Since you never called me back, I couldn’t put in the order. Now I have to drive to Colorado Springs in the morning to pick up whatever it is you need. Which is what, by the way?” Jessa was notorious for doing stuff like this. She seemed to think Taycee was a mind reader and would know exactly what to create based on “I need two bouquets for a town function tomorrow night. You don’t mind, do you? Thanks, you’re the best!” End call.

“I would have given you more details if it mattered,” Jessa said. “It’s only the mayor’s annual appreciation dinner. No big deal. Throw some blue daisies in a vase and call it good. Simple.”

“There’s nothing simple about blue daisies, Jess. They need to be dyed.”

Jessa rolled her eyes. “Then throw some white daisies in a vase.”

White daisies? Was she serious? Those were something you’d give to a teacher or a friend in the hospital, not something you’d use to accent the mayor’s annual appreciation dinner. “Are you sure that’s what you want? White daisies?”

“I’m saying I don’t care,” Jessa hissed. “Do whatever you want.”

“Fine. How big do I need to make them?”

“I’ll say this one more time. I. Don’t. Care.”

Taycee settled back in her chair and folded her arms against the chilly air coming through the a/c vent. “Sheesh, someone’s a little testy tonight.”

“Sorry, I’ve just got more important stuff to worry about than a couple of flower bouquets.”

“Like what?”

The mayor stood and started the meeting. Instead of answering, Jessa bit her lip and fingers tapped staccato-like on her knees. Wow, she really was anxious about something. Taycee was about to ask what when the mayor called out Jessa’s name and said the floor was hers.

Ah, Taycee should have known. Jessa hated presenting because of all the opinionated people in Shelter who had no problem voicing their thoughts. For the past five months, ever since Jessa had started working for the town, Taycee had heard all about it. Meetings that dragged on and on and on and made Taycee even more determined to stay away from them.

Jessa faced the crowd and clasped her fingers together before clearing her throat. “Several months ago, I introduced the idea of forming a co-op and starting a small chain of farmers markets. Many of you were opposed at first because of the risk and investment involved, but after several weeks of debates, the majority of you all agreed to give it a try if we were able to come up with the $50,000 needed. I’m here tonight to tell you that I think I’ve found a way.”

Jessa lifted a poster from behind the desk and set it on an easel. It pictured Main Street with the words, “Help Save Shelter!” blazoned across the clear blue sky. “Now, many of you know how popular The Bachelor and The Bachelorette shows are on TV right now, so I figured we’d capitalize on that fame. What I’ve proposed to the council is this: That we create our own show, similar in nature, called Shelter’s Bachelorette.”

Whispered voices seemed to surround Taycee as she sat in her aisle seat apart from everyone else. Not quite seeing Jessa’s vision, Taycee bit her lip as she rubbed at a non-existent spot on her khaki capris. Of all the fundraising ideas out there, this is what Jessa had come up with? A bachelorette show? How in the world was that supposed to raise $50,000?

Jessa forged on, speaking above the murmurs. “Believe it or not, it’s already proven to be successful. I came up with this idea months ago, and it’s already in the works. A website has been launched, prominent newspapers have advertised it in their papers across the country, and hundreds of bachelors have already emailed us application videos. We even have them narrowed down to the final twenty.”

Jessa held out a staying hand to the growing voices. “Please keep in mind that these bachelors understand this is a charity event. They will pay their way here and will cover all expenses related to their dates with the bachelorette. Although we hope the bachelorette will find true love, this show is about funding a co-op to help save the farming community in Shelter.”

“How’s a stupid polygamist show going to fund anything?” A deep voice boomed from the back of the room, voicing the thoughts of probably everyone present. Taycee included. The question opened the floodgates of even more questions because it suddenly seemed like everyone had something to say. Taycee kept her thoughts to herself, more interested in hearing how it had already proven to be successful.

The mayor’s gavel struck his desk a few times, restoring order. “Zip it, folks. I’m going to ask you to please listen to the rest of Miss McCray’s presentation before shooting anymore questions her way. I think you’ll find she’ll answer most of them if you’ll just listen.”

The room quieted, but the murmuring continued on a more subdued level. Taycee wasn’t sure what to think about it all. As much as she wanted to support Jessa, who would be interested in watching a dating show set in Shelter Springs, Colorado?

Her head held high, Jessa continued, “We set up a donation account on our site a few months back and have already received some donation money. In addition, because our website is getting a lot of traffic, we’re also bringing in some advertising revenue. So far we’ve made a couple thousand dollars, and the show hasn’t even officially started.”

“Are you jerkin’ my chain?” a man called out. “There’s people out there donatin’ to our town?”

“That’s right,” Jessa said. “And as the word continues to get out, more people will contribute, I’m sure of it. I’ve interviewed my aunt and uncle, in addition to a couple of others in this room and have posted those interviews on the site. Believe it or not, there are a lot of people out there who don’t want to see the independent farms go under. In addition, the local viewers that we draw to the show will also be potential customers. So this is not only a fundraising opportunity, but a great way to get the word out about the market you will open in a couple months.”

More murmurs swept through the room as Taycee shifted in her seat. Although Jessa had made some good points and had obviously put a lot of thought and planning into this, Taycee still wasn’t sold on the idea. A few thousand in advertising revenue and donations wouldn’t make a dent in the amount of money that needed to be raised.

Jessa lifted another poster and placed it on the easel. The schedule. “As you can see, the show will run for six weeks. We’ll be doing things a little differently than the real show. In Shelter’s Bachelorette, our bachelorette won’t be choosing the bachelors. That will be up to the viewers, who will vote at the end of each round of dating. I like to think of it as The Bachelorette meets American Idol.”

“Polygamy and matchmaking?” a man said from the back. “What century are we living in anyway?”

Laughter sounded throughout the room, Taycee’s included, only she muffled hers behind her hand. If every town meeting was this entertaining, she’d have to come more often. No wonder Jessa wasn’t a fan. She hated being challenged.

Jessa leveled a look at the man. “You’re missing the point. By giving the viewers the power to choose, we’re giving them what they really want—control over which bachelor wins. Plus, we’ll be able to charge them a dollar a vote and potentially earn way more than we ever could through advertising and donations.”

That seemed to quiet everyone. Or at least shock them into momentary silence.

Although Taycee still couldn’t imagine this becoming popular enough to bring in that kind of money, Jessa’s confidence made her believe in the possibility. Besides, it was better than sitting around and doing nothing.

“Burt and Megan, who recently returned home for the summer, have agreed to volunteer their time and talents to film and edit the show. They have a lot of experience and will do a great job,” Jessa said. “Each date will be filmed, rapidly edited, and then posted on our site. The voting will open for two days and the winners announced at a rose ceremony similar to what they do on the real show. Only in ours, the bachelorette will be just as surprised as the bachelors. Granted, this won’t be nearly as professional as NBC’s show, but it will be good and the viewers are going to eat it up.”

“You’re sayin’ we can watch it on our computer?” a woman spoke up.

“If you have an internet, then yes.” Jessa drew in a deep breath and scanned the crowd. “I can only imagine what you all must be thinking, but I want to reiterate that this is about saving our town. I’m sick of seeing farms go under and good people being forced to leave Shelter. Starting right now, we’re going to put a stop to that. We’re going to earn enough money, we’re going to start that co-op, and we’re going to keep you all in business. And if, for whatever reason, this doesn’t work, then I’ll think of something else.”

Jessa’s hand slapped the podium beside her. “I refuse to give up.”

A hush fell over the crowd, and Taycee swallowed, feeling suddenly close to tears. Jessa’s words seemed to open up people’s minds and pave the way to acceptance. No one had anymore arguments—at least none they verbalized.

“Who’s the bachelorette?” a girl from the front row asked.

Jessa smiled—her first real smile all night. “If you want to know that, you can check out our site tonight when you get home. Increased traffic looks good to potential advertisers, so this is my way of forcing you to get on our site and drive up that traffic.”

“What’s the URL?” A man held up his phone. “I’ll look it up right now.”

“Sorry, but you’ll have to wait until the end of the meeting for that info. For now, rest assured that we’ve found the perfect bachelorette. She’s ready and excited to do this.”

Taycee glanced around the room, wondering who it could be. Marie? Stephanie? Or—heaven forbid—Liza? Whoever it was, at least they were excited about it. Taycee certainly wouldn’t be.

A woman raised her voice above the noise of the crowd. “Is one of the bachelors from Shelter?”

“No,” said Jessa. “We’ve kept everything quiet around town until we got the ball rolling, so before tonight only a few people even knew about it. Besides, it would be an unfair advantage to have a bachelor from the same town as the bachelorette, don’t you think? All the finalists are from various states around the country.”

A woman’s voice called out above the chatter. “I think it’s only fittin’ to have a representative from Shelter be one of the bachelors. This is a charity event for us, after all.”

A murmur of approval swept through the room, and Jessa nodded slowly, as if considering it. Finally, she shrugged. “All right, if that’s what it takes to make you happy, let’s do it. We can always start off with twenty-one bachelors instead. Any suggestions?”

“What about Mike?”

“James would be good.”

“Stan gets my vote!”

Jessa laughed. “Remember the bachelorette is under thirty. Let’s not rob the cradle, people.”

A collective chuckle filled the room.

Taycee smiled and folded her arms. Too bad no one suggested Luke. He’d be perfect. In fact—more than perfect. Taycee’s smile widened as she pictured him having to compete with twenty other guys for the attention of one girl. It would serve him right. A covert glance around the room, and Taycee assured herself that Luke was absent.

“I vote Luke Carney,” Taycee blurted before she lost her nerve.

“Oh yes, Luke would be perfect!” someone agreed.

“If Luke’s a bachelor, can I be the bachelorette?” an older woman asked, making everyone laugh.

“Oooh, me too!” another woman called out.

From the back of the room, a deep voice cut through the noise of the crowd. “Don’t you think I should be the one to decide whether or not I participate?”

Chapter Five

Luke stepped from the shadows. His dark eyes captured Taycee’s for a moment before they shifted to Jessa.

Taycee twisted forward and sunk low in her seat—the seat that was smack dab in the middle of the aisle. Oh joy. Why couldn’t she have kept her mouth shut? Seriously, was she the only one who never came to these meetings? How did Luke even know about it?

“Consider it a welcome home gift, Luke,” Jessa said, smiling. “I think it’s a great suggestion, especially since you only just moved back to town. That way, no one can accuse you of having the advantage. Let’s put it to vote. Who thinks Luke should be the bachelor to represent Shelter?”

Dozens of hands flew into the air, along with squeals and cheers.

“I don’t think so,” Luke’s voice rose above the noise. “I’ve got a lot going on right now and don’t have the time.”

Taycee rolled her eyes. No shocker there. Especially since he couldn’t even take the time to make a promised phone call.

“You’ll be letting down a lot of people if you don’t say yes,” Jessa said. “A lot of potential customers.” Heads bobbed up and down.

“Tell me who the bachelorette is, and I’ll consider it,” said Luke.

Taycee’s mouth dropped open. Of all the self-absorbed, cocky, egotistical—she twisted around to face him. “Oh c’mon, Luke, where’s your sense of adventure?”

Calls of, “You’ll be great, Luke!” “You’re the perfect choice!” and “Do Shelter proud and win that contest!” were heard throughout the room.

Luke leveled a look at Taycee before he shrugged. “You’re right. Fine, count me in.”

Taycee turned back, a satisfied smile on her face. Revenge complete. She couldn’t wait to pop a large batch of popcorn and watch it all play out.

“Fabulous,” said Jessa. “It looks like we’ll now have twenty-one bachelors at the opening event. What will our bachelorette say to that, I wonder?”

When the meeting dispersed, people flocked to the door, anxiously grabbing flyers on their way out. Taycee lingered in her seat, waiting for Jessa to finish answering a few last questions.

Two brown shoes stepped around her feet, and Luke planted his tall, muscular frame in the seat next to her. Taycee reached for her purse, ready to make a run for it, but Luke’s hand on her arm kept her in her seat.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“But aren’t you anxious to get home and see who you’ll be dating in a few weeks?”

“It’ll wait.” Luke withdrew his hand and crossed his arms. “I couldn’t leave without thanking you for the nomination. Really, how thoughtful of you to think of me.”

“I only meant it as a joke,” Taycee defended, not about to explain why she’d really done it. “And it’s not like you had to agree to it.”

He watched her. “I’d like to see you say no when over a hundred faces are waiting for you to say yes—especially when you’re being accused of having no sense of adventure.” He shot her a pointed look. “I couldn’t stand by and take that.”

“I didn’t think peer pressure worked on people after high school.”

“Apparently I haven’t matured as much as you.”

“Apparently.” Again, Taycee wished she’d kept her mouth shut. It was only a matter of time before someone else had suggested Luke’s name anyway. Why did she have to be the one to do it?

Luke leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Seriously, what did I ever do to you? Was bringing you lunch the wrong thing to do? Do you like soggy sandwiches or something?”

No, what she didn’t like was being stood up—not that Taycee was about to remind him of that. Or of any of the other reasons she’d done it. Her flip flops tap-danced against the hard, wooden floor as she tried not to squirm.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. “There aren’t many guys in this town under thirty. Besides, you never know, maybe I just matched you up with your future bride. You should be thanking me.”

“Let’s hope not. I’m not ready to get married.”

“You can make it a really long engagement.”

Luke’s lips twitched as he slouched back, resting his arm casually on the back of Taycee’s chair. An unwanted shiver ran down her back.

“It’s really not a big deal,” he said. “I’ll just be as uncharming as possible and get voted off right away. One opening social and I’m out.”

Taycee frowned. It better not be that easy. “Um, yeah, great plan.”

Luke smiled and leaned close, his arm brushing up against her. “I know it’s been ten years, but you should still know me well enough to know that I will get you back for this, Taycee Lynne.” With a wink, he stood and left.

Taycee froze, blinking at nothing in particular. All her life, her parents, brother, and close friends had all shortened her name to Tace. But not Luke. From the day he’d dis-covered her middle name, she’d always been Taycee Lynne to him. At one time, it had given her warm fuzzies inside. But ten years was a long time ago, and that name should have long since lost its power. Yet here she was, fighting those same warm fuzzies that wanted to make her believe he’d just singled her out.

Good heavens.

It was only a nickname. Only a nickname.

Jessa’s heels clacked against the marble as she waltzed back into the room. A surprised, almost worried glance shot Taycee’s way. “You’re still here?”

“Just waiting for you.”

“Why?” It sounded a little too bright for nine o’clock at night. Or maybe Taycee was just in a bad mood.

She stood and walked over to Jessa. “What do you mean, why? So I can congratulate you on a great presentation. I still have no idea how you convinced all those people that hosting a bachelorette show would be a good idea, but you did. That has to be some sort of Guinness World record.”

“That’s because it is a good idea.” Jessa moved forward, collecting the posters and collapsing the easel. Another poster rested behind the podium, so Taycee reached for it.

“Oh, I don’t need that one.” Jessa rushed forward to grab it, but Taycee held it up to get a better look, and then immediately wished she hadn’t. The words “Meet Shelter’s bachelorette, Taycee Lynne Emerson” were scribbled across the top, practically glowing in a white font against the background of Taycee’s dark hair—hair that had been ridiculously glamorized at some studio in Denver months earlier. Jessa had planned a girls’ day out and had insisted on it. After some coercion, Taycee had grudgingly gone along with it, but only after Jessa had promised that no one—not even Taycee’s mother—would ever be allowed to see the pictures.

But now, here was one of them, blown up to ten times its original size and smiling back as if to say, “Ha ha. Joke’s on you!”

Taycee’s hands shook as her fingers tightened, digging into the edges of the poster. It had to be a joke. It had to be. Even Jessa wasn’t capable of something like this.

“You weren’t supposed to see that yet,” Jessa said quietly.

“Yet?” Taycee glared. “When, exactly, were you planning on showing it to me?”

Blue eyes shifted away. “I was hoping you’d gone home to see it on the internet like everyone else. Then I planned to avoid you for a few days until you’d calmed down.”

Taycee shoved the poster forward, right in front of Jessa’s face. “You were going to show the town this tonight, weren’t you? Because you thought I wouldn’t be here.”

Jessa took the poster and stacked it on top all the others. “You’re perfect for the role, Taycee. Do you know how many application videos came flooding in when we advertised that face?”

“It’s not even me!”

“Yes, it is.”

“I don’t look like that every day, Jessa. See this?” Taycee tugged on her pony tail. “This is me! And these”—Taycee pointed to her jeans and flip flops—“so is this. This”—A finger jabbed at the poster—“is not me. I am not a bachelorette, nor do I want to be. You’d better fix this, Jessa! Right now! There’s no way I’m going on that show.”

“I can’t.” Jessa cringed. “In four weeks, twenty guys will be arriving from around the nation to date you—not me, not another girl from Shelter—you.”

“No.” Head shaking, Taycee took a step back. “How could you do this? You’re supposed to be my best friend.”

Jessa’s eyes filled with worry. “Tace, don’t be mad—please? I knew you’d never go for it, which is why I didn’t ask you outright, but I did ask. Remember? The favor? You said you were good for it.”

Taycee’s head pounded. “Are you insane!”

“You’re the only one who can pull it off.”

“Don’t give me that.”

Jessa tucked the posters under her arm. “You are. Whether you like it or not, or try to hide behind jeans and T-shirts, you’re gorgeous, talented, smart, kind, and fun.”

Taycee jabbed a finger at Jessa’s chest. “Don’t you dare try to smooth this over with flattery,” she yelled. “I don’t even know what to say to you. This isn’t some funny little prank. This is my life!”

“You’re right,” Jessa said, her voice rising. “It is your life. And it will still be your life after the contest. You’ve spent the last eight years dating guys who never really interested you, so why should another six weeks matter? Especially when it’s my aunt and uncle and the rest of the town we’re talking about.”

“How dare you.”

“C’mon, Taycee, be reasonable and think about it. It’s not like I had a lot of options to go with. Could you imagine Liza as the bachelorette? People would stop watching after the first week. And Marie? Way too shy. Steph? Cute, but way too ditzy.”

“You could have picked yourself, since you’re apparently better than everyone else in this town.”

“That’s just it, don’t you see?” Jessa said. “I’d come across as egotistical and vain. Not a good choice either.”

“Don’t forget conniving and manipulative.”

“Exactly,” Jessa said, though hurt reflected in her eyes.

Well, good. She deserved it. Jessa, who thought she knew everything and could go around messing with people’s lives just because she thought it was a good idea.

Taycee dropped the poster on the floor as angry tears threatened to spill. She spun on her heel and ran from the room, increasing her speed when her feet hit the sidewalk. How could Jessa do something like this? How could she make Taycee the butt of some bad joke, plastering a Photoshopped, fake face all over the internet and in how many newspapers? Regardless of the needs of the town, it was wrong on so many counts.

For six weeks, Taycee would be forced to turn her life upside down, and to prance in front of cameras, acting happy about being made to date guys she had no interest in dating. She’d be questioned, filmed, and broadcasted across the internet to who knows how many people. She’d be demoralized.

All because of Jessa.

Taycee had seen the show and the schedule on the chart. Six short weeks and you find your true love? Ha. Talk about a joke. Sure, the guys grappled around the girl, romanced her, sought out her attention. Why? Not because they were genuinely interested, not because they cared. How could they? How could anyone say they were in love after a few meager dates? It wasn’t real, it was a competition. Each guy wanted to win, and they’d do whatever it took to do that, even fool themselves into thinking they might care.

But they didn’t. The large number of breakups after the fact testified it wasn’t real. Rather, it was an exploitation of dating, romance, and love.

And now Taycee would be the one exploited.

She stormed into her apartment and slammed the door, shutting out the town and everyone in it who was probably now snickering at her expense. Especially Luke.

Luke.

Oh no. Taycee let out a groan as she sunk to the floor and buried her face in her hands. What was it she’d said to him? Something about the possibility of matching him up with his future bride?

No, no, no, no, NO!

She’d have to move. Far, far, far away. It was her only choice.

Chapter Six

Literally overnight, Taycee became the town celebrity. As she walked down Main Street people clapped her on the back and told her how excited they were for the show to start. How grateful they were that she was willing to do this. How she and Jessa had given the town hope.

Patsy’s finger wiggled at her in passing. “I knew it would be you. I just knew it!”

“You’ve always been such a dear,” came from Linda.

A bear hug from Tom.

Taycee mumbled a quick thanks to everyone, and then darted across the street and into the diner. What she needed was curly fries. Lots of curly fries.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the famous bachelorette,” cooed Liza from behind the counter.

Taycee bit back a groan. Seriously, was she not allowed at least one break? “You seem to be here a lot lately. Are you full time now?”

“As of two weeks ago.”

“Oh. How nice.” Maybe Taycee should have opened a diner instead of a flower shop for no other reason than to give people another option.

”The fact that you’re now the bachelorette doesn’t mean you’re going to start expecting special treatment, does it?” said Liza, straightening her apron. “Because you still have to wait your turn just like everyone else.”

If by “turn,” she meant being continuously pushed to the back of the line for at least thirty minutes, then yeah, Taycee already knew that. “Don’t worry. I would never let it go to my head.”

“Right.” Liza rolled her eyes, implying that it already had.

A part of Taycee snapped inside. Who was Liza to judge her anyway? She didn’t know anything about anything. She just jumped to whatever conclusions she wanted to make for whatever reasons she wanted to make them. Fine. Whatever. If Liza chose to think Taycee was that conceited, then so be it.

Taycee picked up one of the take-out menus and held it up. ”While I’m here, would you like something autographed? A menu maybe? Or would you rather take one of the leftover bachelors? I’d be happy to steer one or two your way once they get voted off.”

“You mean like Luke?” Liza baited. “Or are you planning to keep him around for a while?”

Play it cool. She’s only trying to get a rise out of you. “Oh, weren’t you listening last night? That decision isn’t mine to make.”

“You only wish it was.”

“No. I really don't.”

Liza glared. “Then why did you agree to it?”

I didn’t, you brat! But Liza already thought the worse of Taycee, so why bother? It’s not like throwing Jessa’s name under the bus would change anything. She shrugged. “Something to cross off my bucket list, I guess.”

“Wanting to be a bachelorette on a reality show is on your bucket list?”

“Heavens no,” Taycee deadpanned. “Dating twenty guys at the same time is.”

“Figures.” Liza glowered as she punched buttons on the register. “Let me guess. Curly fries and a chicken salad sand-wich.”

“Actually, I’ll take two orders of curly fries today, thanks.”

Liza’s finger stilled, and one of her drawn-on eyebrows raised a notch. “You do know the camera adds ten pounds, don’t you?”

“Make that three orders.”

“Fine.” More hard punches. “That’ll be a few minutes.”

“Shocker.” Taycee turned toward the tables. It wasn’t too crowded, but her favorite booth was already occupied by the one person Taycee never wanted to see again. Of course it would be Luke. And of course he’d be sitting within hearing distance of her conversation with Liza. Why hadn’t she expected it? Prepared for it, even?

Taycee should have stayed home. Closed her shop. Powered off her phone. Sat on the couch and watched TV all day. Maybe that would have put a stop to this Murphy’s Law of a week.

She sank down in the nearest empty seat with her back facing Luke. More than ever, she needed those curly fries. All three orders of them. Her fingertips tapped on the counter, beating out an uneven rhythm.

The chair next to Taycee’s slid out with a screech, and Luke sat down, dropping his lunch on the table in front of him. “I didn’t know you had a bucket list.”

“Eavesdropper,” she muttered.

“What else is on it?”

“Oh, you know, the usual,” Taycee said. “Swim with penguins in Antarctica. Become an American Gladiator. Invent meatloaf flavored ice cream.”

Luke’s lips twitched. “Dating twenty guys should be a breeze, then.”

“Yep. Easy peasy.” But really she was dying inside, as evidenced by her burning face. It didn’t help that Luke watched her over the rim of his glass as he sipped his drink, making her feel like he could read her mind. Taycee resisted the urge to squirm.

The glass clinked back on the counter, and a teasing glint appeared in his eyes. “You know, if you wanted to date me, you could have just asked me out.”

He was taunting her, just like he used to do when they were kids. Still, Taycee stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“I probably would have said yes—at least before you dragged me into your little show.”

Could this day get any worse? Why hadn’t Taycee left last night? Fled the town, the state, the country like she’d planned? “It’s not my show.”

“You’re the bachelorette, of course it’s your show.” His elbow came to rest on the table as Luke leaned forward, still teasing her with his eyes. “Tell me, is this usually how you get guys to date you?”

Taycee’s fingers clenched around her napkin encased utensils. She’d had enough—of everyone. The gratitude. The expectations. The accusations. The taunting. Not even curly fries were worth this. She shoved her chair back and stood. “You know what, Luke? You’re just as cocky as you were back in high school. And for the record, you’re the last person in the world I’d ever want to date. As far as I’m concerned, the sooner you get voted off, the better.”

With that, Taycee turned on her heel and ran straight into a guy carrying a plate of ketchup coated French fries.

* * *

Taycee’s fist banged against the wooden apartment door.

“Jessa McCray! Open up!” she yelled.

A moment later the door cracked open and two blue eyes blinked at Taycee. “Is it safe?”

“Now!”

“Okay, okay.” Jessa unlatched the door and swung it wide, allowing Taycee to brush past her. “Are you here to yell at me again?”

“What do you think?”

Jessa sighed. “That you’re here to yell at me again. Hey, what happened to your shirt? Is that ketchup?”

“Yes, it’s ketchup! Do you have a problem with that?”

The door clicked closed. “Wow, somebody’s in a good mood today.”

Taycee glared.

“Okay, okay, fine. Yell away. But then can we please get past this? It’s only been one day, and I can’t stand you being mad at me.” With tentative steps, Jessa stepped around Taycee with her pink and green striped socks. Dressed in matching green sweats, Jessa was obviously working from home today—not that posting Taycee’s picture all over the internet could be categorized as work.

Taycee followed. “I want Luke off the show.”

“What? Why?”

“Why? Because I do, that’s why. I never would have suggested him if I’d known I was the bachelorette.”

A jug of apple juice sat on the kitchen table. Jessa poured two glasses and handed one to Taycee. “But I thought you liked him.”

“Used to!” Taycee practically shouted, setting her glass on the table with a clunk, sloshing some of the juice over the side. “As in past tense. Back when he was actually nice and not cocky, conceited, and… and… ”

“Gorgeous?”

Taycee glowered. “It’s the least you can do after what you’ve done to me.”

In her graceful way, Jessa sank down on a burgundy chair and criss-crossed her legs. With the cup clutched between both hands, she sipped her juice, and then watched Taycee over the rim. “Put yourself in my place, will you? The town all voted Luke in. He agreed. And last night, I added his name and profile to the website as Bachelor #21. Discussions have already started about how dreamy the 21st bachelor is, and how people can’t wait to see him on the show. Do you really think I can change that now?”

Taycee groaned and flopped down on the sofa. How had she gotten herself into this mess? How had everything gotten so out of control so quickly? In only a matter of days, she’d gone from being normal, nice, and sane, to the complete opposite—running around like a crazed, immature lunatic. It wasn’t her. She was the flower girl of the town—the happy, independent creator of bouquets.

It was all Luke’s fault. Jessa’s too, of course, but it had begun with him. Before he came back to Shelter Springs, Taycee’s life had been good. Controlled. Predictable. Just the way she liked it. But now everything had changed. Luke’s arrival had been like a catalyst, catapulting Taycee into a world of emotional turmoil.

“I’m sorry,” Jessa said. It sounded sincere, and an apology from Jessa came about as often as a lunar eclipse.

“You do realize you just apologized, right?”

“I know, I know. But you’re my best friend, and I don’t want this to mess that up.”

Taycee sighed. The truth was, neither did she. As domineering as Jessa could be, Taycee really had no better friend in the world. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have yelled at you yesterday, even though you deserved it.”

Jessa took another sip of her drink. “If you’re really that upset about Luke, we can always change things around and give the choice back to you. I’m sure I can come up with another way to raise the additional funds. Maybe we could hold some auctions instead. I’m sure we could get some businesses to donate stuff.”

For a second, Taycee actually considered it. If she were the one to give Luke the ax, he wouldn’t be able to accuse her of wanting to date him anymore. Then maybe this whole embarrassment would go away. Maybe he’d go away. Maybe he’d even stop calling her Taycee Lynne.

But the image of Pat’s dejected face came to mind as well. The hurt in his eyes. The way he’d run out on her, and the guilt she’d felt at being the cause of it all. It was still too fresh, and Taycee couldn’t be the one to say “I like you and you, but not-so-much you or you. Sorry.” Besides, maybe Luke really would follow through with his plan to be un-charming and get himself voted off. If so, problem solved.

She shook her head. “No, let’s stick with your way. I don’t want to be the one who decides.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. But I do have one request.” Taycee shot Jessa a pointed look. “And you and I both know I’m in a place where I can demand something.”

Jessa’s bright blue glittered fingernails tapped against the armrest. “What is it?”

“No rose ceremonies.”

“But—”

Taycee’s hand shot up. “I mean it. I refuse to give a flower to any guy in any sort of formal ceremony. It’s horribly cheesy and would be an embarrassment to us all. We’re going to announce the winners on the blog and that’s that. No ceremonies. No roses. And no saying goodbye in person. Got it?” Taycee had given a guy a rose only one time in her entire life—a Jean Giono to Luke the night before he left for college. To this day, she could still see the what-in-the-world-am-I-supposed-to-do-with-this look on Luke’s face and hear his “Uh, thanks, just what I always wanted” response. No way would she go through that experience ever again.

Jessa gnawed on her lip for a short time before finally nodding. “That’s actually not a bad idea. Not only would it simplify things for Burt and Megan, but you’re right. It would be much less cheesy that way.” She paused. “If I agree to this, am I forgiven?”

As if Jessa could get off that easy. As if. “I don’t think so. You’re going to have to work a lot harder for that.”

“What’s it going to take?”

“I’ll let you know,” Taycee said. “In the meantime, just know that you owe me big-time. We’re talking a go-to-jail-for-me sort of favor.”

Jessa swirled what was left of her juice. “Are you thinking of doing something drastic that would land yourself in jail?”

“Maybe.” The idea had merit. Taycee couldn’t be the bachelorette if she were in jail.

“All right, fine.” Jessa set her juice aside. “So long as it’s not a life sentence. I can only wear those orange jump suits for so long.”

“You’re impossible.” Taycee fought back a smile. That was Jessa. Dictatorial, overly confident, prideful, yes, but also forthright and funny. There was no one else who could make Taycee laugh at her current situation. Only Jessa—the one person who’d put her there in the first place. Go figure.

“So really, why do you want Luke off?” A slow grin spread across Jessa’s face. “Methinks you still like him.”

“No way.” Never, ever, EVER would Taycee admit that to Jessa. Not in this lifetime.

“It’s the only reason I can think why you’d feel so strongly about it.”

“If I liked him, why would I want him off?”

A knowing look appeared in Jessa’s eyes. “Because you’re afraid of getting your heart broken again. Admit it.”

Again, not in this lifetime. “Please. I was fourteen when he left. You can’t have your heart broken at fourteen.”

“You did,” Jessa said, her expression pensive. “And you’ve never really gotten over it. That’s why you haven’t been able to seriously date anyone since then, isn’t it?”

The couch suddenly felt uncomfortable. Taycee shifted positions, mentally adding “too perceptive” to Jessa’s list of faults. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

“Believe it or not, Jessa McCray, sometimes even you can be wrong.”

Jessa swung her feet to the ground and clasped her fingers together. “Okay, fine, so you don’t want to talk about Luke. I get it.”

Wow, this was a day for the record books. Not only had Jessa apologized, but she’d even listened and obeyed. She really must be sorry.

Jessa set her empty glass down with a clink. “So, since Luke is off limits, want to tell me where that ketchup came from now?”

Chapter Seven

Luke weaved his cart through the narrow aisle of the grocery store, dreading the long night of work still ahead of him. People had made it sound so easy. You graduate, pass the state boards, and then set up a practice of your own. No sweat, right?

Wrong.

Business classes weren’t part of the veterinary program, so Luke’s only experience with that aspect of a practice were the two years he’d spent completing a residency in Ohio. Problem was, he’d focused more on the medical side of things and less on the business side.

Maybe he should have taken the partnership offer. It would have been so much easier to walk into an established practice with established clients and an established billing and filing system. Instead, Luke had turned it down. Not because he didn’t like his boss—the man was amazing—but because he decided to move back to Shelter Springs, with its soaring population of 1,000 and a welcoming sign that read:

Welcome to Shelter Springs, Colorado!

(And you thought you were lost.)

Luke shook his head. He honestly didn’t know what had prompted him to make this move. Maybe he was running away or maybe he was looking for something he’d once had but lost. Either way, he’d made his decision. He passed the Colorado state boards and now here he was, back in Shelter Springs and wondering what in the world he’d been thinking.

He picked up a can of chili and examined it, and then put it back on the shelf as his mother’s words echoed through his mind. “Always cook fresh, you hear me? Always, always, always!” Oh, Luke had heard all right. But it wasn’t about the health so much as the taste. His mom had been such a good cook that he was now trained to think canned chili tasted nasty. Which was all well and good, but how many times had he been too busy to cook and wanted to open a can of soup or throw in a frozen lasagna for dinner? Too many.

Thanks to his mom, easy cuisine was now ruined for him.

Luke frowned, and then forced his tired body toward the produce section. He rounded the corner and stopped when he saw Taycee with her back to him, examining some grapes. Her long, dark hair was pulled into a ponytail that swished a little as she moved.

When Luke had first bumped into her, it was like a “welcome home” banner. Taycee Lynne Emerson still lived in Shelter. Who would have thought? Her being here had given him hope that things really could be like old times. Romping around in the summer. Snowball fights in the winter. The slow, easy-going life he’d come to crave so much the past couple of years.

Unfortunately, Taycee had changed. Or Luke had. Either way, things were different. The brother/sister relationship they used to have was gone, replaced by a whole lot of something else. Awkward tension mixed with an unexpected attraction. Taycee had always been cute, with her wild dark hair and hazel eyes, but now she was way beyond that. It caught him off guard—as did the way she kept him at a distance. Add to that the fact that she’d volunteered him to date her on some stupid show, only to tell him he was the last guy she’d ever want to date, and he was more confused than ever.

Taycee opened a bag of green grapes and popped one into her mouth. In a frantic movement, her hand waved in front of her face as she looked around for who knows what. “Blech!” she finally said before pushing the bag of grapes aside and moving on to the apples.

A woman nearby dropped a package of strawberries in her cart and headed for the grapes, reaching for a bag.

“Unless you like your grapes on the extreme side of sour, I’d keep on walking,” Taycee told her.

“Oh, thank you.”

“No problem.” The woman moved on as Taycee examined an apple, and then dropped it into a sack.

Luke gave a wry smile and pushed his cart forward. “Aren’t you going to try the apple too? How do you know they’re not sour? Speaking of which, I didn’t realize we could sample the produce before we buy.”

Taycee stiffened as she slowly turned to face him. “Clive knows I hate sour grapes and told me I could try them whenever I wanted.”

Luke leaned over to inspect the bananas. They looked ripe, so he tossed a couple into his cart. “Interesting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Taycee’s bright blue T-shirt made her eyes look almost blue today. It was something he’d always found fascinating about her. When he stood close, her eyes were a variegated hazel but back away several feet and they seemed to lighten or darken depending on what color she wore or what mood she was in.

Luke shrugged. “It means I find you interesting. But now that I think about it, it makes sense. You like to sample things first—whether it’s fruit or twenty-one guys, right? A quick date with each of them and then what? You’ll pick the best looking? Richest? Smartest? Strongest?”

He rested his arms casually across the cart’s handle. “How exactly do you like your men anyway?” He’d meant to goad her a little, but he found that he was pretty interested in her answer. What kind of guys did the grown-up Taycee Lynne go for?

Her eyes widened initially, but then the corners of her mouth lifted slightly. “I like them sweet, like my fruit.” With a hand on her cart, she pushed it away from him. A few steps later, she stopped to look over her shoulder. “You should try the grapes. I bet you’d love them.”

Luke chuckled. He couldn’t help it. For all her oddities and confusing ways, Taycee Lynne was always good for a laugh. “Hey. One more question before you run off again.”

Her expression turned wary.

Luke nodded toward the grapes. “How do you know that grape you tried tasted like all the others? Maybe you just picked a bad one.”

She hesitated, as if seriously considering the question. Finally, she said, “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done that. Night, Luke.” With that, she steered her cart toward the checkout counter.

Luke watched her go, feeling like she’d just told him something important. Something he should be able to decipher and somehow understand. But whether he was too tired or just plain clueless, he had no idea what she was talking about.

Chapter Eight

“Jessa, I have enough clothes. Please no more. Not today. I’m begging you,” Taycee complained as Jessa dragged her down a bustling Denver street. Her stomach had been growling for the past hour, but did Jessa care? No. When it came to hunger and shopping, shopping took first priority. Every time.

“Only one more, and then we can get dinner. You’re going to love this place. Totally random and eclectic, but oh the finds I’ve discovered here. It would be a sin to come this close without taking a peek.” Jessa stopped in front of a small shop called Talia’s Treasures and examined a few shirts and skirts that hung from hooks suctioned to the inside of the windows. She gave a satisfied smile, and then yanked the door open and tugged Taycee inside.

Taycee looked around the dimly lit room. Eclectic was right. Besides several racks of clothing, jewelry hung from stands and plaques from the walls. There were pictures, books, hair accessories—even chocolate covered straw-berries—all packed into one tiny space that couldn’t be more than 200 square feet. Cinnamon and vanilla scents wafted through the air, making Taycee’s stomach grumble yet again.

“Hey, Jess, haven’t seen you around for a few weeks,” said a girl from behind the register. Her skin was a beautiful rich brown and her black hair had a wild look to it, with tight natural curls that splayed around her face.

Jessa brightened. “Hey, Talia, got anything new for me?”

Talia’s head bobbed and she held up her index finger. “One sec.” She disappeared into a back room. A moment later she returned, carrying a floral shirt with cap sleeves and rows of ruffles zigzagging down the front. Some earrings dangled from a card in her other hand. “Only the most perfect pair of earrings and a shirt that totally screams your name. I knew you’d want first look.”

“Oooh, I love it!” Jessa took the shirt and shoved it in Taycee’s arms. “Go try it on.”

“But this shirt screams your name, not mine.” It wasn’t Taycee’s style at all. Much too frilly and chic.

“Oh, I think it’s screaming your name now.” Jessa looked in a small mirror resting on the counter and raised the earrings next to her face. “Go, go.”

“Fine,” said Taycee. “But if I do this—again—you’re paying for dinner.”

“Done.”

Taycee followed Talia to a fitting room and pulled the flimsy black curtain closed with a sigh. It wasn’t that she didn’t like shopping or buying the occasional new thing, but Jessa had dragged her out nearly every night during the past two weeks for one reason or another. Shopping, hair appointments, makeup lessons, manicures—it was… well, exhausting. Taycee’s once plain wardrobe now consisted of new spring dresses, designer jeans, shorts, blouses, swimwear, and several new pairs of shoes. Enough was enough. Especially with the opening event only two days away.

Taycee pulled the “screaming” shirt over her head and studied her reflection. Okay, wow, not at all what she’d expected. It fit her well and even tapered in at the waist in a flattering way. Sort of a dressed up casual look.

Sold.

Now for the “I told you so.”

“Well, how is it? Let me see,” Jessa’s voice floated through the curtain.

Sliding it open, Taycee placed her hands on her hips as she walked from the room, model-like. Or at least as model-like as she could pull off.

“I was right,” Jessa said, clapping her hands together. “That is so you. You’re definitely getting that one. Talia, you’re brilliant.”

Taycee smiled. “No argument here. Thanks, Talia.”

With a wink, Talia leaned against the counter. “Anything for Jessa. I haven’t been open for very long and can’t afford to do much advertising, but so far, Jessa’s word of mouth is all I need.”

“Well, you now have one more fan,” said Taycee, knowing she’d be back—once she recuperated from shopping jetlag, that is.

Jessa purchased the earrings and a few additional items for herself before allowing Taycee to drag her to a nearby café for some much needed food. They sat in a corner booth with sandwiches and a shared order of curly fries.

“We’re done shopping now, right?” Taycee said.

“You only wish.”

“C’mon, Jess. I’m starting to feel like a dress-up doll. What more do I need?”

“I was thinking maybe one more dress. A long, flowing one would look fabulous with those new wedge sandals we got you.”

Taycee jabbed a fry toward Jessa. “No way, we’re done. My bank account can’t take anymore.” She popped the fry into her mouth and chewed hard.

“Fine,” Jessa mumbled as she nibbled on her sandwich.

Some of the stress seeped out of Taycee’s body as she relaxed against her seat. If only she could put her feet up, they ached so badly. “Hey, how about a girls’ night tomorrow?” Taycee suggested. “We can rent a movie and do nothing at all.” It sounded heavenly.

Jessa’s dangling earrings glinted in the light as her head shook. “Can’t. We have to film your first interview tomorrow.”

“Interview? What interview?” Jessa had never mentioned anything about an interview.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? We decided to ask you a few questions and get your thoughts before the big event. The viewers will love it.”

A pit settled in Taycee’s stomach, and suddenly even the curly fries didn’t look so good. She’d mentally prepared to start the entire ordeal on Monday night, not Sunday night. Sacrificing her last night of freedom wasn’t something she was willing to do. “No. No way. If you want to do an interview, you can do it Monday night before all the bachelors show up. Sunday night is mine.”

“But it’s better to get as much done beforehand as we can.”

“I don’t care.” Taycee pushed the plate of fries away. “I’m not doing it. I’m not.”

Jessa eyed the plate before she shrugged and stuffed another fry in her mouth. “Okay, okay, you win. We’ll do a girls’ night instead.”

Taycee’s eyes narrowed. That was easy. Too easy. What did Jessa have up her sleeve? “Come to think of it, I’d rather have a quiet night at home alone, if that’s all right with you.”

“What, you think I’m planning to invite Burt and Megan and their cameras along?”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

Jessa swirled a fry through the ketchup before biting into it. “You wound me with your lack of trust.

“And you wound me with your inability to earn that trust.”

“Touché.”

* * *

By Sunday night, all the bachelors had arrived. The town’s one inn was completely packed, along with a few others in neighboring towns. While new, handsome faces were probably causing quite a stir around town, Taycee remained safely inside her apartment, hiding behind closed blinds and a locked door.

Only one more day.

A knot formed in her stomach every time she thought about it. Luke. The bachelors. Luke. Being on Camera. Luke. Oddly enough, Taycee felt more nervous about facing him again than all the other bachelors combined. He’d been mysteriously absent during the past couple of weeks, which would normally be a good thing, but it only meant that their next meeting, which was sure to be awkward, would take place in front of cameras and a room full of other bachelors. Luke was bound to goad her into saying something mortifying. Or, more likely, just to be a pest, he’d bring up the fact that she talked in her sleep—not a comment that would go over very well in a room full of potential dates.

But that’s exactly why Luke would say it. To torment her. Because heaven forbid he’d ever grow up.

Taycee’s forehead dropped to the counter, hitting the town newspaper resting there. She needed some aspirin. She needed some sleep. She needed to stop thinking and worrying and stewing about Luke.

Sigh.

If only there was some way to keep him from showing up. Not only would she be able to get through the night with some sanity still intact, but Luke would be a no-show. A slacker. Someone who obviously didn’t take the show seriously and would therefore be one of the first to go. Taycee would be free from having to see him and date him and be goaded by him.

Hmm… not a bad idea. It bordered on brilliant, actually. But how to pull it off?

Taycee lifted her head and flipped through the paper. Think, think, think. She paused on the last page when an ad for Carl’s Feed and Seed caught her attention. She knew Carl’s store well, with his bright red, cursive sign and the putrid smell of fertilizer that drifted through the town on days when the wind blew the wrong way. Whether it was the fact that Carl could use some extra business or the reminder of the smell, inspiration struck.

In the morning Taycee would call Carl, and with any luck, Luke would be MIA tomorrow night.

Chapter Nine

Taycee dressed in one of her new flowery summer dresses and slipped on some white strappy sandals. The dark pink pedicure Jessa had insisted on actually looked terrific. A few last curls in her hair, a swipe of lipstick, and she was as ready as she would ever be.

Butterflies swarmed in her stomach as Taycee slid into her white Corolla and headed toward The Barn. On the outskirts of town, The Barn was exactly that—a barn. Or, at least it used to be. After significant renovations years earlier, the painted wood building that had once housed hay and animals now boasted hardwood floors, a log burning fireplace, a cozy leather sectional, rustic stairs and banisters, and a large kitchen. The perfect place for the opening “meet the bachelors” event.

“You’re here,” Jessa breathed when Taycee walked inside. “Thank goodness. The florist I hired from Colorado Springs is botching the job. Her arrangements are decent, but she’s a lousy decorator. She doesn’t know where to put them. Would you mind?”

“Gladly.” Anything to avoid standing around and letting the butterflies wreak havoc. Taycee scanned the room. Burt and Megan were setting up two cameras while a few others were putting refreshments on a table and rushing around doing who knows what. Then there were the flowers. Jessa was right. The arrangements of lilies were beautiful, but they were bunched together in odd places. On the floor, in the corner where no one would see them, or right next to an old TV—not something that warranted extra focus.

Taycee got to work, side-stepping around people as she moved each bouquet to more flattering locations. Next to the fireplace, on the coffee table, and near the entrance, the flowers soon accented the room.

As Taycee searched for one last place to put an arrangement, Jessa approached. “Since you didn’t want to do the interview yesterday, we have to do it now, before the guys start showing up. You ready?”

“No,” said Taycee, placing the flowers on the floor next to the couch. She’d never be ready.

“Relax.” Jessa dragged her over to a seat where Burt had a camera positioned to start filming. “It’ll be easy stuff,” said Jessa. “You know, what you’re feeling, what you hope to find tonight among the bachelor hopefuls—that sort of thing.”

Taycee let out a sigh and sat down in front of the camera. Her hands were clammy and cold. Even shaky. In less than an hour, twenty guys from various parts of the country would walk through that door. She’d have to talk to each of them. Flirt. Get to know them as best she could in the space of a few hours. She’d have to act like she was having fun. Like she wanted to be here.

Yeah, her hands were definitely shaking.

“In three, two, one…” Burt gestured for Jessa to begin, and Taycee clasped her fingers together.

“So Taycee,” said Jessa, “the night of the big event is finally here. How do you feel?”

“Nervous,” she answered. “In a few minutes, a whole bunch of guys will show up who’ve I’ve never met before. It feels like I’m getting ready for a blind date on steroids. It’s nerve-wracking, especially since I’ve been on enough blind dates to know that some don’t end well.” Actually, most of them didn’t.

“But all it takes is one, right?”

“True.” One guy in billions, that’s all. Seriously, how did anyone find their soul mate?

“Now that you’ve seen all the online videos of the bachelors, is there one guy you’re especially excited to meet?”

Jessa was right, Taycee had watched the short video clips of each bachelor exactly one time. Two weeks ago. She’d even briefly studied their names and bios only hours before, but now they all seemed to merge together as one long string of faces and introductions. Would she even be able to remember all their names? Not likely.

Taycee shifted in her seat. The truth was, only one face stood out above all the others. But she wasn’t at all excited to “meet” Luke and hoped beyond hope that she wouldn’t have to.

“They all look like great guys,” she finally said, “and I’m looking forward to meeting them. It’s just going to be interesting doing it all at once.”

“Let’s talk about bachelor #21. Luke Carney,” Jessa said. “He’s also from Shelter Springs, and there’s been some talk on the site about the fairness of him being a participant. So I wanted to ask how you feel about that. Do you think he’s got an unfair advantage over the others because you already know him?”

More like a disadvantage. “Not at all. Luke’s been away from Shelter for so long that I hardly know him anymore. Yes, we knew each other when we were younger, but I was only fourteen when he left, and I’m sure we’ve both changed a lot since then. Besides that, the viewers will be the ones voting—not me—so it’s really them he has to impress. In that respect, he’s in the same boat as everyone else.”

Jessa smiled before continuing on with a few more questions. When they were done, Taycee had a few minutes to catch her breath before she was directed outside to wait for the first bachelor. Gavin Spencer from Spokane, Washington.

She squared her shoulders and steeled herself for the long night ahead. It would be awkward, that was for sure. But if everything went according to plan, at least she wouldn’t have to face Luke.

* * *

Luke jogged out to his beat-up gray F150. The wind must have changed directions because the stench of the stables was worse than usual. He jumped in and rolled up his window to block out the worst of the smell.

Not long before, Beatrice had brought by her ancient Cocker Spaniel—a dog that had definitely seen better days. Since she wouldn’t hear of her precious Sandy being put under, Luke had loaded her up with what medicines might help, and then answered question after question after question about every what-should-I-do-if scenario Beatrice could think of. “What if Sandy stops breathing, what should I do?” “What if she can’t get up in the morning?” “What if she wanders outside and I can’t find her?”

Luke had finally given her his cell number. That seemed to pacify her.

A quick shower and a change of clothes later, Luke was late. His foot hit the pedal and he reversed his truck, and then headed down his long winding gravel drive toward the highway. He rounded a bend, and then slammed on his brakes. Directly in front of him, piled high in the middle of the road, were several yards of manure. It spanned the narrow road and blocked his only exit out.

“What the—?” Luke flung his truck into park and jumped out. The putrid smell assaulted him, and he groaned. Carl must have mistakenly delivered it to the wrong farm—today of all days. Talk about rotten timing. With a shake of his head, he glanced at his watch and bit back a curse. How would he get to The Barn now? He wasn’t about to saddle up a horse and arrive smelling like one. Maybe Betty or Lyle was home. He could always borrow their car.

Luke yanked his keys from the ignition then took off through the trees for the neighboring farm. Several minutes later, he arrived slightly out of breath and pounded on the front door. Betty answered.

“Luke!” Curlers framed her face, matching the robe and slippers she wore. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at that bachelorette thing tonight?”

Luke nodded. “Yeah, which is why I’m here. A load of manure got dropped off in my driveway and I can’t get out. Can I borrow one of your cars?”

Betty’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, dear me, that’s not good. My car’s in the shop, and Lyle just left with the truck. All that’s left is Lumpy.”

“I’ll take it.”

Chapter Ten

“Hey, Jake, it’s great to meet you,” Taycee said to the blond haired, blue-eyed bachelor wearing a tan sports jacket on a warm spring evening. She gave him ten solid minutes before he did away with it and draped it over the back of a chair.

He looked good in it though. Really good.

“It’s nice to be met,” Jake said, casting a sidelong glance through the door of The Barn where several other bachelors already stood. His smile turned lopsided as he cocked his head toward the room. “How about we skip this thing and go for a ride instead? I’ve never been good at sharing.”

Taycee smiled. “And I’ve never been good at dividing myself. So sure, count me in.”

Jake laughed. “You don’t think I’ll get beat up for something like that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. You could take it though, right? Think of it as saving a damsel in distress.”

He laughed again, louder this time. “A drive with you is sounding better and better. Here’s hoping I can take you up on that sometime.” With a wink, he backed toward the open door. “Guess I’ll see you inside?”

Taycee nodded and watched him walk away. Suave, collected, charming, good-looking. Yeah, she’d definitely see him inside.

“Taycee? So great to finally meet you in person.”

Taycee twisted back and blinked at the tall and lanky redhead with slightly bushy eyebrows. Normally she had a chance to collect her thoughts before another bachelor came. “Uh… it’s Sterling, right?”

“The one and only.” He grinned. “I’ve been looking forward to this night for a long time.”

Taycee suddenly felt like she’d been spritzed with some sort of liquid. Had he really just spit on her? She resisted the urge to wipe a hand across her face. “Me too. I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Well, I almost didn’t.” A few more flecks of saliva landed on her neck, and Taycee took a small step back as he told her about his missed flight and mix up with the rental car company. What seemed like hours later, he finally disappeared inside. Taycee tried not to cringe as she wiped the moisture away with the back of her hand.

Note to self: Stand as far away from Sterling as possible.

Jessa glanced her way and held up five fingers. “Only five left,” she mouthed.

It sounded like five hundred to Taycee. Already her feet ached, and she had long since run out of different ways to say, “Hey, nice to meet you” or “So glad you could make it.” She snuck a glance inside. There they all were, milling about and waiting to be entertained by her wit and charm.

What wit and charm?

Taycee sighed and looked around. The sounds of a car pulling into the parking lot alerted her that another bachelor would be coming soon. She quickly slipped off her sandals and luxuriated in the feel of the cold, soft grass beneath her feet. Her dress was long so hopefully no one would notice.

Moments later, another guy strutted toward her, his keys whipping around his finger and clinking. He had that over-confident look to him that reminded Taycee of a used car salesman. She accepted his hug and shot Jessa a panicked, I-can’t-remember-his-name look over his shoulder.

“Alec,” Jessa mouthed.

“Bless you,” Taycee mouthed back. She pulled free and smiled. “So great to finally meet you, Alec. I’m excited to get to know you better.”

“Likewise,” he said, giving her a once-over and making her feel like a shiny new car. Taycee waited until his gaze returned to her face before she lifted an eyebrow. Not cool.

She managed to exchange a few more words with him before he said a quick see you later and disappeared inside. Good riddance. Handsome, yes. Cocky, double yes. No thanks. Hopefully the viewers thought so too.

Three bachelors later and still no sign of Luke. When ten additional minutes came and went, Jessa’s foot tapped impatiently. “Is he coming?” Jessa hissed.

There were a lot of things Taycee could have said. Maybe he got into an accident. Maybe he’d been held up by a patient. Maybe there was an emergency and he was now performing surgery. Or maybe, just maybe, ten yards of manure kept him hostage in his driveway.

Taycee settled with, “Maybe he forgot.”

That earned the absentee Luke one of Jessa’s scathing frowns—the kind that meant she wasn’t about to let this slide and there would be some serious ramifications later. Taycee bit back a smile. Luke wouldn’t know what hit him.

Just then, a rumbling sound emerged through the trees, growing louder and louder as a huge battered and rusted dump truck puttered into view. It reminded Taycee of The Little Engine That Could. “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can,” it seemed to say as it approached, finally screeching to a halt almost right in front of her.

She choked on a laugh as she waved the exhaust fumes away.

Luke leapt from the driver’s seat and tossed his keys at some poor teenager who’d been recruited to help out. “Be careful with Lumpy,” he said. “She’s pretty special.”

The teenager looked down at the keys with a mixture of confusion and worry, but who could blame him? The prospect of parking “Lumpy” would scare just about anyone.

The camera turned Taycee’s way and she tried to keep a straight face, but failed. Where in the world did Luke get that thing? And how could anyone look that good jumping out of a ride like that? It wasn’t right. Or fair. Especially since he wasn’t supposed to be here at all.

“Nice you could finally make it,” Taycee managed to say. “Love the wheels.”

Luke eyed the wreck of a dump truck. “She’s a beauty all right. That engine sure purrs.”

Taycee giggled. She couldn’t help it. She should have known this would happen since Luke was never one to give up. But a dump truck? Really? “Maybe I should leave you and Lumpy alone together.”

Luke cocked his head toward her. The corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly. “Jealous of a dump truck?”

“Nah.” Oh great, it was starting already. The goading. The taunting. The let’s-see-what-embarrassing-thing-we-can-get-Taycee-to-blurt-out-on-camera game. But Luke wouldn’t get away with it tonight. Taycee would stand her ground and keep her distance. It was the only way to keep her pride intact.

“Hey, I brought you something.” Luke dug into his pocket and pulled out a little white box tied with a bow, like a ring box only a tad bigger.

A few of the other guys had brought her a flower, but no one had given her an actual present. What was he doing? She eyed it uncertainly. “It’s too soon for a ring, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

Taycee flushed. He was a toad, that’s all there was to it. The kind that never turned into a prince no matter how many times you kissed him. Not that Taycee was about to try. Or wanted to try. Or even thought about wanting to try. Her flush deepened. “Really, you shouldn’t have.”

“I know.”

An awkward silence descended while Taycee stood there, holding the box. She wasn’t about to open it while the camera rolled. Anything could be in it. A rubber snake. A framed picture of her with braces and wild, untamed hair. Or that candy from the novelty store that always turned Taycee’s tongue and lips blue.

“You going to open it?” Luke asked, his eyes glinting.

“I’ll wait until later. We should go in.”

“Oh, c’mon. I promise it’s not going to bite.”

Taycee shot him a skeptical look before giving the box a quick shake. Nothing happened. In fact, it felt empty. She lifted the corner for a quick peek, and then opened it all the way. Inside was a folded piece of paper. “Oh, how sweet. You wrote me a love sonnet,” she joked.

“Sorry, no. Did you want me to write you a love sonnet?”

She wanted to kick him. Shake him. Tell him to knock it off right now or she’d call his mother. Honestly, who says stuff like that on camera? Luke. That’s who. And he’d keep doing it. All. Night. Long.

Taycee unfolded the paper, not quite sure what to think. It was a take-out menu for Maris’s diner, including a coupon for some free curly fries. At the bottom, Luke had scribbled in Liza’s work schedule for the next couple of weeks, along with the words,

If you want to avoid long waits, I suggest you steer clear of these times. Luke

Taycee’s heart thump-bumped in her chest. Why did he have to be so nice and thoughtful at times? It was becoming cyclical. Goad Taycee into despising him. Do something charming to throw her off. Then repeat.

Burt stepped closer with the camera, and Taycee slid her fingers over the handwritten words at the bottom. “Thank you, Luke. Curly fries are my favorite.”

Luke gave one of his adorable half smiles. “Maybe we’ll bump into each other there sometime.”

Taycee’s eyes met his in a look that made her forget how to breathe. His expression was almost… sincere, as if he actually wanted to bump into her. But no, Luke wouldn’t want that or even think about wanting that. This was just his way of discomfiting her. And, to her frustration, it was working.

Taycee broke eye contact and refolded the note, placing it back inside the box. “I guess I’ll see you inside?” She needed time to compose herself. To slow her racing heart and convince herself that Luke wasn’t worth all this fuss. He was a sour grape. The sourest of the sour.

“Am I the last one?” Luke said.

“You were pretty late.”

“It was unavoidable.” He held out an arm. “Can I take you in or would that mess with some sort of protocol?”

“Um…” So much for composure, not that it really mattered. It wouldn’t take long before Luke stripped it away anyway. “Sure.” She took a tentative step toward him, and then paused when her bare feet touched the concrete. Oops. Her sandals. She flushed yet again. “Uh…”

A smiled tugged at the corner of Luke’s mouth as he reached for her hand and placed it in the nook of his arm. “Barefoot works for you. C’mon.”

Taycee stumbled and gripped him tighter, needing his support to keep her upright. Just touching him seemed to cause some sort of chemical reaction inside her—the kind that made her want to run for cover.

Jessa gestured for them to stop right outside the door so Burt could move his camera inside.

Taycee took the opportunity to lean in closer. “What-ever happened to being un-charming?” she whispered.

Luke winked and gave her that look again—the serious one that couldn’t possibly be serious. “Maybe I changed my mind,” he whispered back.

Burt signaled that he was ready, so Luke led her inside, where he promptly left her standing alone in front of a large group of staring guys.

Mama Mia.

With two cameras now trained on her, Taycee hesitated, not quite sure what to do now. Soft music played in the background, and a fire crackled in the fireplace. The room grew warm, and the air around her seemed to thicken as she struggled to fight back a rising panic. What was she doing? She hadn’t wanted this spot, and yet somehow here she was, forced to pretend that she was worth all this attention. That she really was searching for Mr. Right.

Without meaning to, her eyes rested on Luke. Off to the side and toward the back, he now leaned against a wooden support post—a reminder that Taycee no longer had his arm to lean on. She swallowed and forced her feet forward, toward a group of men who were all about to compete for a date with her—a girl they didn’t even know.

A confident person who actually wanted to be here might say something like “Hey, let’s get this party started!” But Taycee felt anything but confident, and what she wanted to do more than anything else was to turn and bolt.

“Hey,” she finally said, with a pitiful wave of her hand. Boring, yes. Lame, definitely. But there it was.

The bachelors moved forward, encircling her into a claustrophobic cocoon.

“You finally made it,” someone said.

Another passed her a white lily he must have taken from one of the arrangements. “I hear you like flowers.”

Still another pushed forward. “Since I was the first to arrive, I get Taycee first.” Like she was a popular toy at a black Friday sale.

Within seconds, it was apparent that Taycee would never get to know the guys this way. She laid a hand on the arm nearest to her and blurted, “Want to dance?” then immediately regretted it. Why couldn’t she have said, “Hey, see those two chairs over there in the corner? What do you say we go chat for a few minutes?” or “Hey, why don’t we go scope out the refreshments?” Instead, her dimwitted mind came up with the one thing that kept her front and center, showing off her non-existent dancing skills.

Evidently she didn’t need Luke to goad her into saying or doing something stupid. She managed to do that just fine on her own.

“Yes ma’am,” said Miles with his deep southern drawl. He grinned, tipped his black cowboy hat that he wore, and then swept her into his arms and started backing her around the room. Oh heavens. The two-step—a dance several people had tried to teach her, but had failed miserably. Good thing she was barefoot. Not only would her shoes have made her taller than Miles, but she would probably be stepping on his toes a lot.

And she thought things had been awkward before.

“So, Miles, you’re in the rodeo circuit, right?” Taycee said in an attempt to forget all the eyes looking their way.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Calf roping and bull riding are my specialty. There’s nothin’ like the rush you get in that arena, I tell ya.”

Taycee would have to take his word for it on that one. The only kind of rush she’d get from being thrown from a bull and then charged or gored or trampled by a bull would be the heart-attack, brain aneurysm kind. “How did you get into that?”

He shrugged. “It’s in my blood, I guess. My daddy was a bull rider so it’s the only life I’ve known.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. ”Between you and me, I can be a bit shy at times, but drop me somewhere near a rodeo and I come out of my shell like a turtle itchin’ to sunbathe.”

Taycee laughed. “Then you’ll be happy to know that there will be a couple of rodeos going on around here during the next month.”

“I know.” He winked. “Where do ya think we’re going for our first date if I get the chance to take you out?”

Hmm… to the rodeo with Miles. Definitely not a bad prospect. He didn’t spit when he talked, he made her laugh, and he was actually a decent dance partner. All pluses. The fact that he didn’t goad her into saying something she’d regret was just a bonus. Her gaze automatically drifted to Luke, who now stood talking to another guy with his eyes trained on her. He looked amused. As if her obvious discomfort was something to laugh about.

She returned her attention to Miles, with his cowboy hat and boyish smile. Yeah, a date with him would be nice. Fun even.

“Here’s hoping you get that chance,” she said. “I’ve always been a sucker for a guy in a cowboy hat.”

Miles chuckled and touched the rim of his hat. “Good to know ‘cause we’re pretty inseparable.”

Sterling, the spitter, appeared at Miles’s side and tapped him on the shoulder. Then he asked to cut in.

Visions of getting drenched with spit filled Taycee’s mind, so when Miles moved aside, Taycee said quickly, “Mind if we sit for a minute instead? My feet could use a break.” Without waiting for an answer, she led him to two chairs facing each other and sat as far back as she could.

Sterling leaned forward, closing the gap she’d created. “So, you’re a flower girl?” He laughed like he’d just stated the funniest pun ever.

Taycee forced a smile to her lips even as spittle landed on her hands. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Well, if you ever need an accountant, I’m your guy.” More spittle.

Taycee wedged herself deeper into her chair, folding her arms snug against her body. Maybe that would help. Or at least confine it to her dress rather than her bare skin. “I take it you’re a numbers person?”

Sterling nodded, adjusting his glasses. “Always have been, always will be. In fact, back in high school…” Taycee tried not to cringe as the shower of spit came her way. Where were the other bachelors? On the real show, some guy was always cutting in, interrupting, or stealing away the bachelorette. Why weren’t they doing that now?

A hand rested on her shoulder, and Taycee turned toward it, ready to say yes to anything that was asked of her. She followed the hand up to a handsome face with two blue eyes. Jake, the smooth-talker from California who’d wanted to whisk her away for a drive.

“You don’t mind if I steal her for a dance, do you Sterling?” Jake said.

“But we just sat down and her feet hurt,” Sterling spluttered.

As much as Taycee wanted to blurt out that she felt better now, she kept her mouth shut. Still, her eyes pleaded with Jake to save her. Do something. Anything. Pretty please? With a hundred million cherries on top?

He didn’t disappoint. From his pocket he pulled out a deck of cards. “Tell you what, Sylvie. We’re each going to draw a card from this stack. Highest card wins.”

“Wins what?” Sterling stared at the cards in confusion.

“Taycee, of course.”

Oh. Nice. Taycee frowned at the deck. Surely Jake could have thought of a less chancy way of saving her. Fifty-fifty weren’t her kind of odds.

“Uh…” Sterling hesitated. Evidently he didn’t like the odds either.

“C’mon. Draw a card. You can do it,” Jake coaxed, fanning out the deck.

With a roll of his eyes, Sterling snatched one from the deck. “How do I know you’re not scamming me?” he asked, looking at the card.

“You don’t. That’s part of the fun.” Jake held the deck in front of Taycee. “Would you mind picking my card?”

“Uh… sure.” Her fingers flitted across the top, finally resting on one. Please be higher than Sterling’s. Please, please, please. With a tug, she pulled it free and held it up. “The ten of spades.”

“I’ve got an eight of hearts.” Sterling tossed the card at Jake and stood. “Looks like you win.”

“You’re a good sport, Sylvie.” Jake slapped him on the back before shrugging out of his jacket and taking the empty seat across from Taycee.

“Do you always carry a deck of cards in your pocket?” Taycee said.

Jake’s eyebrow rose. “What, not even a thanks for saving you?”

A red light glowed in her peripheral vision, reminding Taycee that whatever she said could be broadcasted over the internet in a few days’ time. No need for all the viewers to know how she really felt about Sterling’s salivary glands. “Saving me from what? Resting?”

A knowing smile played across Jake’s tanned face, but he let the subject drop. He leaned forward, still holding the cards. “So, what’s it going to be? 52-Card Pickup or a dance with me?”

Hmm… dancing or cards. Tough choice. Not. “How about this: If you can beat me in a game of Speed, I’ll dance with you. If not, we stay here and talk.”

A smile spread across his face. “All right. You’re on.” He pulled a small table closer, and then dealt the cards. Some of the other bachelors gathered around to watch as Taycee picked up her cards with confidence. This was her game—a game she never lost. She was saved from having to dance again.

They started playing, and within minutes, she slapped her last card on the table. “I won!” she called as cheers and clapping broke out around her.

“Hustler,” Jake accused.

“Hey, a bet’s a bet. You’re not going to be a sore loser, are you?”

Murmurs broke out around Taycee, and a bachelor named Greg stepped forward. Tall and thin, he wore a wrinkled button-down shirt. “Move over, Jake,” Greg said. “Give the rest of us a chance to win that dance.”

And that’s how it began. A game of Speed for a chance to win a dance with Taycee. With a contented smile, she settled into her out-of-the way seat and won game after game after game. Time started to fly. Granted, she wasn’t getting to know the bachelors as well as she could of if she’d danced with them, but no matter. For the first time all day, Taycee was able to relax and enjoy the night. If a bachelor had a problem with it or didn’t like cards then he wasn’t a good fit for her anyway.

Taycee smiled in satisfaction as yet another bachelor vacated the seat in front of her. It was probably time to put an end to this game, but she wasn’t quite ready—not when giving back the cards meant a return of the awkwardness. So she picked up the deck and shuffled the cards as another bachelor sank down opposite her.

When she glanced up, a few cards flew out of her hand. Luke smiled at her with a gleam in those confident brown eyes of his.

“Think you can beat me, too?” he said.

“Easy.” Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the cards. Luke had been the one to teach her the game. There was a time they’d played it often—mostly because Taycee was determined to beat him at least once. So she kept trying and trying and trying, but she’d never won. Not once.

Luke hunched forward, and Taycee’s eyes were drawn to the curve of his shoulders. What would it feel like to bury her face right there, just below his collar bone? To have his arms surround her, pulling her in and keeping her close as they swayed to the slow song now coming through the speakers?

It would feel good. Too good. It would make her feel things, want things, wish for things that would never happen.

She had to win this game because dancing with Luke would be a very bad idea.

Taycee took her time dealing the cards. It was ridiculous that Luke could upset her equanimity so easily. Here she was, in a room full of handsome guys that most girls would give anything to go out with. Who cared about Luke?

Not her.

No way.

Never.

“Go,” said Luke.

No, no, no. She wasn’t ready.

In what seemed like seconds, Luke’s pile was gone, leaving her with three cards still in her hand. A wicked smile stretched across his face as he stood and held out his hand. “Looks like I won. Care to dance, Taycee Lynne?”

Of all the things he could have remembered about her, that nickname was the worst. Two words and she was like a puppy, lapping it up and drooling for more. But she didn’t want to be like a puppy. She wanted to be strong. Confident. The kind of girl who was in complete ownership of her mind and her heart.

Nervous anticipation rippled through her body as she placed her hand in his. With a gentle tug, he pulled her to her feet and took her in his arms. His hand settled on her waist while another clasped her hand. He smelled clean with a hint of aftershave. She felt warm and good and scared all at once. Everything about him intoxicated her. His eyes, his smile, all the pent up memories she had of him.

Memories. Only memories.

Taycee gazed over his shoulder, avoiding those eyes that seemed to see right through her. Why did he have this effect on her? Why did she let him have this effect on her?

“Looks like you’re having fun,” said Luke, his breath hot on her ear.

“I am having fun.”

“Even though you’re stuck dancing with me right now?”

Taycee made the mistake of looking into his eyes. Those gorgeous, beautiful eyes that reeled her in like a fish that’d happily swallow any hook for a chance to be caught by him. “I was hoping you’d gotten rusty at Speed.”

A moment of confusion gave way to a knowing smile. “That’s right. We used to play that game all the time, didn’t we?”

Pathetic, that’s what Taycee was. Completely pathetic. Why? Because Speed had become one of her favorite games because of him. And he didn’t even remember.

“You look good tonight,” said Luke.

“Thanks.” Okay, so maybe that redeemed him a tad. A millimeter at most.

“I still can’t get over the fact that you’re all grown up now. It’s so… weird.”

And like Humpty Dumpty, down he went again. It would never change, would it? No matter what, Luke would always think of her as Caleb’s little sister. The nuisance. The girl who liked flowers and curly fries. The girl he could beat in cards.

The spicy smell of his cologne invaded her senses once again.

Please, someone save me.

“How do you feel about sharing, Luke?” asked Jake. “I think I’ve earned a dance.”

Taycee resisted the urge to throw her arms around Jake. This was twice now he’d come to her rescue, which proved that he was exactly the sort of person she should be paying attention to. And she would. Starting right now.

Luke relinquished his hold on Taycee, and she stepped into Jake’s arms. Though not as tall as Luke, Jake was still tall. In fact, he was a good fit. His arms were warm and toned. His gait smooth. “So… you’re a California boy,” Taycee said. “Does that mean you surf?”

“Nope.”

“Beach volleyball?”

“Occasionally.”

“Red convertible?”

“Never.”

Taycee smiled. “Well, you’re tan at least.”

He laughed. “That’s debatable, but I do like the outdoors.”

“Me too.” She also liked Jake. Not only was he hand-some and charming, but he was comfortable and helped Taycee forget about everything else. The staring eyes. The cameras. The red lights. Luke.

Well, okay, almost everything else.

As the night wore on, Jake became her wooden post to lean on. He stayed near her side. He made her laugh. He stood back when she talked to someone else, and then stepped in to cover any awkward pauses. He kept her at a safe distance from Sterling. He stared down Alec when things got uncomfortable. And anytime someone asked her for a dance, he’d pull out his trusty deck of cards.

Luke, on the other hand, didn’t approach her the rest of the night.

Chapter Eleven

Two days after the opening night, the footage appeared on the website. Episode One, Jessa called it. Taycee typed in SheltersBachelorette.com, saw that it was there, and then immediately closed the browser without clicking play. The probability was high that if she ever watched any of the episodes, she’d never go back in front of the camera again. Seeing her picture on the site was bad enough.

Business was slow, so Taycee spent most of her day organizing and de-cluttering. When an order of vases arrived that afternoon, she carried the box to her back room and placed one vase after another on the shelf with robotic-like movements. With nothing else to do, she straightened the rows, making all the vases uniform. There. Her mom would be so proud.

Her fingers drummed on the counter as she looked around. What now? A bridal magazine sat in the corner, so Taycee grabbed it and flipped through it, tearing out a few pages picturing beautiful bouquets that caught her eye. She’d been keeping a scrapbook of all her favorites for years now with the hope that someday she would get the chance to do the flowers for a large, extravagant wedding. But right now, the dream of long flower garlands, boutonnières, center-pieces, and gorgeous bridal bouquets was just that: A dream.

Sure, Taycee had done a few smaller weddings over the years, but nothing beyond a few simple bouquets and centerpieces. Those who could afford more impressive dis-plays always went to the larger, more established floral companies in Denver. Someday, though, she’d make a name for herself in the wedding industry. She would.

Bells jingled and Jessa’s voice rang out, “Tace, you here?”

“In the back.”

Jessa burst into the room, wearing several bracelets that clinked when she threw her arms around Taycee. “I’ve been trying to call you all day! Did you watch it yet? You were awesome! Our traffic is through the roof, and we’ve already earned more on voting sales than even I had anticipated. It’s crazy!” Jessa let go and clapped her hands together gleefully. “I knew you’d make the perfect bachelorette. Or I should say ‘The Barefoot Cardshark.’”

“The what?”

“It’s the nickname people are calling you on the site.”

“Oh.” Taycee didn’t know whether to be flattered or embarrassed by that. It sounded… well, ridiculous. She shut the bridal magazine and pushed it back to the corner. “I’m really glad for the sake of the town, but honestly, Jess, I’m so nervous about it all. Going out with ten guys during the next two weeks seems so wrong and awkward to me. Knowing that everything I say and do will eventually be viewed by whoever wants to watch it on the internet makes it even worse.”

The bracelets clinked again as Jessa hopped up on the counter. “You spent several hours in the same room with twenty-one guys and now you’re worried about ten individual dates? Pshh, you’ll be fine.”

If only Taycee shared her confidence.

“Speaking of which, who do you want the lucky ten to be?” Jessa said.

“So long as it’s not Luke, I really don’t care.” But that wasn’t entirely true. Miles and Jake would probably be her top choices. Greg would be fine also. Sterling and Alec, her last—next to Luke, of course.

“Sorry, girl, but Luke isn’t leaving anytime soon. Based on the voting and discussions going on so far, he’s one of the favorites. Jake’s up there as well. Why do you want him off anyway? You two looked like you got along just fine the other night.”

“He was supposed to be un-charming and try to get voted off,” Taycee muttered.

“He wasn’t.”

“I noticed.”

Jessa pursed her lips as she studied Taycee. “When you two danced, I’m telling you, sparks flew.”

Sparks? As if. Maybe from Taycee, but definitely not from Luke. He was spark-less. For him, the highlight of the night had probably been driving Lumpy to The Barn and back. “It’s all an act, Jess. He likes to be contrary. I told him I hoped he’d get voted off, so he’s doing everything he can to stay on the show—exactly what he used to do when we were younger. It’s like he hasn’t matured at all in the last ten years.”

“He looked pretty mature to me.”

“Trust me,” said Taycee. “He doesn’t care. He never has. I just… want him off.”

Jessa’s expression turned soft. Sympathetic. Possibly even pitying. “He’s an idiot then.”

Taycee would have laughed, but it would have sounded fake. The kind of laugh where you tried to pretend you didn’t care but really did—one Jessa would see right through. Her friend was right about one thing though. Luke was far too likeable and would most likely remain on the show for a while. Not okay.

It was time to get serious and come up with something better than a few yards of manure to get him voted off. But what?

* * *

When the morning sun peeked through the blinds, Taycee’s head pounded from thinking and worrying and stressing over how to get Luke off the show. She mashed a pillow over her face and groaned until her cell phone rang. She’d barely said hello when Jessa’s voice shouted in her ear, making her wince. What had Jessa said? Something about news or an interview or something?

Taycee held the phone away a couple of inches. “Come again? And not so loud this time?”

Jessa slowed her words, but the volume was just as loud. “Both KDVR and 9NEWS want to do an interview about the show and the charity event behind it!” she squealed. “I can’t stop shaking I’m that excited.”

It was enough to get Taycee moving. She sat up and scooted back against the headboard. Wow. Less than a week into the show and already Jessa had managed to scrounge up media coverage. How did she do it? “Jess, that’s awesome. When do they want to interview you?”

“Me?” Jessa laughed. “No, they want to interview you.”

“What?” Suddenly the news didn’t sound so great after all. In fact, it sounded the opposite of great.

“Why would they want me when they could interview the bachelorette?”

Silence fell as Taycee digested this bit of info. Two news programs wanted to interview her. Not Jessa—Taycee. In front of real, professional cameras on real live TV. There would be no do-overs. No take backs. No “Can I rephrase that?” requests allowed. Granted, the bachelorette show really didn’t give her those options either, but this was different somehow. Scarier. Actually, petrifying was a better word.

“Hello? Are you there?” Jessa’s voice came again.

Ever so slowly, Taycee lowered the phone, pushed “end call,” and set it down. Then she got up and walked into her bathroom. When her phone started to ring once again, she closed the door. It was time to get a new phone, along with a new number.

A number she would never, ever, EVER give to Jessa.

Chapter Twelve

The votes have been tallied and the top ten chosen! In no particular order, they are as follows:

Greg Jones, from Greensboro, North Carolina

Jake Sanford, from Sacramento, California

Sterling Montgomery, from Austin, Texas

Jason Sparks, from Tifton, Georgia

Luke Carney, from Shelter Springs, Colorado

Alec Jamison, from Rutherford, New York

Miles Romney, from Blackfoot, Idaho

Rhett Cox, from Gilbert, Arizona

Kent Burton, from Lafayette, Indiana

Gavin Spencer, from Spokane Washington

Congratulations guys! Now let’s see what our bachelorette has to say about this news:

Taycee’s fingers tapped lightly on the keys as she eyed the list yet again, hoping it had somehow changed, but Luke’s name was still there. As were Alec’s, Sterling’s, and Gavin’s—four people she never would have chosen on her own.

Rats.

Really, she had no one to blame but herself. Jessa had given her the chance to take control and Taycee had turned it down. Why couldn’t the viewers read her mind? C’mon, people. Alec? Really? The guy was flat out conceited. And Gavin? He didn’t like games, small towns, or nature. Hello! Did they not read the profile Jessa had written about Taycee on the site? Apparently not. Either that or there were a lot of people who took the theory that opposites attract to a whole new level.

Oh well, whatever. Taycee could survive a few bad dates, but Luke was a different story. In fact, she’d happily clip another mic to her shirt and answer whatever additional questions Rachel Snyder from 9NEWS threw her way if it meant avoiding a date with Luke. Just thinking about it made her feel like she’d stepped on an ant hill and only just now realized tiny black bugs crawled all over her skin.

Taycee stared at the monitor, feeling completely uninspired. Just write your thoughts, Jessa had said, as if it would be easy. But it wasn’t. Probably because Taycee’s real thoughts would go something like: Playing speed was fun and all, but I’m really not interested in dating anyone right now. And Luke, feel free to head on back to Ohio.

The screen remained blank. Taycee scratched her head. Gnawed on her lower lip. Started to bite a fingernail until the image of Jessa’s glare overrode all else. No biting manicured nails. Fine. Okay. She got it. Taycee sighed and did the only thing left to do. She wrote some truth and combined it with a lot of rubbish.

The ratio of twenty-one guys to one girl is something most girls would be ecstatic about. But not me. The night of the opening event, I was flat-out intimidated and had it pegged for the most uncomfortable night of my life. I’ve never been great at entertaining, nor have I ever been the life of the party, and I worried I’d flop big-time. But, as it turned out, I had nothing to worry about. Each bachelor accepted me for me, which turned an awkward night into one of the most memorable nights of my life. I couldn’t have asked for a better group of people to spend the evening with.

For those bachelors who won’t be staying, I had a blast and wish you all the best in whatever comes your way. To you viewers who watched and voted, THANK YOU!!! I am obviously in good hands because you did a fabulous job picking the top ten. Some great guys are in that group. Rhett, with your mad break-dancing skills. Kent, and that hilarious episode with the punch. (So sorry—hope it comes out!) Miles, and your rodeo stories. Greg’s trusty pen. Jake, and your cards. Sterling. Jason. Luke. Alec. Gavin. You guys all rock.

I’m so looking forward to fun times ahead!

Taycee scanned through the post and clicked “publish” before she second guessed herself. She closed her laptop and pushed it away. There. One more thing to check off her list. Now all she had to do was figure out a way to make Luke look bad so his name wouldn’t appear among the next round of winners.

* * *

The answer came in the form of Missy Green, the former town flirt. Missy had left for California five years before, set on becoming a big-time movie star. Now she was back in all her tank-top, short-shorts, flaming red-haired glory, claiming it was only a coincidence that Shelter Springs was receiving media attention.

Missy first appeared in the background of Taycee’s date with Sterling. He’d picked her up from The Bloom Boutique on Monday afternoon and drove her to a beautiful lake just outside of town. In a pathetic Hail Mary attempt for attention, Missy swam unnoticed to the center of the lake and called out in desperation for rescue during the middle of their picnic.

It was comical, really, considering Missy had always been a terrific swimmer.

But before Taycee could say anything, off came Sterling’s shirt and in he went, executing an impressive freestyle to Missy’s side. Who knew the spitting accountant could swim?

By the time he dragged her from the lake, Taycee fought the urge to thank Missy. Her theatrics had worked in everyone’s favor. Missy got her two minutes of fame, Sterling proved himself the hero of the hour, and Taycee had a few moments free from a spittle shower.

The cherry on top? Taycee finally figured out how to get Luke voted off. Halle-freaking-lujah.

Later that night, she phoned Missy, got some much needed sleep, went to work, and then mentally geared up for date #2. Alec. Next to Luke, he was the most dreaded of all her dates.

A knock sounded on her apartment door as she swiped some lip gloss across her lips. Bracing herself for a long night ahead, she plodded to her door and pulled it open. Immediately, her gaze moved beyond Alec and to the Razor UTV nestled in the bed of his truck. Okay, so maybe the date wouldn’t be as awful as she’d imagined.

“Ready?” In a fitted Tee and some khaki shorts, Alec looked great. Casual. The type of clothes you’d wear when romping on around the mountains in a UTV. Taycee, on the other hand, wore white capris and one of her new dressier shirts. Hmm.

“You didn’t tell me to dress for that.” Taycee pointed at the Mule. “Let me go and change real quick.”

“You look great to me.”

Taycee headed toward her room anyway. “I’ll just be a sec.” Did he have any idea how much this outfit had cost? No way was she about to climb in that thing wearing this. She threw on a dark T-shirt and denim shorts, and then pulled her hair back into her favorite navy Broncos baseball cap.

When she returned, Alec was still on her porch. “Now are you ready?” The annoyed way he said it made Taycee want to say “No” and shut the door in his face. It had taken her less than five minutes to change—something she wouldn’t have had to do if he’d told her what to wear in the first place. Did he not know anything about tact?

Apparently not, because he gave her an un-impressed once-over. Taycee suddenly wished she’d changed into frumpy sweats instead—which she would have done, had he not turned and headed for his truck. Taycee followed. “Do I get to drive, too?“ she asked, pointing to the Razor.

Alec’s head shook. “Sorry, but it’s my name listed on the rental agreement—not yours.” With an insincere apologetic look, he opened the door and jumped in.

Taycee blinked. Wow. She turned in search of the camera. Was Burt getting all of this? She felt like grabbing the camera and saying, “Did you see that people? Not only is Alec NOT a gentleman, but he won’t even let me drive the UTV. I don’t care how handsome he is, if any of you vote for him again, you’re idiots.”

Burt had his cameral rolling, so Taycee walked around and opened her own door. Megan was already in back with her camera light on, so Burt climbed in beside her. Alec drove to some nearby mountain trails and backed the Razor off the truck while Burt and Megan set up the cameras. Then Megan stayed on the ground while Burt jumped in the back.

Normally, Taycee would have loved romping around in an awesome UTV, but by the time Alec pulled to a stop, she couldn’t wait to get out. Not only did he really not let her drive, but he’d done nothing but talk about himself the entire ride. As far as Taycee was concerned, Alec could catch the nearest plane back to New York—assuming there was room for his enormous ego.

Her head pounded as she climbed from the vehicle and forced a smile. “Great ride.”

Alec patted the hood. “Yeah, I think I’ll have to get me one of these when I get back to New York. It’s not nearly as exciting as motocross, but it’s pretty cool.”

Yeah, yeah, she got it already. He was a motocross fanatic. He’d also played baseball in high school, preferred to make money rather than get a higher education, was a connoisseur of fine wines (or so he claimed), and thought he was God’s gift to women. Okay, so maybe he didn’t really say that last bit, but he sure acted like he thought it.

“How about some dessert?” Alec said during the drive back. “We could stop at that diner in town—not that it will have much to offer.”

“Actually, Maris’s apple pie is amazing.”

“I’m sure it is.” His voice dripped with condescension, and Taycee fought the urge to tell him to stick it.

“I’m really not that hungry though,” she said. If this was a chance to end the date a little early, she’d take it.

Alec tapped his hand against the wheel as they drove back toward town. He glanced lazily around as if bored. “Do you know of any good motocross races nearby? I was thinking we could check one out on our next date.”

Taycee bit her tongue. Hard. It was the only way to keep from shouting, “If you think I’d ever go out with you again you’re one stick short of a bundle!” Miles had used the expression during one of his rodeo stories, and she’d liked it so much she’d committed it to memory. It fit Alec perfectly right now.

“I don’t,” she said. “I’ve never been much for moto-cross.”

That’s all it took for Alec to start talking about the sport yet again, only this time he focused on all the dangers associated with it—as if she couldn’t figure them out on her own. Race a bike around a dirt course riddled with hills, turns, jumps, and several other riders, and what do you get? Lots of opportunities to break bones or kill yourself.

Duh.

When Alec launched into a detailed account of every injury he’d ever received, Taycee tuned him out and made a mental list of the flowers she’d need to pick up tomorrow morning. A rush order had come in right before she’d closed up—too late to call in for the following day’s delivery. Oh well. A funeral in a neighboring town was something she’d never say no to.

By the time Alec dropped her off, forty-five minutes ahead of schedule, Taycee gave him a quick hug goodbye and escaped inside her apartment. She sighed in relief. Never had her apartment felt so good.

No cameras. No guys. No noise. Only blessed silence.

How would she keep this up for six more weeks?

Chapter Thirteen

Luke stopped by Maris’s diner for lunch with Missy Green in tow, clinging to his arm and wearing a bright pink tank top and matching high heels. She was like a yapping dog that had clamped down on his pant leg and wouldn’t let go. He wanted to shake her off.

Missy had spent the last hour at his clinic prattling away while Luke examined her mother’s cat—a perfectly healthy cat, albeit fat and lazy. Missy had snuggled up against him and peered over his shoulder the entire time, asking him to explain every little thing he did. The exam should have taken ten minutes, but Missy wouldn’t shut up. The girl had more to say than the anonymous Shelter’s Bachelorette gossip blog, and that was saying something.

Luke finally explained that he needed to close the clinic for lunch, and what had Missy done? Invited herself along. He could have kicked himself. Why hadn’t he said he had another appointment? Needed to meet with his lawyer? Call his mom? Any excuse that would have sent Missy packing.

The customer in front of Luke moved forward, and Luke followed. “What do you feel like, Missy?” Maybe if she looked at the menu, she’d let go of his arm.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she purred.

“So you want a double cheeseburger, curly fries, and a chocolate shake?” Okay, so maybe Luke really didn’t want that, but unless Missy had the metabolism of a humming-bird, no way would she order the same—not if she wanted to keep her current rail-thin figure.

She frowned. “Don’t they have salads here?”

“I don’t know. The menu is over there if you want to check.” He pointed to a stack of menus next to the register and let out a relieved sigh when she finally relinquished his arm. Maybe he should make a run for it while he had the chance. Luke eyed the door, sorely tempted.

She came back only seconds later, wrapping her arm through his once more. “I’ll take the Caesar salad, with the dressing on the side. They always put way too much when they mix it in on their own.”

Luke tried not to roll his eyes as he placed their orders. Then he found a booth, hoping to hide behind the tall seat backs. But once he’d slid in, he realized his mistake. Instead of sitting across from him, Missy scooted right in next to him, forcing him to slide to the end of the booth. Thigh to thigh, knee to knee, she clung to his side.

Would it be wrong to push her on the floor and step over her on his way out? Maybe he could slide under the table and crawl out like a two-year-old. He didn’t care at this point, not if it would rid him of Missy Green. The girl was like a giant squid with suction cups for hands.

“Luke, if I’d have known you’d be coming back to Shelter, I never would have left.”

He cleared his throat. ”When are you headed back to California?”

“Don’t you worry.” Missy scooted even closer, sand-wiching him against the window. “I’ll be here all summer.”

Luke turned to tell her exactly where she could put those suction cup hands for the rest of the summer, but once again, wrong move. In warp speed, her fingers wound around his neck, and her lips pressed against his.

What the—

In the middle of the day, in the middle of the diner, Missy Green kissed him. Shock gave way to anger and he shoved her away. Out of the booth and onto the floor, she landed in a bright pink heap. Without so much as a sorry, he stepped over her and headed for the door.

“He wants to meet me somewhere more private,” Missy’s voice echoed through the now quiet diner.

Several chuckles followed him as he fled, his lunch forgotten. He walked past his truck and headed down Main Street, needing some fresh air. What was Missy’s problem anyway? She obviously had marbles for brains if she thought that stunt would really work.

Luke began to feel like he was cursed. Ever since he’d returned to Shelter, there had been nothing but problems. The town was about to go under. He was bachelor #21 on some ridiculous internet reality dating show. His veterinary practice wasn’t taking off quite the way he’d imagined. And now, Missy Green.

Was this some sort of sign? A get-out-of-Shelter-before-the-sky-starts-falling warning? Luke’s steps slowed. His gaze drifted up toward the clouds, willing them to reform into words. Sentences. Answers. Why did he come back here? Why did it feel like it made sense, that it was the right thing to do?

The stratus clouds continued to float slowly past, a freeform display of nothing at all. No answers. No assurances that he’d made the right decision and that everything would start looking up.

Luke let out a breath and turned to head back, pausing when he caught sight of a painted wooden sign. It was simple. No fancy graphics. No scrolls or decals. Just letters painted in a bold burgundy on a whitewashed background.

The Bloom Boutique.

He stared at it for a moment. Then stared at the store itself, with the handwritten “Be back by 1:00” note taped to the front door. Luke felt the sudden urge to hang out on the inviting front porch steps until Taycee returned, just to see her smile and hear what she’d have to say. She’d make the day look brighter.

A strange “here’s your answer” feeling washed over him, but Luke shook it off. It was only a coincidence. That’s all.

* * *

Over a week of early mornings and late nights had finally brought Taycee past the halfway point of the first two weeks. Her dates with Kent, Miles, and Gavin were now in the past, and Jason—well, almost. Only a doorstep scene to go.

Jason pulled to a stop in front of her apartment. “Stay right there. I’ll get your door.”

As much as Taycee appreciated a guy who’d open the door, Jason was over-the-top. He’d practically pushed the waiter aside to pull out her chair during dinner, and every time the air conditioning kicked on, he’d ask, “Are you too cold? I can ask the waiter to turn that down if you want.”

“Thanks, but no. I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Are you hot then?”

“No. Really, I’m good. Promise.”

It was a good thing they hadn’t come across any puddles, because Jason probably would have stripped off his yellow polo shirt and thrown it down. Either that or scooped her up and carried her across. He was like a gentleman on a mission. And Taycee, well, she was a girl who liked to jump a puddle every once in a while, maybe even splash in one.

Jason helped her out of the car and kept her hand in his as they sauntered up the walk. On the doorstep, he caught her off guard by pulling her into his arms and trying to kiss her.

Palms on his chest, Taycee pushed him back. “Down boy.”

A teasing glint sparked in his eyes. “Playing hard to get?”

“No. I just don’t kiss on the first date. Never have, never will. Thanks for a fun night.” With that, she left him standing on the doorstep without even a hug goodbye. The door closed between them, and she immediately twisted the deadbolt as if it would somehow keep her from ever having to see him again.

Taycee took a long, relaxing hot bath, and then wrapped herself in a soft terry cloth robe, crawled into bed, and opened her laptop. It had been two days since she’d talked with Missy and still no scandalous stories had surfaced on the Behind-the-Scenes of Shelter’s Bachelorette Blog. Started by an anonymous citizen a few weeks before the show began, the blog was always an entertaining read, especially now that it focused mostly on the new bachelors in town. The writer was skilled in taking a tiny morsel of truth and turning into something outrageous.

Like today.

Taycee’s jaw dropped when she read the title of the post: “Can Poly-dating Go Both Ways?” Below the words was a picture of Missy sidled up next to Luke in line at the diner. Taycee clamped a hand over her mouth as a giggle escaped. Holy cow, Missy had done it—she’d actually done it. And with photographic proof, no less. Taycee scrolled down. Missy and Luke all cozy in a secluded booth. Missy and Luke talking. Missy and Luke—kissing? What?

Her laptop slammed shut with a snap.

Luke had let Missy kiss him? Kiss him! Why would he do that? He’d never fall for someone like Missy, would he? Taycee shoved her laptop aside, hating that she cared enough to regret ever calling Missy Green. Why couldn’t Taycee just let it go? Let him go? Why couldn’t she move on?

She slid down in her bed and yanked up the covers to her chin. She needed to get her mind on something else. Anything. Work. Yes, that would do it. A lily arrangement needed to be done first thing in the morning. Five white Calla lilies and whatever else Taycee wanted to add. Maybe she would mix in some dark pink roses. Or better yet, keep it all white with added roses, snapdragons and salal. Yes.

White. Classic. Romantic. Perfect for a young couple in love.

An image of Luke’s face popped into Taycee’s mind. She grabbed a pillow, mashed it over her face and screamed, long and hard. Then she threw it across the room as the strains of Jessa’s ringtone filled the silence.

She grabbed her phone.

“Wow, Luke’s sure got those discussion boards zinging,” Jessa said. “In one day flat, he’s gone from one of the favorites to the bottom of the barrel. Pretty impressive.”

This was exactly what Taycee had wanted. It was, it was, it was! But the picture of Missy’s lips planted on Luke’s wouldn’t leave her mind. She felt like screaming again. “I’m sure he and Missy will be very happy together.”

“Oh please, like Luke would ever go for someone like her,” said Jessa. “I guarantee this was all Missy’s doing. Her and her giant need for attention.”

“He let her kiss him.”

Jessa laughed. “Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?”

Ugh. Surely there was a better word for what she was feeling. Frustration? Annoyance? Confusion? Anything that sounded less pathetic than jealousy. “More like relief. Hopefully he’ll get voted off now.”

“You keep telling yourself that’s what you really want if it makes you feel better.”

“Believe whatever you want. You always do.”

“Sheesh, someone’s a little testy tonight,” Jessa said. “I wonder why.”

“I’m tired, okay? You try getting up early every morn-ing, being on your feet all day long, and then going out with a different guy every night while two cameras follow you around.”

“Hey, don’t blame me. I told you to take some time off from work.” Jessa sounded completely unrepentant. She was probably more concerned about what color of nail polish she should choose to paint her toes.

Taycee sighed. “You know I can’t afford to do that. Besides, I like work. It’s all the dating I could do without. After this show, I’m taking a long hiatus from all men. Did you know that Jason actually tried to kiss me tonight?”

“Did you punch him?”

“Just about.”

Jessa laughed. “I would have.”

“I have a little more self-control than you do.”

“It’s not called self-control,” said Jessa. “It’s called bottling your emotions. You’re like a shaken can of soda ready to erupt. I honestly pity the guy that finally opens you up. Boy is he going to get it.”

Taycee rolled her eyes. “Look at you, waxing all metaphoric. Maybe you should write that down before you forget it.”

“Maybe I should.”

“Great, I’ll leave you to it then. Night.”

“Night.”

Taycee resisted the urge to throw her phone as she flopped back on her bed. Her lamp lit up her room in a dim glow, forming abstract shadows all over the walls. When the silence became too much, she turned up the volume on her clock radio, letting a despondent melody crackle through the speakers as she stared at the ceiling. Was Jessa right? Had she been bottling up her emotions, especially where Luke was concerned?

Or had she been burying them? Deep underneath, to a place that could never be breached by anyone. A place they might eventually fade away.

Chapter Fourteen

Dates seven and eight with Miles and Greg went better than all the other dates combined.

Miles took her to a demolition derby and entertained her with hilarious stories from his youth, and Greg took her miniature golfing, making her laugh at the way he sized up every hole and got frustrated when he didn’t make par.

Now Friday loomed before Taycee like her own personal D-day, especially when Jake had an unexpected business emergency and asked to change their date from Thursday night to early Friday afternoon, which meant two dates in one day.

Nothing like finishing up round one with a bang.

It had been a bad day from the get-go. Not only had Taycee mixed up an order and needed to make an extra run to Colorado Springs, but she pricked her fingers at least a dozen times and even missed lunch.

By the time Jake picked her up at The Bloom Boutique, her head pounded and the skies threatened rain—a perfect match to her current mood.

Please, please say that Jake had something low-key planned. Like popcorn and a movie or a scenic drive through the surrounding mountains.

“I thought it would be fun to go hiking,” he said, killing her hopes. “I hear there’s a great waterfall at the end of a trailhead nearby.”

Taycee’s feet immediately complained, as did her stomach. “Sounds fun. Mind if we stop off at my place so I can change and get some hiking shoes?”

“Sure.”

Back at her place, Jake, Burt, and Megan waited in the car as Taycee slipped on some khaki shorts and a T-shirt. She wolfed down two granola bars as she tied her shoes. When she finally resurfaced, Jake leaned casually against the passenger door of his black Audi, patiently waiting. He smiled and pulled the door open for her.

She hesitated on her doorstep before forcing her feet forward. Honestly, what was wrong with her? She should be giddy at the prospect of a date with Jake Sanford. A normal girl would have left work early. Pampered herself. Dressed carefully. Applied her makeup with care, and then waited impatiently for him to arrive with his adorably mussed hair and light eyes.

“Wow, you deserve an award for the fastest change time ever,” Jake said.

“Keeping nice guys waiting isn’t my style.”

“I seriously doubt anyone would mind waiting for you.”

Taycee smiled as she sat down on a tan leather seat. “Nice car.”

“Thanks. It comes with the job.”

The door shut and Jake walked around to the other side. Taycee did a quick inspection of the car, but it didn’t really tell her anything about Jake—other than he was a neat freak. Or maybe he’d just had the car detailed for the date. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere, no gum wrappers, pens, or even coins in the cup holders. Everything was pristine. Perfect. Like Jake. Maybe a bit too perfect.

Was that the problem?

Jake slid in beside her, started the car, and headed out of town.

“What kind of job gives you a car?” Taycee said.

“The family business kind.” He chuckled. “Still impressed?”

“Ah. So you’re one of those kids.”

“Guilty yet grateful,” he said. “What sort of kid are you?”

“Average,” she said.

Jake shot her a doubtful look, but didn’t argue. “What about your parents? Do they live around here?”

“No. They retired to Florida several years ago. They wanted sun and more sun, with no threat of snow ever. That’s what they got.” She smiled, but it wasn’t exactly sincere. In her mind, they’d chosen nice weather over her. It still stung when she thought about it like that.

The car started the climb up the narrow mountain road, next to a grove of Aspen trees that seemed to wave at them. Clustered together like one large family unit with their root system all interconnected, they were a rude reminder of what Taycee no longer had. It had been four years since her parents had left, even longer since her brother had gone, and yet she’d never really reconciled herself to the change. It was like her roots were just hanging out there, floundering around and searching for something new to hold onto.

“What do they think of this bachelorette show?” Jake asked.

Taycee blinked, suddenly remembering why she was with Jake in the first place. Burt and Megan sat quietly behind them while a camera filmed her every move and word. She let out a breath. What had Jake asked? Oh yeah, her parents. The show. “I haven’t told them yet. They’d probably freak out and lecture me about how dating more than one guy at the same time is asking for trouble.”

Jake unrolled his window. “As long as we’re both being honest, my sister signed me up without me knowing. I would never agree to do something like this on purpose.”

“Really?” For some reason, that made Taycee like Jake even more. He was here against his will, too. A pawn, like her. It felt good to know she wasn’t the only one who could be manipulated—other than Luke, that is.

“Yeah.” Jake’s elbow hung out the window while his fingers drummed against the top of the car door. “She interferes like that. All the time. I was mad at first, but when my video made it as a finalist, I figured, hey, why not?” He shot her a quick look. “Besides, I’ve always been a sucker for green-eyed brunettes.”

“Ahhh, thanks.” Even though her eyes were hazel, not green. It made Taycee doubt his sincerity, like he would have said blue-eyed blondes or brown-eyed redheads if her hair and eyes were a different color. Or maybe Taycee had become too jaded.

Jake pulled to a stop at the trailhead at the same time thunder rattled through the skies. He pulled out a few ponchos to take with them while Burt and Amy worked to waterproof their gear. Then away they all went. A mile later, the skies opened up and rain came pouring down. They quickly donned their ponchos, but it didn’t take long for the dirt path to become a muddy mess, attaching to the soles of Taycee’s shoes like a thick paste that became heavier with every step.

She was about to suggest they turn back when her foot slipped out of her hiking shoe. She grabbed onto Jake to keep from losing her balance and pointed behind her. “The mud ate my shoe.”

“What?” Jake twisted his head back, and then laughed when he saw her shoeless foot dangling behind her. With a firm grip on Taycee’s arm, he reached back and tugged hard on the shoe. With a splack, the shoe dislodged, pitching Jake backwards. Taycee planted her socked foot in the mud to keep from following him to the ground.

Jake sat in the mud, eyeing the shoe with a so-not-worth-it expression.

“Really, that was above and beyond. It was only a shoe.” Taycee tried to swallow the gurgle of laughter in her throat, but it escaped. Followed by more giggles.

His gaze shifted to her as he held out his hand. “Do me a favor and help me up.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I have an older brother, so I know from experience what will happen if I give you my hand.” She paused. “I’d love my shoe back though.”

Other than slightly raised eyebrows, his expression remained impassive as he dutifully held out the shoe. Taycee hesitated for a second, and then took it from him. It was on the tip of her tongue to say “Thanks” when he lunged for her hand and dragged her down beside him.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jake said. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“This means war.” Taycee grabbed a handful of mud and slapped it in his face. Jake reciprocated, and before long, they were both covered in mud and laughing. They sat there for several minutes before Jake finally pulled her up. Together they trudged the mile back to the car and stood there, looking through the windows at the clean interior.

“So what’s the plan?” Taycee asked, nudging him from the side. “Let Burt or Megan drive while we ride on top?”

Jake turned his gaze upward, squinting into the rain. “The way I see it, if we stand here long enough, it will be like taking a shower.”

“True.” Taycee started rubbing the mud from her arms and body as best she could. Jake followed suit while Burt and Megan ducked inside the car. Taycee then removed her poncho and turned it inside out so she had something semi-dry to sit on while she peeled off her muddy shoes and socks. Once again, Jake followed her lead and soon they were all shut back inside Jake’s now only partially immaculate car.

“You obviously have experience with this sort of thing,” Jake said.

“My mom’s a neat freak too.”

“I’m not a neat freak,” argued Jake. But the stiff way he sat forward, trying not to touch the back of his seat, told Taycee otherwise. She held back a laugh.

On their way back down the mountain, Jake called for take-out from the diner. They picked it up and took it to Taycee’s shop where they ate surrounded by the clutter of flowers, vases, and ribbons. No matter how many times she tried to organize and de-clutter, it never really looked clean—something she became even more aware of now that Jake sat across from her.

They ate and chatted until Taycee finally glanced at the clock. Her eyes went wide when she noticed the time. “Oh shoot, we’ve got to go.” Luke would be at her place any second, and she was a mess. Stringy hair, damp clothes, remnants of mud everywhere. She could already hear Luke’s voice: Did you save some mud for the pigs? or Hey, you really didn’t need to dress up just for me. Or, more likely he’d say something loaded with innuendo. Wow, somebody had a good time. Want me to take off so you two can get back to it?

Jake helped her clean up before they dashed through the rain and back to his car. By the time they arrived, Luke was already there, waiting in his truck.

Crap.

Taycee leaned over and gave Jake a quick hug. “Thanks for a really fun date.” In a matter of a few hours, he’d managed to turn a bad day around for her, making her forget about her aching feet and pounding head—not to mention her upcoming date with Luke.

Well, almost forget.

Jake tugged on a clump of her hair. “Not everyone can pull off this look you know. But somehow, you make mud look good.”

Taycee smiled, and then grabbed her shoes and bolted through the rain to her apartment door. She quickly scrubbed herself off in a real shower, yanked her hair back into a damp ponytail, changed into some dry clothes, and threw on her favorite Bronco’s baseball cap. After shoving her feet into a pair of blue platform sneakers, she raced back outside.

Her shoe landed in a muddy puddle just outside of Luke’s truck. She felt like cursing as she jumped inside and slammed the squeaky door against the downpour.

“Your shoes are muddy,” was the first thing Luke said.

Taycee looked pointedly at the faded and cracked upholstery, old radio, and matt-less floor—a stark contrast to Jake’s Audi. “They fit right in.”

Luke patted the dashboard. “It might be old, but it’s clean—well, was clean.”

“Seriously?” Taycee said, but his gaze remained impassive. “Okay, so what do you want me to do with my shoes?”

He gestured behind him. “Back there would work.”

“The backseat?” Burt and Megan were already there, looking squished with their camera gear. Taycee wasn’t about to hand her shoes to them.

“The bed,” Luke clarified.

Taycee blinked. “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope.”

“Unbelievable.” With jerky movements, Taycee pulled her shoes off her feet, opened the door, leaned out, and tossed them into the truck bed before slamming the door shut again. “There. Satisfied? Or would you like me to ride in the back with my shoes?”

“Nah, you’re fine.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He grinned as he flung the truck into reverse and backed out. Like Taycee, he wore a baseball hat, only his was red with “OHIO STATE” stitched across the front. She’d forgotten how good he looked in baseball hats.

“Don’t worry,” Luke said. “We’re not going anywhere you’ll need shoes.”

“Is that supposed to make it okay?”

He shrugged. “It’s a win-win. You get to ride shoeless, which I know you prefer, and my truck stays clean. What’s wrong with that?”

Taycee stared at him. “The fact that you don’t understand what’s wrong with that makes it all the more wrong.”

“There’s an argument for you.”

Taycee glared but said nothing more as they passed through town and headed toward the highway. Ten minutes later, he turned down his long, windy driveway.

“We’re going to your house?” she asked.

“You’re quick.”

Taycee shot him a pointed look. At first she figured the shoe thing had been his way of messing with her. But he’d been so quiet during the drive here, which wasn’t like him at all. Was he upset with her for some reason? Maybe he’d decided that he didn’t really want to be here either. Or maybe he’d been dreading this date as much as she had—only for different reasons.

She frowned as he pulled the truck into the garage and turned off the engine. “Stay here,” he said before ducking out. With a bang, he jumped into the bed and fiddled with something above them. What was he doing? She unrolled her window and stuck her head out, trying to get a peek. “Need any help?”

“Nope.”

Suddenly, a bright blue rectangle appeared on the gray wall in front of her. A few moments later, blue turned to black as words appeared on the wall of his garage. A movie. And not just any movie. Sneakers—a show she, her brother, and Luke had watched over and over and over when they were younger. The boys used to take off their shoes and put their smelly feet in her face while they teased her about how she initially thought the show would be about shoes. She’d loved every minute of it.

Luke actually remembered.

The door opened, and Luke climbed back inside. In his hands, he held a large bowl of popcorn, along with two cans of Red Cream Soda—her favorite. He unrolled his window, and then passed her a drink and the popcorn.

Taycee’s eyes met his even as her heart beat a million times a second. “So the shoes…”

“I had you going, didn’t I?” Luke grinned and pointed to his own feet, now bare. “Just like old times.”

But it wasn’t like old times—a realization that made Taycee shift uncomfortably in her seat as she stared at the make-shift drive-in movie screen. This was exactly what she’d wanted for a date tonight: A time to relax and not worry about making conversation. But all of a sudden, everything seemed so much more complicated. As if the past and the present had collided with a colossal bang, tearing at Taycee’s heartstrings.

She wanted to believe that they could so easily go back to those days, but they couldn’t. “Just like old times” was a lie. A clichéd saying that made people believe they could break open a memory and somehow recreate it and relive it for one blissful moment. But ultimately all it did was turn a once-happy memory into a sorry reminder that things could never be the same. No matter how much she or Luke wanted them to be.

Chapter Fifteen

Taycee sat on the leather couch adjacent to the stone fireplace in The Barn. Burt had just finished setting up and they now waited for Jessa, who wanted to do a quick interview about the first ten dates.

It seemed like overkill, since Taycee had already re-capped each date on SheltersBachelorette.com, but Jessa didn’t think a few short paragraphs were enough. She wanted more. Always more. Jessa was out to prove she could orchestrate the best bachelorette show ever, and Taycee got to be her pawn.

Lovely.

Jessa breezed into the room, said a few words to Burt, and then plopped down opposite Taycee. Without so much as a “hi,” she cued Burt to start filming.

“So, Tace, talk about two crazy busy weeks, huh?” Jessa said, sounding perfectly composed.

“Um yeah, pretty crazy. I’m glad it’s behind me.”

“After tonight you’ll be down to only five bachelors. How do you feel about that?”

Would it be rude to say “The fewer the better?” Probably. “Actually, I’m kind of glad. Don’t get me wrong, they’re all great guys, but dating ten different bachelors over the course of two weeks kept me a little too busy, if you know what I mean. I’m more of one-guy-at-a-time kind of a girl, so I’m ready to narrow it down some.”

Jessa leaned forward, clasping her fingers around her crossed leg. “Now that you’ve spent some quality time with each of them, is it going to be hard to say goodbye to some?”

As long as Taycee didn’t have to do it in person, then no. And if Sterling, Alec, Gavin, and Luke were among the five leaving, Taycee might even throw a celebratory party. “Let’s just say that I’ve enjoyed my time with all of them and hope that life deals them a great hand from here on out.”

“How diplomatic of you,” said Jessa. “Are there any particular bachelors you’ll be sorry to say goodbye to if it comes to that? Anyone you’ve made a special connection with?”

Special? Not really. Connection? Possibly. Or, at least the hope of a connection. “Oh, I definitely feel like I’ve connected with some more than the others, but since it’s in the viewers’ hands, I have to trust that they will make a good choice for me.” There, how’s that for being diplomatic?

“What about Luke? How do you feel about all the pictures of him and Missy? There’s been quite a stir on the message boards and people would love your take on it all.”

Taycee should have known this question would be coming. Was this the reason for the impromptu interview?

“I… uh… don’t know,” Taycee finally hedged. There were a lot of things she could say. Like how she and Luke hadn’t even been out on a date when it happened, how they weren’t in a mutually exclusive relationship, or how Luke didn’t want to be on the show in the first place. But all of those answers would sound as though Taycee didn’t find fault with Luke’s actions—which she didn’t—but she also didn’t want the viewers to know that. She wanted Luke voted off.

“I think however Luke chooses to spend his time off camera is up to him.” There. Another diplomatic answer that didn’t necessarily help Luke’s image, but didn’t exactly worsen it either.

“Are you hoping he gets voted off, or would you like him to stay around for a while longer?”

Jessa wouldn’t let it go, would she? Taycee shot her a thinly veiled you-are-so-going-to-pay-for-this-later look. “Well, that’s the great part about it, isn’t it? I don’t have to hope or worry because it’s in the viewers’ hands, not mine. They chose ten great guys this past week, and I’m sure the five they narrow it down to will make for a great week also.”

“Very true.” Jessa settled back in her seat and looked directly at the camera. ”Speaking of the final five, the voting is now officially open, so cast your votes for whoever you think will be a great match for Taycee, and remember that every time you vote, your money is going to a good cause. Thanks so much for your support!”

The camera light finally flickered off. Taycee let out a breath of relief before giving Jessa the glare she deserved.

“Sorry.” Jessa patted Taycee’s knee in a motherly fashion. “I had to do it. You answered them all brilliantly though.”

“This is going to cost you another favor, just so you know.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just put it on my tab.”

Chapter Sixteen

Taycee squinted through the peep hole on her front door. A distorted, magnified face stared back with large crossed eyes and cheeks sucked in, making a fish face. She squealed and flung the door wide open, throwing her arms around the stocky guy standing on her front porch.

“Caleb, what the heck? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Are you back for good?” Her brother had always said that he’d consider moving back near Shelter once some of his bigger cases were all wrapped up. That was over eight months ago. Was it finally happening?

Caleb lifted her off the ground and squeezed the breath out of her before setting her back down. “Sorry, sis. I’m only here for the night. We’ve brought in a firm from Denver to help out with a marathon case we’ve been working on, so I’ll be spending some time up there for the next several weeks. Which means”—He grinned—“I’ll get to drop in on you every once in a while. Awesome right?”

“Yeah. Awesome.” It sort of felt like someone had given her a beautiful bouquet of flowers and then taken it away, saying, “Oops, sorry. Wrong recipient.” Taycee hadn’t seen her brother in months, and with every passing day, she worried more and more that he’d never move back. What would she do if Caleb followed in her parents’ footsteps and decided to make a permanent life elsewhere?

She would cry long and hard, that’s what.

“You don’t mind if I crash here tonight, do you?”

“Of course not.” Taycee waved him inside. “I’ll take whatever I can get. I was just hoping this would be a longer visit—possibly even long enough to check out a few potential office spaces?”

“I’ll be working at least sixteen hour days the rest of the week, so no can do,” Caleb said, sliding the strap of his overnight duffle over his head. His light brown hair had grown longer since she’d last seen him, but the new look suited his casual, go-with-the-flow personality.

“Sixteen hour days? Are you serious?”

“Cheer up. I’ll most likely be back a few more times before the summer’s out, so hopefully one of these trips I can extend my stay a little longer and we can really catch up—not that you’ll be able to squeeze me in, what with your busy dating schedule and all.”

Taycee slugged him in the arm. “Don’t make me regret telling you about that or you’ll get the couch tonight instead of the guest bed.”

Caleb ran his hand across the back of her micro suede couch. “It actually feels pretty comfortable.”

So much for that threat. “C’mon, Caleb. I’m embarrassed enough as it is. I don’t need you making it worse.”

“Fine. But only because I’m starving and you probably won’t feed me if I do.” He held up his bag. “Where can I put this?”

Taycee showed him to the guest room, and then left him to get settled while she rummaged through her fridge for something to make for dinner. Leave it to a guy to think a girl always had extra food on hand. She frowned at the contents of her fridge. Only a few pieces of chicken and some vegetables. Mmmm… maybe pasta. Yes, basil chicken could work.

Soon chicken was frying on the stove next to a bubbling pot of pasta. Taycee diced broccoli and tomatoes when Caleb wandered back in. He sank down on a nearby bar stool. “I hope it’s okay that I invited Luke for dinner. Since I’m only here for the night, I figured we could catch up. It’s been forever since I’ve seen him.”

The knife stilled in Taycee’s hand. Luke? Coming here? Tonight? She resumed her chopping, slicing through the vegetables with renewed force. Caleb and Luke together? In the same room? With the topic of Shelter’s Bachelorette hot off the let’s-gang-up-on-Taycee press? Ugh. She could think of several things she’d rather put up with. Hanging out with Liza for one.

“Why don’t you invite the rest of Shelter while you’re at it?” Taycee grumbled. “I’m sure I have enough food lying around.”

Caleb grabbed a chunk of raw broccoli and tossed it into his mouth. Between chews, he said, “Sorry. Didn’t think about that.”

Obviously. “Just don’t tell Jessa. I’m not supposed to interact with any of the bachelors off camera.”

“Wow, they’re really taking this show seriously, aren’t they?” A chunk of tomato disappeared in his mouth. “If you’re really worried, I can always call him back and un-invite him.”

“No, it’s fine. He’s coming to see you anyway—not me.”

Taycee checked the chicken while Caleb ate another piece of broccoli. He wandered over to the stove and took the tongs from her, prodding the chicken as if it would somehow make it cook faster. “I still can’t believe you’re dating my best friend. That’s wrong on so many levels.”

“I completely agree.” Taycee took the tongs back and pushed him out of the way. “Hovering won’t make it cook any faster, you know. Now stop snitching and get some plates from the cupboard.”

“So bossy.” Still, he opened the cabinet doors in search of plates.

Thirty minutes later, just as Taycee removed the finished pasta, the doorbell chimed. Without waiting for an answer, Luke let himself in. He wore a large cowboy hat and a trench coat with the collar sticking up to hide his face.

“Long time no see.” Caleb laughed as he clapped his friend on the back. “What in the heck are you wearing, man? Is there a spring storm coming that we don’t know about?”

Luke looked down and examined himself as if his wardrobe was nothing out of the ordinary. “Personally, I think The Mysterious Cowboy is a great look for me. What do you think, Taycee Lynne?” He opened the coat, revealing a button down plaid shirt, khaki shorts, and cowboy boots. Yes, cowboy boots. With shorts.

Taycee choked back a laugh. “Change mysterious to goofy, start chewing on some straw, and you’d have it about right.”

Luke shrugged out of the coat and tossed it over the back of the couch, throwing the hat on top. Then he removed the boots, revealing white ankle socks and toned calves. Really toned calves. Taycee swallowed and quickly forced her attention back to their dinner.

“In case you couldn’t tell, it’s a disguise.” Luke padded toward her, acting as comfortable in Taycee’s apartment as he had in their home growing up. “I swear that gossip blog has eyes and ears all over town. My reputation’s already tanked, and I don’t want to bring Taycee down with me. I even parked a few blocks away to be safe.”

Caleb picked up the cowboy hat, examined it, and then dropped it on his head. “Dude, you’re paranoid. You both are.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Luke plopped down on a barstool and leaned forward on his elbows. “But have you read those discussion threads? Dang, they’re brutal. It’s completely okay for Taycee to date twenty guys at once, but if I’m caught on camera with another girl, watch out.”

Wait, Luke actually read the discussion boards? Taycee felt a pang of guilt at this. Did he really care what was said? He seemed like such an impenetrable wall of confidence that she’d never worried about how something like that might affect him. “So stop reading them,” she said. “I never do. Jessa can keep you up-to-date on all the important stuff.”

“Hmm… Jessa McCray,” Caleb said it slowly, drawing out the name as if Jessa was someone worth considering. “What’s she still doing here? She’s not exactly the small-town type.”

Taycee shoved a pitcher under the faucet and started filling it with water. Of course Jessa was a small-town type. She loved Shelter Springs as much as Taycee did. Well, maybe not quite as much, but enough to keep her here and actively trying to save it. Taycee frowned at Caleb, as if his mentioning it would somehow make Jessa want to up and leave, too. “She loves it here. Not that you’d know that since you barely know her.”

“I know enough.” Caleb leaned against the counter, folding his arms. “She plastered your face and name all over the internet without your consent—not exactly something a real friend would do. The lawyer in me would tell you to sue.”

“Wait.” Luke shot Taycee a look. “What do you mean without your consent? You didn’t know?”

Taycee set the pitcher on the table and faced Luke. “Do you really think I would have volunteered you if I’d known?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It never came up.”

“Really?” Luke arched one of his dark brown eyebrows. “Because I can think of several times in the past few weeks that it could have definitely come up.”

Taycee removed the silverware from the drawer, avoiding eye contact. He was right. She could have easily told him before, but something had always stopped her. Maybe there was a bit of a devil inside her that hoped the longer it took for him to discover the truth, the sorrier he’d be for tormenting her when he finally did find out.

But he didn’t look sorry. Only confused.

Yeah, well, join the club. I can’t figure me out either. “I guess I was too mad at you for accusing me of wanting to date you,” she finally said, and then immediately wished the words back. Great. Now she sounded like a teenager coddling a grudge.

Caleb laughed. “That’s my sister for you. You should know better than to get on her bad side. Don’t you remember that night we went spelunking without her? She didn’t talk to us for weeks.”

If only Caleb’s memory could be as bad as Luke’s. “Yeah well, Luke doesn’t remember much of his former life, do you?” she said. When his eyebrows knit together, Taycee quickly turned away, opening the closest cupboard in search of who knew what. She’d said too much, and it had come out less light-hearted than she’d intended, possibly even accusatory.

“Dinner’s all ready,” she said brightly, closing the cupboard with a loud bang. A really loud bang. She turned to find both Caleb and Luke staring and making her feel like she was a new species under a microscope. Taycee pointed to the door and side-stepped toward it. “Oh, I uh, just remembered something I need to do at the shop real quick. Go ahead and eat, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.” What she needed was a few minutes to herself—away from Luke. Taycee headed for the front door, only to be stopped by a hand on her wrist. Luke’s fingers curled around her sensitive skin, sending a jolt up her arm. Her heartbeat slowed to a loud thud as she met his gaze.

“Whatever it is can wait ten minutes while you eat some dinner,” Luke said. “Caleb just got here. Don’t you want to catch up first?”

Taycee glanced at Caleb, and then back to Luke again. She sighed. “You’re right. I’ll go after dinner.”

With his hand still holding her captive, Luke smiled. “Good. It’ll be fun. Just like old times.”

There it was again. Just like old times. If Taycee heard that expression one more time, she would scream. Why was Luke so determined to recreate the past anyway, especially when he didn’t even remember half of it? He’d been the first to leave. The first to dispense with the friendship they’d once shared as if it were a piece of lint on his clothes.

Taycee pulled her arm free. “Let’s eat.”

“About time,” Caleb said.

Luke followed Taycee to the table, taking the seat next to her. “You got here just in time, Caleb. The videos of Taycee’s last two dates went live today.”

Taycee’s foot connected with Luke’s shin under the table.

“Ouch,” he said.

“Tonight?” Caleb shot her a meaningful glance. “You said it was tomorrow.”

“Oops. My bad.” Taycee glared at Luke. “The next time my brother invites you over, just say no, okay?”

“I don’t think so. Being with you two is way more interesting than eating alone.” He grinned as he picked up his fork. “This really is just like old times isn’t it?”

Taycee picked up her glass and chugged the water, drowning out the expletives threatening to spill out of her mouth.

Chapter Seventeen

Luke’s eyes followed Taycee as she walked out the front door. She said she needed to take care of something at her shop, but it sounded like an excuse—a way to avoid being around him and Caleb. Or was it just him?

Luke frowned.

Why couldn’t Taycee be more like her brother? All it took was a few minutes for Luke and Caleb to be back to the easy friendship they’d once had. But with Taycee, things were different. Harder. Why? From Luke’s perspective, their date had gone well and they were finally making some headway. But now things were back to stiff and uncomfortable, as though Taycee purposefully threw up walls to keep him out. It made Luke want to tear them all down and force his way back into her life, but he had no idea how to go about it.

Luke missed the idolizing, relentless little tomboy with her braces and wild hair. The girl who’d been wide open and wall-less, demanding the same from anyone who wanted to be called her friend. What had happened to that girl?

“So, you’re dating Tace, huh?” Caleb dropped down on the couch next to Luke. He picked up the remote and flipped on the TV. “Isn’t that sort of like dating your sister?”

Luke only wished it was, and then maybe it wouldn’t bother him so much. But a brother wouldn’t miss his sister as soon as she walked out the door. He wouldn’t want to keep her from leaving, sit next to her, or touch her. And he especially wouldn’t want to kiss that impassive expression off her face.

Argh, what was he thinking? This was Taycee Lynne they were talking about—his best friend’s younger sister. Luke needed to remember that. “Actually, it hasn’t been so bad. She’s… cool.” More than cool. She was funny, smart, and intriguing.

“No way.” Caleb grinned. “You like her.”

Luke grabbed the remote from him. “Of course I like her. I always have. She’s fun to hang out with.”

“No,” said Caleb. “I mean you like her.”

Luke shook his head. He was in no way ready to admit that out loud, especially not to her brother. “Wrong.”

“I’m never wrong.”

“You are about this.” Luke flipped through the stations, stopping on ESPN. “I’ve sworn off girls for a while, at least until I get my practice up and running. That’s why I like your sister. There’s no pressure with her.”

Caleb laughed. “No pressure? Are you kidding me? You’re in a freaking dating contest with her. How can you call that no pressure?”

“Please.” A push of the remote button and another show came on. “I’m only doing it because there’s a chance it could help Shelter, and I’m pretty sure Taycee feels the same way.”

Caleb leaned back and propped his feet on the coffee table. “I’m actually glad she got suckered in to doing it. It’ll be good for her, and with any luck, she’ll even find someone to settle down with once and for all.” He paused. “Hey, you’ve met the other guys, right? What are they like? Anyone Taycee might go for?”

“You’re seriously asking me that?”

“Sure, why not?” Caleb grinned. “Unless of course, you’re hoping for that honor.”

“Sorry, no.” Luke punched the remote button again, this time harder. “And I’m no matchmaker either, so don’t ever ask me that again. Besides, your sister is old enough to pick her own dates. How would you feel if she tried to hook you up with Jessa?” It was a defense tactic. A way to keep the subject away from Taycee and the fact that she could fall for one of the other guys, because for whatever reason, Luke didn’t like that idea at all.

Caleb made a face. “I’d tell her I’ve already got me a girl.”

“Who? An inflatable in your suitcase?”

“Her name’s Jenny.” Caleb hesitated. “She’s actually uh… my fiancée. As of two nights ago.”

Luke flipped off the TV and turned to face his friend. “Are you serious, man?”

“Yep.”

“Congrats! That’s awesome. Does Taycee know?”

“Not exactly.” Caleb scratched his head, looking a little sheepish. “That’s the tricky part. Before I left for law school, I sort of promised I’d come back to Shelter one day and set up a practice here. Taycee’s never let me forget it, and I’ve never dared to correct her. I guess I thought she’d get used to me being gone and stop asking me about it, but she won’t. She’s got it in her head that I’ll be coming back as soon as I wrap up a few cases at work.”

Luke nearly laughed at how ridiculous that sounded. What did Caleb think she’d do? Make a voodoo doll, name it Caleb, and torture him the rest of his life? Actually, she might do exactly that if Caleb kept his engagement from her much longer. “Dude, you’ve got to tell her. She’s going to be ticked if you don’t.”

“I know, I know. It’s one of the reasons I came here. But there hasn’t been a good time to bring it up. It’s a big deal, you know? To her anyway. She’s not going to take it well.”

“Are we talking about the same person? Taycee’s lived on her own since she graduated from high school. She owns her own shop, makes her own food, and stars in her own internet show. I think you’re underestimating her. She’s pretty independent.”

“I agree,” Caleb said. “She is independent. But you weren’t there after you left, or when my parents decided to move, or when I spilled the beans that I was headed to Arizona for law school. Total basket case. Why do you think she never left Shelter? She hates change.”

“Wait—what did my leaving have to do with anything?” Luke said, suddenly very interested in the answer.

Caleb shrugged. “She was miserable for weeks. I think she had a bit of a crush on you back then and took it pretty hard when you dropped off the planet. Then when your parents announced they were moving, she practically shut herself in her room for days.”

Luke whistled and settled against the back of the couch. “I had no idea. I guess I’m not the type to stay in touch with people. I just moved on with my life and thought everyone else had too.” But if he’d known Taycee would take it that hard, he would have tried a little harder. Especially if he’d known he’d eventually wind up back here.

Caleb made a grab for the remote, stealing it from Luke. The TV flipped back on. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. She eventually got over it. As did I—after years of therapy, that is.”

Luke chucked a pillow at him. “Shut up.”

“You shut up.” Caleb scanned the channels once again before turning off the TV. “Nothing’s on. I say we find Taycee’s laptop and watch the show before she comes back and makes us turn it off.”

Luke pointed at the bookcase near the TV where a silver laptop sat on top. “You mean that laptop?”

Caleb retrieved it and immediately pulled up the website. All the dates from the first two weeks were posted. Ten in all. Caleb rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Shall we begin? It’s been a long time since I had anything new to tease Taycee about.”

“It probably doesn’t help that you live a state away.”

Caleb clicked “play” on date number one, and they both settled back to watch. The filming was definitely low budget, with terrible lighting and not the best sound quality, but Luke hadn’t expected anything different when he saw the inexpensive camera equipment they used. The editing, on the other hand, was more impressive, highlighting the interesting stuff and jumping from scene to scene in a fluid way. Luke chuckled when Taycee refused Jason’s kiss, and then laughed when Sterling dove into the lake to save Missy Green.

“She’s not worth saving,” he said to no one in particular, still bitter about what had happened at the diner.

“You sure about that?” said Caleb. “According to Taycee you two looked pretty cozy.”

“Please. Missy wanted her five minutes of fame, and I was just an innocent bystander.” But the fact that Taycee had brought it up to Caleb meant something, didn’t it? Luke picked at a nonexistent piece of lint on his shirt. “What else did Taycee say?”

The look Caleb shot his way made Luke immediately wish the words back. “Holy crap, you do like her.”

“Will you stop reading into things? I do not.”

“Do too.”

Luke ignored him and moved on to the next date. But when he saw Taycee laughing at something Jake said, a pit of jealousy formed in his stomach. Followed by the reluctant realization that he did like Taycee, probably more than he wanted to admit. He liked her enough to want to get to know her. To see if the girl who used to chase butterflies through meadows or challenge him to see who could leave their feet in the frigid spring runoff water the longest was still buried inside somewhere. He wanted to know if the spontaneous Taycee of the past had merged with the stunning Taycee of the present, because that would be some combination.

It wasn’t until Luke watched Date #10—their date—that he realized something else. Around all the other bachelors, particularly Jake, there were moments when Taycee became that person Luke wanted her to be. She threw mud at Jake. She laughed and joked with Miles. Her sarcasm emerged with Alec and Gavin. Her kindness with Sterling.

But on her final date with Luke, the walls came flying back up. Although she still laughed and joked, something changed. She acted stiffer. More on guard and less relaxed than any of the other dates. Why? It made him feel cheated somehow. Deprived. As though he’d drawn the short straw and now had to sit back and watch everyone else get to interact with the real Taycee Lynne.

When the video clip ended, Luke pushed the laptop closed with a snap, more determined than ever to break down those walls.

Chapter Eighteen

The Results are In!

A massive thanks to all of you who voted and donated to our cause! The people of Shelter Springs thank you for your support and enthusiasm for our show. Bless you all.

Without further ado, the top five winners (in no particular order) are . . .

Jake Sanford

Greg Jones

Miles Romney

Sterling Montgomery

Alec Jamison

Now let’s see what our bachelorette has to say . . .

Taycee stared at the list with mixed feelings. Jake, Greg, and Miles were all people she would have chosen if it had been up to her. But Alec? Really? Did the viewers not have the volume turned up when they watched that episode? Apparently not. As for Sterling, well, if going out with him and his overactive salivary glands saved her from seeing Gavin ever again, then she could deal with that.

It was her reaction to not seeing Luke’s name that bothered her the most. It landed her back in the ice cream parlor that Luke and Caleb had taken her to years and years before. With over twenty flavors to choose from, her little ten-year-old mind thought she’d never be able to decide. But then she caught sight of a flavor that reminded her of her favorite rose, and she pointed to that one.

“It’s sherbet,” Luke had said. “You’re not going to like it.” Taycee didn’t care. To her, it was now rose flavored ice cream and she wanted to taste it more than anything else in the world.

Turned out it tasted like yucky orange sherbet—exactly like Luke said it would.

Taycee felt much the same way now. She’d wanted Luke off the show so badly, and now that it had finally happened, it was like eating orange sherbet once again. It left a bad aftertaste in her mouth.

She’d miss Luke and his shoeless drive-in style type dates. What would he have planned for round two? Most likely something fun. Something she would have filed away in the corner of her mind where only precious memories were kept—most of which had Luke’s name on them.

* * *

Luke walked out of the hardware store only to stop short, and then slowly take one step back. Followed by another. He nearly made it back inside the safety of the store when Missy looked up from the magazine she read on a nearby bench. Her eyes found his. Luke tensed. Should he make a run for it?

Before he could decide what to do, Missy stood and walked toward him, her red stiletto sandals clacking against the sidewalk. “Hey, Luke. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Luke’s gaze flickered past her to his truck. Only twenty feet away and yet so far. He should have called in the order and paid Chuck to deliver it. Avoided town until Missy left for good.

“Oh relax.” Missy flashed a too bright smile. “I only wanted to say sorry—and to thank you for being such a good sport.”

“A good sport?” Luke took another step back, running into the door of the hardware store. A customer tried to exit, so Luke moved out of the way, side-stepping around Missy.

She tapped him on the shoulder. “This bachelorette show is pretty popular, which is actually great for me since my face is now attached to it. My agent thanks you, and so do I.”

An agent? Missy actually had an agent? Who in their right mind would agree to rep someone like her? “So glad my tanked reputation could help advance your career.”

“Oh, don’t be such a crank,” said Missy. “It was more of a favor to an old friend. The fact that I benefitted from it was only a bonus.”

“What are you talking about?” Luke side-stepped again, positioning himself so that she was no longer between him and his truck.

Missy sidled up to him, her face inches from his. “Not he—she. Someone who wanted you voted off, obviously. I just did my part to help make it happen. But now that you’re free, if you want to continue where we left off, I’m all yours. At least until I head back to LA.” She looked up and down Main Street then back to him. “Not even someone as cute as you could make me stay in this backcountry town.”

Luke studied her. Maybe she really could act because he couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not. “What do you mean someone wanted me off?”

Her hand covered her mouth in mock embarrassment. “Oops. I promised not to say anything. My bad.” Her hand came to rest on his shoulder, and then trailed down to his bicep where she squeezed. “Oooh, someone’s been working out.” With a smile, she backed away from him. “Have a great day, Luke.”

Then she was gone, the clack of her heels echoing back to where he stood. Luke watched her go with a mixture of confusion and relief. He pulled his keys from his pocket and headed for his truck, but a sign caught his eye. “Carl’s Feed and Seed.” He paused, re-reading the words.

Maybe Missy’s words made him paranoid, but Luke now wondered about that load of manure. Had it really been a mistake? A coincidence that it was dropped off the same night as the opening event and happened to block his driveway completely? Come to think about it, Carl had seemed a bit on edge when Luke asked him about it.

Was Missy right? Did someone want him off the show?

Luke hesitated outside his truck, twisting his keys around his finger as he studied the sign. Then he shoved the keys back in his pocket and headed for Carl’s Feed and Seed.

Chapter Nineteen

Round two of dating turned out to be nearly as crazy as round one. Alec begged for the Monday night slot because he’d found out about a nearby motocross race going on that night. And by nearby, he meant a two hour drive away, which meant four hours of trying to tune him out while he went on and on and on about himself.

Longest. Night. Ever.

Tuesday, Jake took Taycee to an indoor go cart racing facility in Denver, where she actually got to drive one of the carts herself. She even beat Jake once, probably because he let her win, but still, she’d take it. Wednesday brought a night of skeet shooting with Miles. Also fun, but her sore shoulder protested doing it again anytime soon.

By the time Thursday rolled around, Taycee was ready to fake an illness just to get a night off. At five o’clock sharp, Greg rapped on her door. Dressed in a wrinkled short-sleeved button down shirt, he looked as though he’d wrung out his clothes and left them to dry.

Despite his disheveled appearance, there was something refreshing and honest about Greg. He never tried to be anything but himself. It made Taycee feel like she could wear sweats, eat whatever she wanted—even burp—and he wouldn’t care. Or if he did, he’d call her on it. With him, Taycee always knew where she stood.

Unlike someone she didn’t want to think about.

Greg drove her straight to the diner for some take-out food, and Megan followed them inside with a camera. Why, Taycee wasn’t sure. Standing in line and ordering food would be the most boring footage ever.

Of course, this was before Taycee noticed Liza behind the counter.

“We’d like two specials please,” Greg told Liza before glancing at Taycee. “You do like chicken fried steak, right?” The way he said it made Taycee feel like she didn’t have a choice. Which was fine. It wouldn’t have been her first pick, but it wouldn’t have been her last either.

“Uh, sure, that sounds great.”

Liza eyed the camera nervously, and then pointed to the whiteboard behind her. “The chicken fried steak is actually the special tomorrow. Tonight, it’s beef tenderloin. Would you like that instead?”

Greg planted his hands on the counter and leaned forward. “I was actually hoping we could get the special price on the chicken fried steak today, rather than tomorrow. I don’t like red meat.”

Taycee’s lips twitched. Apparently the “chicken” in the name confused him, which was completely okay because Liza had never looked so flustered. Score one for Greg.

“Chicken fried steak is actually made with cubed steak,” Liza finally mustered. “And I’m sorry, but I’m only allowed to give you the special price on the day of the special.”

“I see.” Greg nodded, and then folded his arms. “Mind if I have a word with your manager?”

Eyes wide, Liza actually looked to Taycee for help—something Liza was sure to regret later since Taycee had no help to offer.

“Uh, Maris won’t be here for another hour,” Liza finally said, her gaze flickering once more to the camera.

“Do you have a phone number for her?”

“It’s only a dollar difference.” Liza’s fingers trembled as she pointed out the prices on the menu.

“Exactly my point.” Greg reached for his wallet as though he knew he’d won. “If it’s only a dollar difference, what’s the big deal? Whatever happened to customer service?”

“Okay, fine.” Liza’s hands shook as she rang up their order. Two chicken fried steaks were done in record time. Score another one for Greg.

Taycee allowed herself a small smile as they left the diner behind. Greg ushered her back to his car and soon they were on their way. “You know, Taycee, there’s really no set price for anything. It’s always negotiable, and I make it a point to get a better deal on everything I buy. If someone’s not willing to meet me partway, I always walk away. No matter what.”

“Good to know.” Although Taycee didn’t exactly agree. As a business owner, she knew how difficult it was to make ends meet, especially in a small town. Sure, it was good to be economical, but she also believed in supporting small businesses—Maris’s diner included.

“It’s why I make such a great buyer,” Greg continued. “My company always gets the best deals with me around.”

“It’s great you like your job so much.”

“Yeah, and if you ever need help getting a better deal on flowers, let me know. I’m your man.”

“Will do.” Not. Taycee already got a great deal on flowers from her wholesaler—someone who’d become a good friend over the years. She wasn’t about to jeopardize that relationship by asking for more.

Greg came to an intersection and stopped. Though no other cars were around, he looked both left and right before driving through it at an almost painfully slow pace. “Want to know a secret?” he said.

“What?”

“The best place to get great deals are at yard sales.”

“You don’t say.”

“In fact, just last month I got an awesome push lawn mower for five bucks. They wanted ten, but I talked them down.”

Taycee shot him a look. What kind of lawn mower was only worth five bucks? Or ten for that matter? Maybe one of those really old they-don’t-make-‘em-like-they-used-to models that Greg planned on fixing up. “Does it still run?”

“Run? Oh, no. I’m talking about those mowers that don’t have engines, only reels. You just push it around your grass and it cuts your lawn. No gas needed. Money saving and eco friendly. Hands down, my best yard sale find this year.”

Taycee smiled as she peered out the window. Some might argue that a conversation about push mowers and yard sales would be dull, but somehow Greg made it entertaining. Just like he’d made ordering chicken fried steak entertaining.

No wonder Megan wanted to follow them everywhere with her camera.

Greg pulled to a stop in front of an abandoned building that had been the old hardware store before it downsized. He grabbed their take-out food, slung a backpack on his shoulder, and led Taycee around back to a rickety-looking ladder propped next to the building. He gestured for her to go up first.

She shook the ladder. “Is it safe?”

“You tell me.” He chuckled. “Just kidding. Yeah, it’s fine. Go on up.”

With tentative steps, Taycee climbed to the top where a blanket covered a small portion of the gravel roof. Burt lounged in a lawn chair with his camera affixed to a tripod while Megan followed behind. Taycee breathed in the fresh air and looked around. Although the roof itself was hot and dirty, the surrounding view of the woods at the edge of town made up for it. The trees were like a natural wall, keeping Shelter hidden from the rest of the world. She loved feeling like she lived in her own secret little town.

Taycee settled next to Greg on the blanket, and they ate the warm chicken fried steak. With every bite, she pictured Liza’s pale face and tried not to smile. After all these years of dealing with Liza, it was nice to see someone take her down a notch.

When they finished eating, Greg pulled out a few games from his backpack, including Scrabble, Yahtzee, Back-gammon, and a deck of cards. “I know you like games so I brought a few choices.”

The sun hovered just above the horizon, casting a myriad of warm colors across the sky. Orange, red, yellow, and pink, with some blue and purple here and there. It was like a rainbow that had been flattened and reshaped into a stunning abstract piece of art. And here she was, on the roof of an abandoned building about to play games. Greg couldn’t have planned a better date.

It made Taycee wonder what Luke would have planned. Something similar, maybe. Or maybe not at all similar, like spelunking.

Taycee frowned and forced her mind back to the present. She pointed to Backgammon—a game she’d never played with Luke. “You’ll have to remind me how to play it. I’m not sure I remember all the rules.”

“Backgammon it is.” Greg set up the board, gave Taycee a brief run-down of the rules, and then promptly beat her twice in a row. Evidently she didn’t provide a big enough challenge, because he pulled out Scrabble next.

As twilight descended, they packed up and climbed back down the rickety latter. During the drive back, “Coming to America” by Neil Diamond came on the radio. Greg’s hand flew to the volume knob, turning it up. He joined in, belting out the lyrics.

Taycee laughed. Wrinkled shirts, yard sales, games, and now Neil Diamond. Greg was a riot.

When the song came to an end, he turned down the volume. “I love Neil Diamond.”

“So I noticed.”

“He sings Christmas songs too, you know.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Don’t you find it strange that a Jewish guy sings Christmas songs?”

Taycee bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Very.” Not that she’d ever given it any thought before.

Red and blue flashing lights lit up the dark sky behind them, accompanied by a shrieking siren. Taycee looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. The siren? Really Ralph?

“What did I do wrong?” Greg squinted at the speed-ometer as he slowed to a stop. “I wasn’t speeding.”

“Don’t worry, it’s just Ralph,” said Taycee. “I’ve known him forever.” Megan jumped from the back of the car to get a better camera angle as several people exited the diner down the street. A live audience. Awesome.

Moments later, Ralph peered through the window, shining a flashlight in the car. “Your license and registration, please.”

“Ralph,” Taycee said, leaning closer. “What’s the problem?”

A bright light zoomed in on her face, blinding her. “Taycee, that you in there?”

Her hand went up, shielding her eyes. “Yeah, it’s me. Mind turning that thing off?”

The light faded as Ralph holstered it at his side.

“Greg wasn’t speeding, was he?” Taycee said.

“A little. But I was more concerned with the swerving.” He nodded at Greg. “I’m going to need your license and registration. Then I’d appreciate it if you would both get out of the vehicle.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” said Greg. “I wasn’t swerving or speeding.”

“Sir, I need you to get out of the vehicle.”

Taycee leaned even closer, her eyebrow raised. “C’mon, Ralph. You know me. I never drink and Greg hasn’t been drinking either.”

“I would never drink and drive,” spluttered Greg, as if the implication alone was horrifying. “I am a law-abiding citizen.”

“Great, then you won’t mind getting out.” Ralph opened the driver’s door and waited.

Taycee’s hand rested on Greg’s arm, keeping him in the car. This had gone far enough. Ralph was being ridiculous and she refused to play along. “We’ve done nothing wrong, Ralph and you know it. Are you sure it isn’t you who’s drunk?”

Probably not the smartest thing to say because Ralph’s expression hardened. His gaze flickered to Megan’s camera and then back to Taycee. Evidently he didn’t like being accused of drinking while on camera, especially while on duty. Well too bad for him. Taycee didn’t like being accused either.

“Unless you’d like me to update your mug shots, Ms. Emerson,” Ralph said, “I suggest you get out of the car now.”

Taycee’s mouth fell open. He did not just bring that up now. It had been over seven years. Seven! She’d been a teenager, for crying out loud. So much for thinking Ralph was a decent person. No Christmas poinsettia for him this year.

“Mug shots?” Greg’s horrified eyes turned on Taycee. “What’s he talking about?”

“Please. It happened a long time ago.” Taycee glared at Ralph. “It’s not even on my record anymore.”

“Will you two please step out of the car?” Ralph asked again.

“Fine.” Taycee shoved open her door and got out, walking around to confront Ralph head on. “Would you like me to walk the line or touch my nose? Or are you planning to use the breathalyzer?”

Greg got out of the car and folded his arms, staring at Taycee with accusing eyes. “How long ago, exactly, and why did they need mug shots?”

“Walking the line should be sufficient,” Ralph said.

Taycee started forward, and then stopped. “Wait a minute. Why do I have to do it? I wasn’t driving.”

“And I’m not drunk!” Greg practically shouted. “Now will someone please explain about the mug shots!”

“Oh for the love of Pete!” Taycee threw up her arms, shooting Ralph another glare. “In high school, I participated in a silly prank, okay? We spelled out the name of our school on a rival’s football field with Roundup and got caught.”

“You vandalized a school?” Greg looked appalled. “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking, obviously,” said Taycee. “It’s called a mistake, Greg. Surely you’ve made a mistake before.”

“Not bad enough to get a police record!”

“Taycee’s right,” Ralph interrupted. “She doesn’t need to walk the line, but you do.”

“No way,” said Greg. “I’m not about to be humiliated for something I haven’t done wrong.”

Ralph reached for his belt. “All right. I’ll have to cuff you and take you in.”

Taycee let out a breath of frustration. “Greg, just walk the dumb line so we can get out of here. And Ralph, I’m warning you…”

Greg glared at Taycee before he finally capitulated and walked several steps in a straight line. Then he turned to Ralph and spat, “There. Satisfied?”

“Looks like you two are good to go,” said Ralph, scribbling who knows what on his notepad. “Sorry to have troubled you, but I have a responsibility to keep our streets safe. Enjoy the rest of your night.” He plodded back to his car.

Without a word, Greg climbed in his car and waited for Taycee to do the same. They drove the last few blocks to her place in silence. When he walked her to her door, Taycee let out a breath and laid a hand on his arm. “Listen, Greg, I’m sorry about Ralph and that whole scene back there. But thank you for today. Up until a few minutes ago, I had a great time.”

“No problem.” Greg barely even looked at her.

Taycee waited another few seconds. When he said nothing more, she gave up and opened her door. Once inside her apartment, she resisted the urge to slam the door shut and leaned against it instead. How had she let things get so out of control? Why didn’t she just get out of the car when asked? Walk the line? Make Greg walk the line? Instead, she had to try and prove that she could talk the local sheriff out of giving them a ticket, like some sort of cliché hick-town girl.

Taycee walked over to her couch and plopped down on it, resting her forehead on her palms. What a night.

A light tap sounded her door.

Taycee groaned. What now? “It’s open,” she called.

The door swung open and Jessa’s voice intruded, “Hey Tace. Ready for your postdate interview?”

Chapter Twenty

Luke squinted out the diner window and into the bright morning sunlight. According to Liza, Sterling should have been here by now. His orange juice swirled in one hand while his fingers tapped the table with the other. C’mon, Sterling. Show yourself.

Although Ralph had gone a little overboard and things had gotten out of hand last night—at least according to Ralph—Luke was far from feeling sorry. The whole Missy fiasco aside, he could still smell the stench of manure every time he stepped out his front door. It now seemed to surround his house, and he couldn’t open his window at night like he used to.

Yeah, Taycee definitely deserved it. And then some.

One more prank, and he’d call it even. Although Taycee tried to hide it, Luke knew she struggled with Sterling. The opening social and video recaps of their dates made it obvious. The spitting issue. The forced conversation. The fact they seemed to have very little in common. It all combined to make Sterling the perfect choice. Now all Luke needed was a few minutes alone with him.

“Hey, Luke.” Liza stood next to his elbow, water pitcher in hand. “Need a refill?”

He eyed his nearly full glass, but nodded anyway. “Sure. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Her hand rested on his shoulder as she slowly poured the orange juice. “So, how ya been?”

“Good. And you?”

“Fine, thanks.” She sank onto the bench across from him and leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands. “My feet are killing me. You don’t mind if I rest them for a sec, do you?”

“Sure, go ahead.“ Luke peered out the window once more, but still no sign of Sterling.

“How’s business?”

“It’s going okay. Not as busy as I’d like, but things will pick up when I start advertising in neighboring towns.” Something he should be working on right now, in fact—if it wasn’t for Taycee and his inability to quit thinking and plotting about her.

“I just love animals.” Liza smiled. “In fact, I’d love to come and watch you work sometime.”

For whatever reason, a mental picture of Missy hover-ing at his side came to mind—an experience he didn’t want to repeat anytime soon. “You’re a pet owner?” Luke asked. She didn’t strike him as the type.

Liza shook her head. “Not right now, but I had a cat growing up.”

“I’ve always been a dog person myself.”

“You have a dog?”

“When I was younger,” Luke said. “Maybe once I’m settled I’ll consider getting another.”

“You’re not settled yet?” Liza perked up. “Need any help?”

Luke swirled his juice once again, darting another glance out the window. “No, but thanks for the offer. The house doesn’t need much work, and what it does need I can get done in my spare time.”

“I’m happy to make you curtains if you need them. Or anything like that. I’m actually pretty good at sewing.”

Luke’s gaze rested on Liza’s bright pink fingernail polish, making him think of pink frilly curtains. “Uh, thanks, but I’m more of a wooden blinds kind of a guy. If I think of anything I need though, I’ll let you know.”

“All right.” Liza’s fingers fiddled under her chin. After a moment of silence, she blurted, “Would you like to go out some time? With me?”

Luke blinked. Go out with Liza? The thought had never occurred to him, not that he’d had much time to think about dating in general—beyond the bachelorette show and Taycee, that is. But now with Liza sitting across from him and asking him out, Luke still wasn’t interested. Not in Liza. Not in Missy. Only in Taycee—the girl who’d arranged for fifteen yards of manure to be dumped in his driveway and had asked Missy Green to make a move on him.

Go figure.

Luke glanced up and caught Liza watching him expectantly. Waiting. Oh right. She wanted to go out. “Um, yeah that would be fun. But I’ve actually got a lot going on right now. Can I take a rain check?”

Liza nodded and stood just as the diner door opened and Sterling walked in. “Sure, just let me know when.”

“Will do.”

Liza headed over to Sterling and took his order. When Sterling eyed the room for a place to sit, Luke gestured to the seat across from him. “Want to join me?”

“Uh, okay.” Sterling sat down with a wary expression on his face. “Did you need something?” Spittle landed on the table between them.

“Nope.” Luke pushed his juice aside, out of range. “It’s just that I know you have a date coming up with Taycee in a few days, so I thought I’d offer you the use of my horses if you want them.”

“Why?”

Luke shrugged as he reached for his wallet, tossing some bills onto the counter. “She loves to ride. I was planning to take her myself, but now that I’m off the show, I figured why not let someone else do it? But if you already have other plans, I can always see if Jake wants to use them.”

It was almost comical the way Sterling’s expression changed from wary to eager the moment Luke mentioned Jake. He leaned across the table. “No, no. I mean, I’d love to take her riding. I just don’t have a lot of experience with horses. Will that be a problem?”

Luke waved the concern aside. “Not at all. They used to be trail horses and are trained for inexperienced riders. There’s even a nice trail through the woods behind my house. All you have to do is point them in that direction, and they’ll take you straight to a beautiful meadow.”

“Really?”

“Really, really.”

Sterling smiled and nodded. “Okay. Yeah, that sounds nice. Let me think about it, and I’ll let you know.”

“Sure.” Luke stood and dropped a business card on the table. “That’s my number. Give me a call if you’re interested. I can have them saddled and ready to go whenever.”

Sterling picked up the card. “Thanks, Luke. That’s really nice of you.”

“No problem.” Luke patted Sterling’s shoulder as he left the diner with a smile. Despite the spitting issue, Sterling seemed like a decent guy—someone who was about to get a lucky break in the form of some extra time with Taycee Lynne.

And he’d have Luke to thank for it.

Chapter Twenty-one

“We’re taking Luke’s horses?” Taycee said to Sterling as he pulled his car to a stop. She didn’t know why the thought bothered her so much, but it did. That, and the fact they’d be riding in close proximity to Luke’s house. It was like she couldn’t get away from him. Why offer his horses anyway? Was he rooting for Sterling to win or something?

At least Taycee would be out of Sterling’s spitting range during the ride. That fact alone made her grudgingly grateful to Luke.

They walked around the house and found three horses already saddled and tethered to a fence. One for Sterling, one for Taycee, and one for Burt. There was a note affixed to the post:

Just fed and watered them, so they’re good to go. The dark brown mare is Chaos, the light brown gelding is Pants on Fire, and the brown and white one is Flirtatious (yeah, there’s a reason he’s now a gelding). Have them back whenever.

Taycee bit back a laugh as Sterling studied the animals with a worried expression. “Are you sure these horses are tame? Luke promised they’d be easygoing, but with names like those…”

“They’ll be fine,” Taycee said as they waited for Burt to get the camera set up several yards away. When he signaled he was ready, she unhooked Chaos from the rope, led it away from the others, and mounted easily. “Us females will stick together,” she said, patting Chaos’s neck.

Sterling didn’t respond. He was too busy fiddling with the rope. When he finally managed to free Flirtatious and try to mount, the horse side-stepped away and headed toward a well-worn trail at the back of Luke’s house.

Taycee had to muffle her giggles as Sterling tried and failed again. Finally, he managed to throw his stomach over the saddle, grab onto the horn, and swing his body around in an awkward move, but at least it worked.

Taycee looked over to see Burt shoulder the camera and swing up onto Pants on Fire. He trotted to catch up. “I’ll wait until we get out a ways, and then dismount to get some steady shots of you guys. That okay? We won’t need too much footage.”

“Fine by me.” A few minutes of camera-free time sounded great to Taycee. She spurred on Chaos—or, at least tried to. Apparently the mare preferred to walk, so Taycee settled back and let the horse meander down the path behind Flirtatious. Not the most thrilling of horseback rides, but at least Sterling was too preoccupied trying to find a comfortable position on the saddle to attempt conversation.

Taycee looked around at the beautiful surroundings, feeling an unwelcome memory tug at her heart. She, Luke, and Caleb used to spend hours and hours riding through these mountains when they were younger. They went camping one weekend, and at some point during the night, Taycee’s horse broke free and wandered off. Luke offered to give her a ride, so Taycee hopped up behind him and held on tight. It had been the best ride of her life.

She frowned and tried to spur on Chaos, as if she could outrun the memory and somehow put it behind her. But once again, Chaos refused. “Stubborn horse,” Taycee said.

Sterling looked back. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to take the lead. Normally, I’m a ladies go first kind of a guy.”

Taycee laughed. “Looks like your horse doesn’t agree with you.”

“I have no idea where I’m going,” Sterling called back to her. “Flirtatious won’t stop.”

“Don’t worry. There’s a happy little meadow a few miles down this trail. They’re probably trained to head there so just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

“If you say so.”

As they neared the meadow, Burt wanted to take the lead and get some footage, but Flirtatious still refused to stop, which made Taycee smile. Maybe the horse didn’t like being on camera either. When they finally arrived at the clearing, the horse finally stopped abruptly, nearly forcing Sterling to topple over his head. Pants on Fire and Chaos followed suit, reaching down to nibble at the grass.

Burt slid from his horse and started setting up the tripod. “I’d like to get some footage of the two of you riding for a bit, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.” Taycee tugged on the reins, but Chaos shook her head and continued to eat. She tried again, with no better luck, so she slid to the ground. “Um, I don’t think that’s going to happen. These horses obviously have minds of their own.”

“Well, how about you both hold the reins while you talk?” Burt made it sound so easy, as if she and Sterling should be bubbling over with topics they couldn’t wait to discuss.

“Okay,” Taycee hedged. “What do you want to talk about, Sterling?”

“How about how to get these horses to move.” He still sat on top of Flirtatious, tugging unsuccessfully at the reigns. When that didn’t work, he kicked the horses’ flank. “C’mon, move you stubborn animal.”

“He wants to eat,” Taycee said, trying not to laugh. From the corner of her eye, she caught the light of the camera and searched her mind for something to say. Anything. “So what do you think of the meadow?”

“It’s nice.”

“There’s a waterfall on the other side of that rise over there. Want to see it?”

Sterling looked around. “We need to tie up the horses first. I don’t want them running off.”

This time Taycee giggled. “I really don’t think they’re going anywhere.”

“Says the girl who won’t be held accountable.”

“No,” Taycee said. “Says the girl who knows trail horses. Now, c’mon. We won’t be gone long.”

With an uncertain look, Sterling wrapped the reins around the saddle horn and slid awkwardly from the horse. Burt followed behind as Taycee led Sterling up and over a small rise to the river. Only about six feet tall, a small waterfall gushed with the spring runoff, spurring on the narrow river as it wound its way through the meadow. Being small herself, Taycee had always felt a kinship with the little fall. She’d spent hours and hours playing in it, unafraid to stand beneath it like some of the bigger ones. Luke had once even given it a name once: Taycee Lynne Falls.

“This is it?” Sterling said. His hands rested on his hips as he studied the waterfall. “Back in Washington, we have falls that are hundreds of feet tall. This is more like a trickle.”

“Maybe to you.” To her it was a special treasure. She walked over and placed her hand under the cold rush of water, loving how it splayed up her arm.

Sterling stepped up beside her. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around like he was bored. “Hungry?” he finally said. “I brought some food in my backpack.”

Taycee wasn’t hungry, but the sooner they ate, the sooner they could leave, so she nodded and followed him back to the horses. Sterling spread out a thin blanket before kneeling down, and Taycee sat as far from him as possible, hoping he wouldn’t notice. He handed her a slightly smashed sandwich. “I hope you like club.”

“Sounds great. Thanks.”

“No problem,” he said. “I take it you’re into horseback riding?”

Taycee leaned back on her palm and stretched her legs out. A gentle breeze trembled through the air, carrying with it a scent of earth and pines. She breathed it in. “Yeah, although it’s been awhile. When I was younger we used to go riding all the time.”

“We?”

“My brother and I.” And Luke, although Taycee kept that part to herself.

Sterling took a big bite and studied the horses while he chewed. Small bits of sandwich flew from his mouth, making Taycee grateful he wasn’t facing her. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Yeah. He graduated from law school awhile ago. Right now he’s with a large firm in Phoenix, but he’s hoping to move back here and start a practice soon.”

“I can’t imagine there would be much business in Shelter—especially lately.”

Taycee rested her sandwich on her lap, not liking what Sterling implied. “He’ll probably look closer to Colorado Springs. But Caleb’s the type of guy who will be successful wherever he decides to practice law.”

“He really should stay with a big firm for a while and get some experience. At least that’s what I’d do.”

“Well, Caleb isn’t you.” Or, at least Taycee hoped he wasn’t. Lately, she was beginning to wonder. And worry.

“He’s going to have a hard time of it then,” Sterling said. “It’s important to get several years of experience with an established firm before you set off on your own.”

Taycee leveled him a look. Sterling didn’t even know Caleb. Who was he to say how much work experience her brother needed? It hit a nerve. “He’s been working sixty to eighty hour work weeks for a couple of years now. If he keeps that up, he’s going to forget there’s more to life than work. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Sterling set down his sandwich and looked straight at her, his face serious. “That’s what I’m doing right now. It’s called putting in your time. Someday I’ll make partner and it will all pay off.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” said Taycee, knowing she needed to change the subject before she said something she might regret. “By the way, how did you get the time off for this if you’re… uh… still putting in your time?”

“I’m using all the PTO time I’ve accrued.”

“Oh.” Taycee immediately wished she hadn’t asked the question. She didn’t want to hear about the sacrifices these guys made to be here. It made everything too real, too heavy. She preferred to believe that everyone felt the same as her. That this was a silly competition benefitting a good cause—not something worth investing too much money or emotion or PTO time in. Yet deep down, Taycee knew these guys were doing exactly that. The knowledge didn’t settle well.

“What about you?” Sterling said, brushing crumbs from his shorts. “Is living in Shelter Springs and arranging flowers something you want to do for the rest of your life?”

“Yes,” Taycee said without hesitation. “I’m happy here.”

He nodded. “So what happens if you fall for one of us bachelors? What then? Are you planning to ask whoever it is to drop everything and move here?”

Taycee shifted in her seat and picked at a nonexistent piece of lint. It was a fair question and one she should have been prepared for. But she wasn’t. Probably because she never thought a few dates could lead to a discussion like this. Yet here it was, waiting for an answer.

A few blades of grass tickled her palm, and Taycee tugged on them, uprooting them from their home—the same thing Sterling thought she should be willing to do.

“No,” she finally said. “I would never expect anyone to pick up and move here for me. But if I do make a lasting connection with someone, I’d hope we’d both be willing to compromise.”

Sterling nodded and took another bite of his sandwich. “Fair enough,” he said, as if they’d reached their own compromise.

But Taycee didn’t feel like they had at all. The fact was, she wasn’t falling for any of the bachelors and would never be willing to compromise. She suddenly felt like the type of person who was okay with stringing people along in a game where the stakes had suddenly increased—stakes that were never supposed to get this high.

They continued to eat in relative silence, and as the sun dropped closer to the horizon, Taycee finally said, “It’s starting to get dark. We should probably head back.”

“Okay.”

Sterling repacked the backpack while Taycee folded the blanket. Once Burt had secured his camera equipment, she walked to Chaos’s side and swung up on the horse’s back. After a gentle prod on the reigns, Chaos lifted her head, only to drop it back down and continue to nibble. A stronger tug produced the same results, only this time Chaos took two steps further into the meadow.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Taycee slid to the ground and pulled hard on the reins, trying to lead the horse from the meadow and back toward the trail. Sterling and Burt weren’t having any better luck.

Taycee surveyed the scene as an uneasy thought struck. Trail horses were stubborn, lazy animals. But given enough time to graze, they should be willing to head back. Unless, that is, they were used to following a certain leader and that certain leader wasn’t here.

No, Luke wouldn’t.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He would—just not without a good reason.

Did he have a good reason? An uneasy thought came to Taycee’s mind, accompanied by an uneasy feeling. Luke couldn’t possibly know about Missy or the manure, could he? Carl would never say anything, and Missy, well… she promised not to either.

The uneasiness magnified.

Luke had to know. It was the only explanation. That’s why he offered Sterling the use of his horses. Her eyes drifted shut. Not good. Not good at all.

An eye for an eye.

It was a saying Luke had used often growing up, mostly to rationalize all the pranks he used to play. Was he now hanging out in the comfort of his home, thinking those same words and laughing at her?

Probably.

Burt stepped into Taycee’s peripheral vision, a rude reminder that her crazy, messed up life was no longer as private as it used to be. She suddenly felt like stomping her foot and asking everyone to go away and leave her alone. She was beyond sick of it all. Dating. Being filmed. Worrying what she said, how she looked. And now, here she was, stuck in some stupid meadow with a spitter and a camera-happy guy, miles away from any civilization—not that Luke could be called civilized.

Sterling tossed the reins on the ground and strode toward Taycee, throwing his hands in the air. “I give up.”

Spittle hit Taycee’s cheek and she cringed. If Sterling spit on her one more time, she would throw him into the river he’d called a trickle and hoof it back dateless. Taycee loped Chaos’s reigns around a nearby tree. “C’mon, it’s getting dark. Let’s get going.”

Sterling gestured to the horses, looking horrified. “We’re just going to leave them here?”

“Unless you want to carry them, yes. Luke will have to come back for them in the morning. It’ll serve him right.”

“Serve him right? For what? Loaning us horses?”

“Loaning us trail horses,” Taycee corrected. “I should have seen this coming.”

“What are you talking about? Of course they’re trail horses. How do you think we found this place so easily?”

“Because they wanted to come here. Problem is, they don’t want to go back, and I refuse to spend any more time trying to coax them.”

Sterling frowned and glared at the horses. “This is crazy.”

“Crazy, but true. Horses can be stubborn when they want to be. Especially trail horses.” Taycee squinted through the trees at the lowering sun. It would be dark soon and they didn’t have a flashlight. Not good. She headed for the trail. “C’mon, guys. We need to hurry. It’ll be a lot harder to find our way in the dark.”

Sterling grudgingly followed as Burt tucked his camera back in his bag. Taycee breathed a sigh of relief. It was bad enough being filmed when she was in a good mood.

Dusk settled in as they trudged down the mountain. The sounds of shoes scuffing the ground, crickets creaking, and twigs snapping underfoot filled the silence. As the sky turned from gray to black, Taycee slowed and walked with her hands outstretched to keep from running into something. Sterling’s hand rested on her shoulder. It was the blind leading the blind, and Taycee could only hope they were headed in the right direction.

“Burt, doesn’t your camera have a light?” Taycee asked.

“Sorry, I left it in the car. Figured we’d be back before it got dark.”

Taycee’s leg scraped against a painful prickly bush, making her want to curse. Loudly. But she wasn’t the swearing type and she wasn’t about to let Luke turn her into one.

A loud crunch came from behind, and Sterling’s hand ripped from her shoulder as he stumbled and let out a loud groan. She turned to find him lying in a heap on the ground, grabbing onto his ankle.

Taycee squatted beside him. “You okay?”

“No. I twisted my ankle.”

“Here. Take my arm.” Burt came to Sterling’s other side, and together they hefted him to his feet. He hobbled along, and their progress slowed to a turtle’s pace. At this rate, they wouldn’t be back until morning.

“Sterling, I’m sorry, but it’s going to take forever like this.” Taycee pulled out her cell phone and squinted at it. No reception. “Can either of you guys get a signal?”

Both Sterling and Burt studied their phones, and then shook their heads.

“Okay.” Taycee searched the trees. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I know this trail well, and I’m sure I can find my way back. So how about I go on ahead, find Luke, and we’ll bring a horse back for Sterling to ride on.”

“How will you find us again?” Sterling asked. “It’s pitch black out here.”

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you going on alone,” Burt added. “I’ll come with you.”

“And leave me here alone?” Sterling squeaked.

Taycee rolled her eyes. “I’ll be fine, Burt, I promise. I can use the light from my phone. And don’t worry, Sterling, we’ll be able to find you with a flashlight. We can’t be that far from his house. I’ll be back in a half an hour. Forty-five minutes tops.”

Sterling grabbed a hold of her arm and brought her closer. “Are you sure?” A spray of moisture hit her face.

“Positive,” she said.

Chapter Twenty-two

Luke saddled up a horse in the barn, berating himself for thinking this had been a good idea. The sky had darkened and Taycee still wasn’t back. He figured they’d have trouble getting the horses to leave the meadow without Sally, but had they refused outright? Was everyone walking back on foot? Had they gotten lost? Was Taycee okay?

He cinched up the belly strap with a bit too much force and reached for the bridle.

“Luke!” Taycee’s voice rang out.

His body stilled as he let out a breath. She was okay. She was fine.

“In here,” he called. “It’s about time you guys got back.”

The barn door flew open, and Taycee stood there in the dim light with a few leaves poking out of her disheveled hair. She looked beautiful. And angry.

“I’m the only one who’s here,” she said, hooking a thumb behind her. “Sterling’s back about a mile with a twisted ankle.”

“And the horses?”

“In the meadow.” Taycee glared. “How kind of you to send us with your most stubborn trail horses.”

Luke smiled as he walked over to her, reaching to pick the leaves from her hair. It was soft and looked silky in the lamplight. He felt the sudden urge to pull her to him, but rested his hand on her shoulder instead. “I figured you’d get along really well with them."

“Very funny.” Taycee stepped away, making his hand fall from her shoulder. She pointed to the animal behind him. “Will you please put a bridle on that horse so we can go find Sterling? He and Burt weren’t exactly thrilled to be left in the dark.”

Luke gave her a lingering look before he reached for the bridle once more.

“Where do you keep your flashlights?” Taycee walked past him and started looking through his gear, pulling open drawers and slamming them closed when she didn’t find what she wanted.

“In the bag on the saddle,” Luke said as he fit the bridle in place. “I was just about to come looking for you.” He led the horse from the barn and double-checked the saddle. Then he mounted and held his hand out to Taycee. “Coming?”

She hesitated, as if touching him was the last thing she wanted to do. Finally, she placed her soft hand in his, stuck her foot in the stirrup, and swung up behind him, immediately relinquishing his hand.

When her arms didn’t come around his waist, Luke glanced over his shoulder to see her gripping the back of the saddle instead. He bit back a grin. “I know you’re mad, but it’ll be a lot safer if you hold on to me.”

“No thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” A quick tsk, a kick, and the horse leapt forward. Taycee gasped, and her arms came around Luke in a tight hold as she steadied herself. His grin widened as they started forward, reminding him of other times they’d ridden together like this. Only now it was different. Better.

“You’re smiling and thinking ‘I told you so,’ aren’t you?” Taycee accused.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Right.” As they settled into an easy pace, her grip around him slackened. Luke resisted the urge to grab her hands and keep her close.

“Thanks for the great date, by the way,” she finally said. “It was a real adventure.”

“No problem.” From the sounds of it, she would never forgive him for this.

“And thanks for the other night as well. That was you too, wasn’t it? Ralph sure did a great job. How much did he charge you for that performance? Or was it just a favor to an old friend?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh please. Ralph’s too nice to come up with that idea all on his own.”

“And I’m not a nice guy?”

Silence.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Luke said, shining the light through the darkness as they picked their way along the trail. The crunch and scuffle of the horse’s hooves mingled with the creaking of crickets as they moved along. “What about you, Taycee Lynne? Are you a nice girl?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder if Carl and Missy would agree. Or me, for that matter.”

More silence. Her hands fell from his side, probably gripping the back of the saddle once again. What happened to her anyway? They used to be such great friends. Could time really do that to a friendship? Erode it to nothing?

The fact was, Luke wanted her friendship. Craved it even. Especially since it could be the start of something even better. But Taycee refused to give an inch. It made him want to give her a good, hard shake.

“So tell me this, Taycee Lynne,” he finally said. “Why did you do it? Have things really changed that much between us that you couldn’t stand the thought of going out with me? I don’t get it.”

“And I don’t get why you wanted to make me look bad on camera—especially since I’m only doing this for Shelter Springs.”

He shrugged. “It’s called retaliation, something you know all about.”

“How would you know?” Taycee accused. “You don’t know me anymore. You may not have changed much during the past ten years, but I have.”

“Too bad. You were a lot more fun back then.” Okay, so maybe he’d gone too far, but it was the truth. Where was the girl who used to hold on tight and urge him to go faster? The girl who used to follow him anywhere and looked up to him. Who’d tease him and talk to him. Made him feel like the older brother he’d never gotten to be—not that he wanted to be her brother anymore.

What happened to that girl?

“What did I ever do to you anyway?” Luke asked. “You’ve treated me different since I got back, and I don’t get it. I’ve done nothing to you.”

“Nothing? You call tonight and Ralph nothing?”

“I’m talking before that. Why the manure in my driveway? Why Missy?”

“I was helping you out. You said you didn’t want to be on the show, remember?”

“No,” Luke said. “I said that I would get voted off if I wanted to—not that you should take it upon yourself to do it for me.”

“Well, excuse me for helping you out. You should be thanking me right now.”

“Thanking you? For making me look like a jerk in front of a whole lot of people? Sorry, but forgive me if I don’t.”

“Please. Since when have you ever cared about people seeing you with different girls? Or is it the fact that it’s now all over the internet that bothers you?”

Luke yanked on the reins and twisted around to face her. He felt like he was being accused of a crime he didn’t commit, as though Taycee grasped at any excuse she could find to rail on him. “What are you talking about?”

“Will you please keep going? Sterling is probably freaking out.”

“Not until you explain.”

“Seriously?” Taycee said. “You really need me to point out the fact that you’ve never had a problem dating a bunch of girls? Back in high school you did it all the time, or is your memory really that bad?”

Luke slid off the horse and pulled Taycee down with him, fighting the urge to shake her senseless. “Who cares if I dated a lot of girls in high school? It was ten years ago, Taycee! Ten years! And since I got back, I haven’t had a chance to go out with anyone but you.”

Taycee’s fingers fisted at her side. “You left, Luke! You promised to call and you didn’t. You promised to email and you didn’t. You walked away without a backward glance and forgot all about me and Caleb. You don’t do that to friends!”

Whoa. Luke shook his head to clear his thoughts. Caleb had said that Taycee had a hard time when he left, but that was so long ago. Was she still hung up on it? “Is that what this is about? Why I’ve been getting the stiff arm from you since I got back?”

No answer.

A deep breath and Luke tried again. “I don’t get it. Caleb doesn’t care that I didn’t keep in touch, and no one else in town does either. In fact, everyone else has welcomed me back with open arms. Why can’t it be the same with you?”

“Because I’m not Caleb or everyone else! I’m Taycee!”

“Duh.”

With a stomp of her foot, Taycee spun on her heel to leave, but Luke grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “Oh no you don’t. You aren’t going anywhere until we finish this. Are you really still blaming me for something I did ten years ago?”

Taycee yanked her hand free. “You did it when you got back, too. You said we should get together for dinner. You said you’d call. But did you? Of course not. Why? Because you really haven’t changed. Ten years later, and you’re still the same unreliable excuse for a friend.”

Her words slammed into him with a brutal force. Luke took a step back, as if distance would somehow lighten the impact. But it had the opposite effect because Taycee’s eyes now appeared darker. More condemning. The expression looked so out of place on her. So wrong. And yet somehow, he’d put it there.

Luke suddenly had this insane urge to drag her toward him and kiss her until she stopped looking at him like that. Until she stopped blaming him for something Luke didn’t understand or feel like he deserved.

He needed to get away. Somehow figure out where he’d messed up and sort through his mixed up feelings about her. He reached for the reins and jumped back onto the horse, and then pulled an extra flashlight from his bag and tossed it to her. “We’re not far from the house. You can wait inside, and I’ll go and get Sterling.”

With that, he sank his heels into the horse’s side and lurched forward, putting as much distance between them as he could.

* * *

A sickening pit formed in Taycee’s stomach as she watched Luke ride away. She’d gone way too far, unleashing ten years’ worth of pent-up frustration. But no matter how much she wanted to take the words back, they were already out. She may as well have said, “I’ve been in love with you for forever and jealous of every girl you’ve ever dated!”

Turned out Jessa was right after all. Taycee was a shaken can of soda, and Luke had just opened her up.

It had been a problem she’d been plagued with her entire life. Let things build inside until one day the pressure became too much and everything spurted out. Her mother had always warned her not to let things fester, to say what needed to be said before it reached this point. But Taycee had never quite learned how to do that. Anger had always given her words the wings they needed to fly right out of her mouth.

The problem was that when it reached this point, the words usually came out tainted with a nastiness she didn’t really mean. A nastiness that Luke may never forget.

Or worse—forgive.

Chapter Twenty-three

Taycee blinked at the bright light sneaking through the blinds. She’d spent most of the night replaying over and over what she’d said to Luke, and with each replay, it got worse. Almost to the point that Taycee didn’t deserve to see the sun or bask in its warm glow.

She tossed her covers over her head and burrowed beneath them, keeping the light out. But it was no use. Sleep offered an escape that she really didn’t deserve either, so she threw her covers off and headed to her bathroom. What she needed was to get away. Away from Shelter and everyone in it. Away from that cloud of nastiness that hovered over her. Away from everything.

Maybe if she drove fast enough, she could leave it all behind.

She donned her swimming suit, dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, and packed a backpack with water, some snacks, and a towel. Then she hopped in her car and headed west.

Thirty minutes later, she pulled off the side of the road and started the three mile trek through the woods to a place Caleb and Luke had discovered over fifteen years ago: The Hole. Perfect for swimming and hanging out, The Hole became their secret place of escape. And over the years, Taycee had kept that secret, unwilling to share it with anyone—even Jessa.

She trudged toward it now, ducking under branches and stepping over rocks, heading purposefully toward her own private retreat—a place packed full of the most wonderful memories she had of Luke. Maybe the bittersweet reminder would serve as her penance.

She finally emerged through the trees to find The Hole looking almost exactly as it had all those years before. The same small pond. The same waterfall off to the side. The same boulder to jump from. It was one of the things she loved most about this place. Other than the rope swing that had seen better days, it never changed.

Unlike the people who once spent so much time here.

Taycee dropped her backpack to a flat, grassy spot and quickly stripped down to her swimsuit. Then she waded to her knees and dove into the chilly mountain water. It had been awhile since she’d come. Not since the summer after college. Without Caleb or Luke, it had never been the same.

Taycee swam for a while before spreading a towel across a sunny patch of ground and settling down to soak up the sun and enjoy the sounds and smells of nature. The rustling leaves, the chirping birds, the scent of fresh pine needles. It had an almost hypnotic, soothing effect, and before long, her eyes drifted shut.

* * *

“Taycee Lynne.” The voice drifted through her muddled brain, wrapping her in a blanket of warmth. How she loved it when Luke called her that.

“Taycee.” Fingers gently prodded her arm, nudging her subconscious to fully awaken. Real fingers. On her arm. Taycee popped up quickly, whacking something with her head.

“Ow,” she groaned, holding her hand to her forehead as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight.

“Ow is right,” Luke said, rubbing his own forehead. “Remind me never to wake you up unless I’m in the mood for a headache.”

She blinked. Luke. Here. At the swimming hole—their swimming hole. “What are you doing here?” She squinted at him.

“Saving you from a nasty sunburn. Although I might be a little late.” His fingers brushed against her cheekbone, just below her eye.

Taycee’s hands flew to her warm cheeks, unable to tell whether the heat was from a sunburn or the sizzling sensation that came when he touched her. “How long have I been asleep?”

“I don’t know.” Luke shrugged. “How long have you been here?”

Taycee glanced up. The sun hovered high overhead now, which meant it had probably been a few hours. Great. She grabbed her bag and pulled out some sunscreen. Normally it wouldn’t be a big deal, but in a few days she’d be on camera again and didn’t want to show up sporting a sunburn. Her last few dates had been embarrassing enough.

She squirted some lotion onto her hand and rubbed it all over her face, arms, and shoulders, before trying to reach her back.

“Want some help?” Luke asked with half a smile.

“No.”

He shrugged. “I get it. You want goofy-looking varieg-ated lines covering your back. Like a non-permanent tattoo, right?”

Taycee held out the bottle of sunscreen. “Fine, you win.”

He eyed it, not taking it from her. “I didn’t hear any magic words.”

“Pretty please?”

“Now you’re talking.” Luke took the bottle and scooted behind her. His warm, lotion-covered hands rubbed slow, methodical circles over the back of her shoulders and between her shoulder blades. Taycee’s eyes drifted closed, willing him to keep going. She could sit like this forever, soaking up his touch, his warmth. Him.

“There, all set,” he breathed into her ear as he held the bottle in front of her face. Happy shivers sped down her spine, making her cheeks burn even more. It wasn’t fair that he had this effect on her.

“Thanks.” She shifted away from him and held up the bottle. “You want some?” Part of her hoped he’d say yes and part of her didn’t. Her eyes lingered on his broad shoulders and already tanned skin.

“I don’t know. Am I allowed to stay?”

Her gaze fell to the ground, and Taycee’s finger drew circles through the long blades of grass next to her towel. She owed him an apology. But what could she say without embarrassing herself even more?

“I’m sorry, Luke,” the words finally tumbled out. “I didn’t mean half of what I said. It’s just that… well, I’m sorry. You’re not a poor excuse for a friend. In fact, there was a time when you were one of my best friends.” She looked out over the swimming hole, not wanting him to see the emotion in her eyes or how badly she wished for those days back.

Luke scooted closer until they sat side-by-side with their shoulders lightly touching. “You say that like it’s behind us. But we can still be friends, can’t we? Even after all these years?”

Friends. As much as Taycee would love to say yes, she didn’t think she had it in her to just be friends. Once it had been enough, but now Luke’s reappearance in her life had exposed all the feelings she’d tried to bury over the years, making them even more imposing than they’d been before.

“You were right,” Luke said when Taycee remained silent. “I should have kept in touch. I guess I got a little self-absorbed and threw myself into college life without really looking back. Then when my parents moved, I figured it was better that I move on. So I graduated from college and vet school. I even did an internship. But after that… I don’t know. It’s like I took a peek into my past and couldn’t seem to stop looking back. I missed it. So I made the plunge and moved back to the one place I never thought I’d return to.” He paused. “Maybe I made a mistake, though. I never meant to stir up past hurts.”

There was a time when Taycee had wanted him to realize that—to leave Shelter and stay far away. But the thought of him disappearing again made her want to throw her arms around him and hold on tight. He’d break her heart all over again if he left now.

Not that it wouldn’t break if he stayed, too.

“And I’m sorry for not calling you back that day I first saw you again,” Luke continued. “I wanted to, but I figured after showing up at your shop and hanging out for a while, you might think it was overkill. So I didn’t. I thought I was saving you, not hurting you.”

Taycee wanted to crawl under her towel and hide. Why was everything so much more embarrassing in the light of day? “Can we just call a truce? Or, as Caleb would say, strike yesterday’s conversation from the record?”

Luke chuckled. “Consider it stricken.”

Taycee offered him a tentative, relieved smile. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you came back, even if it’s only temporary.” Whether it was because she’d let out all her frustrations yesterday, or because she now understood why he hadn’t kept in touch or called, Taycee meant it. She was glad he’d come home. Maybe now she’d finally be able to heal and move on.

His shoulder nudged hers. “Don’t kick me out just yet. Maybe Shelter’s Bachelorette really will be able to help save the town.”

Taycee pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Last night, Sterling asked if I’d be willing to move if I fell for one of the bachelors. It made me think.” She twisted her head to face him. “Don’t you think it’s kind of ironic that something I’m doing to help the town might be the one thing that finally gets me to leave?”

The waterfall and zipping bees suddenly sounded loud in the silence that followed.

“Are you falling for one of the bachelors?” Luke said.

Not falling—fallen. And yes—the one that got voted off last week. She shrugged. “I don’t know. Sterling’s starting to grow on me.”

His startled eyes shot her way, and then relaxed in a look of relief. “You’re joking.”

“Maybe.” Taycee shrugged, fighting back a smile.

Luke stared down at her, making her lips twitch. He shook his head. “I can’t believe I almost fell for that.”

“And I can’t believe you’d actually think I’d go for someone like him.”

Luke nudged her shoulder again, nodding toward the water. “Can you still do a flip off that boulder?”

“I will if you will.”

“You’re on.” He grabbed her hand. It was something he’d done all the time when they were younger—something a big brother would do. But now Taycee couldn’t help the goose bumps that broke out across her arms. She wanted it to mean more than brotherly friendship. She wanted it to mean that he liked her the way she liked him.

He dragged her into the frigid spring water, and then relinquished her hand as they swam to the boulder. He scrambled to the top, reaching to help her up behind him. Then he winked, ran forward, and let out a whoop as he threw his body off the boulder, completed a graceful one and a half, and dove neatly into the water. Moments later he surfaced and shook the water from his dripping hair. Taycee could have stared at him all day.

“Show off,” she said.

“Impressed?”

“Maybe.”

“Admit it. I’m the king of the swimming hole.”

“Never!” Taking a few steps back, Taycee rushed forward, leaped into the air, brought her knees to her chest and yelled, “Cannonball!” before landing with a whack right beside him.

She surfaced and wiped the water from her eyes. “I just blew up your kingdom. Now I’m the king of the swimming hole, so there.”

“So there? What are we, in second grade?”

“I was trying to speak on your level.”

“You are so going down for that one.” Luke grabbed her, twisting her so his arms came around her shoulders from behind. “Any final words?” he said into her ear, his breath sending chills down her spine.

“You forgot to say Your Majesty.”

With a hand on her head, Luke pushed her under the water, and then pulled her up seconds later. “Now who’s the king?”

Taycee blinked the water from her eyes. “You forgot to say Your Majesty again. Honestly, how many times do I have to—”

Down she went again.

When she resurfaced the second time, she laughed. “Fine, you win, but only because I said mean things to you yesterday.” She wiped her eyes and pointed a finger at him. “But the day you tell me you’ll call me and don’t, you become the scum of the earth forever.”

Luke’s smile widened. “Do you want me to call you?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what I heard.”

“You need to get your hearing checked.” She broke free and splashed him in the face. He splashed back, and then lunged for her and pulled her against him, making her heart pound like crazy. Without meaning to, her eyes rested on his mouth. A knowing smile tugged on his lips, making her face burn and her gaze drop to his tan, muscular chest. Her cheeks flushed even hotter.

“My hearing’s fine,” he said, his voice low and teasing, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Taycee pulled from his grasp and splashed him again. “Man, you’re cocky.” Then she swam back to her towel where she collapsed on her stomach and buried her face in the soft terry cloth, hoping he couldn’t tell how easily he’d gotten to her. A few words, a look, and she was a muddled-up mess.

Luke trudged from the water and dropped down next to her. She kept her face buried while her body shivered from the cool breeze. As the water evaporated from her skin, the warm rays of the sun warmed her, inch by inch. It was like she was fourteen all over again, hanging out with Luke on a gorgeous spring day.

If yelling at him produced this kind of day, maybe she should do it more often.

“What was it that made you start looking back, Luke?” Her voice was muffled, so she twisted her face to the side and clarified, “To Shelter, I mean.”

Luke let out a breath and shifted on his towel, squinting up at the sun. “I don’t know. Do I need a reason? Why didn’t you ever leave?“

Taycee raised her head, tucking her elbows beneath her as she picked at her towel. “I did leave for a few years. I got an Associate in business, and then enrolled in a floral design program for another year. But you’re right. I always planned to come back, and I did.”

She snuck a peak at him. He watched her with an unreadable expression on his face. Did he think she should’ve moved away? Found a life outside of Shelter like so many other people had done? Or did he think she figured it out early on that Shelter was a good place to plant roots?

“And yes,” she said. “You do need a reason. Everyone has a reason for doing something that doesn’t make sense.”

“Moving back to Shelter doesn’t make sense?”

Taycee shook her head. “Why would it? Your parents don’t live here any longer, and you didn’t keep in touch with anyone. What prompted you to even consider it?”

Luke shifted again, tucking his hands under his head and squinting at the sky. “After high school, I couldn’t wait to get away from this place. I felt stuck here, as if Shelter would keep me from having experiences and living my dreams. So I jumped on the college bandwagon and left town.

“Fast forward ten years, and there I was, finishing my internship and considering a great opportunity to partner with the vet I worked for. He wanted to ease me into the practice before he retired so I could take over. The fact that I also happened to be engaged to his daughter made it a no-brainer.”

Taycee’s eyes flew to his. Luke had been engaged? The news slammed into her in an uncomfortable way, making her feel so many things. Hurt that he’d loved someone else. Curiosity about what had happened. Jealousy that he’d been able to date and fall for another person without the memory of someone else always getting in the way.

“Then one day a box arrived in the mail. My mom went through a de-cluttering phase and sent me a package of some of my old stuff. My high school yearbooks were in it, along with a bunch of pictures of you, me, and Caleb. As soon as I opened it, everything changed. I had so many amazing memories from this place. It made me start thinking about moving back here instead—to a place I could raise my kids with the kind of lifestyle I once had. This swimming hole, horseback riding, hiking, camping, fishing, sledding, even cow-tipping.” He chuckled at that. “I couldn’t get the image out of my mind, so I got on the internet and found the McCann place.”

“What happened?” Taycee asked, unable to hold the question back any longer. “To your fiancée, I mean.”

Luke twisted his head, and his gaze rested on Taycee. “She grew up in Ohio and wanted to stay there, near her family. She wanted me to take over her father’s practice and keep living the life she’d always wanted to live.” Luke swallowed, making his Adam’s apple bob. “I guess the fact that I had a hard time deciding between her and Shelter made me realize that maybe I didn’t love her as much as I thought I did. So we broke up.”

“Just like that?”

“It was tough, but it felt right, you know? So I went with it. I called the McCanns and asked if they’d consider letting me lease their farm before I committed to buying,” he said. “It was my way of doing something that felt right without risking everything.”

Taycee flipped onto her back and shaded the sun with her hand. “Wow, I don’t even know what to say to that except—wow.”

“I know. I thought I would ease right back into my old life with no problem. But then I ran into you and quickly discovered that wasn’t going to happen.”

Taycee gave him a rueful smile. “I guess I didn’t really make it easy on you, did I?”

“Let’s just say I learned the hard way that I should have kept in touch.”

“You always were a slow learner.”

Luke laughed.

The rest of the afternoon, she and Luke caught up, laughed, swam, teased, and applied more sunscreen. It was one of those days that surpassed all the others before it. By the time they hiked back to their cars, Taycee realized that even though things could never be the way they once were, maybe they could be better. Maybe having Luke back as a friend really was enough.

For now.

Chapter Twenty-four

The interview at the end of the second round of dating went almost exactly as it had before. Taycee felt like a broken record as she answered Jessa’s questions. Great guys, check. Fun times, check. Looking forward to more, check, check, check.

And now here she was, at her flower shop on Monday morning, staring at her laptop screen once again and wondering what to write about the latest winners: Jake, Greg, Miles, and of course—Alec. Evidently there were a lot of people who thought that what Alec had to say about himself was incredibly interesting. Either that, or Burt and Megan did too good of an editing job, which Taycee wouldn’t know since she never clicked “play.”

Maybe it was time to set all the viewers straight. Right here. Right now. On this blank laptop screen that seemed to mock her with its glowing brightness.

First off, you should all know that Alec is a self-absorbed motocross fanatic who also happens to be the world’s worst date! Pick him again and I’ll . . . I’ll . . .

Taycee sighed, highlighting the words and hitting “delete.”

The viewers have done it again! I couldn’t have picked them better myself!

Delete.

So sorry to see you go, Sterling, but . . . well, not really.

Delete.

Hey, guess what? I’m secretly in love with Luke Carney, and as of today, I’m respectfully stepping aside as Shelter’s bachelorette. I’m going to be that lame girl who makes a fool of herself by chasing after a guy who only thinks of her as a sister. TTFN!

Delete, delete, delete.

Argh.

Jessa’s ringtone sounded, and Taycee gratefully grabbed her phone—anything to put off writing this post.

“Please tell me you haven’t posted the results yet,” Jessa’s voice blared in her ear.

Taycee bit her lip as she studied the blank screen that now seemed to glow brighter than ever before. “Um, not quite yet.”

“Whew.” Jessa let out a breath. “Okay, so Greg left town this morning.”

“He what?”

“After giving it some serious thought, he decided that you’re not the one for him,” Jessa said. “So sorry, Tace,” she added dryly, “I know how much this must devastate you.”

“It does devastate me.” Jessa could joke all she wanted about Greg, but this wasn’t good news at all. The show still had over three weeks to go, which meant they’d either have to end it early, an option Jessa would never go for, or—

“Looks like Sterling’s back in the lineup,” Jessa said, as if it was no big deal that Taycee would be subjected to his spitting and forced conversation for yet another night. “You don’t mind changing Greg’s name to his, do you?”

“Yes, I do mind. Why can’t we just end this thing a week earlier than planned? You did say that we were bringing in more money than you anticipated, right?” It seemed like a reasonable request to Taycee. More than reasonable, in fact.

“Yes, but it hasn’t been increasing the way I thought it would. We’re going to need every voting opportunity we can get. In fact, I’m wishing we’d gone from ten bachelors to seven, instead of five, so we could have carried this on for a couple weeks longer.”

It was a lesson in this-could-always-be-worse-so-be-grateful-you-only-have-one-more-date-with-Sterling. Taycee sighed and deleted Greg’s name. She forced her fingers to tap out Sterling’s while trying to tell herself that it could be worse. “Okay, it’s changed. Anything else?”

“Actually, yes.” Jessa hesitated, which was never a good sign. It meant something big was coming. Something Taycee probably wouldn’t want to hear.

“I need you to up the romance.”

“What!”

“Seriously, Tace. People are starting to comment about it a lot. ‘Why hasn’t he kissed her?’ ‘Does she even like these guys?’ ‘How is she not falling all over Jake?’” Jessa paused. “Would it kill you to show some affection?”

“Yes!” How could Jessa even ask such a thing, especially when she knew full well that Taycee didn’t want to be here in the first place? Wasn’t it enough that she’d agreed to be the bachelorette? Wasn’t it enough that she’d gone along with it all, smiled for the camera, and gotten spit on, told off, and leered at in the process?

“C’mon,” Jessa coaxed. “You’ve done such a good job luring the voters in so far. But what they want now is some good old-fashioned romance.”

“Well, too bad for them.” No way would Taycee ever kiss Sterling or Alec. No. Way. As for Miles? That would be like kissing a brother. Jake? Well, he’d definitely be a step above brother, but it would still feel wrong.

The simple truth was that none of them gave her that tingly, warm feeling that made her want to wrap her arms around them and hold on tight. None of them goaded her into wanting to silence them with her mouth over theirs. And none of them dominated her thoughts.

In other words, none of them were Luke.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” said Taycee. “I just can’t.”

“Yes you can,” Jessa argued. “I’m sure this is the reason people aren’t voting as much. And if we don’t reach our goal… Tace, please, think of the farmers. My aunt and uncle. They need you to do this.” A pause. “I need you to do this.”

“Fine,” Taycee said, wishing she could fast forward the next few weeks and leave this stupid show behind.

* * *

Taycee yanked her apartment door closed with more force than necessary. Broken glass shattered across the hardwood floor as the framed picture of a bright red tulip hit the ground next to her feet.

“Perfect,” she muttered, dropping to her knees. “Just perfect.”

A low whistle sounded from across the room, making Taycee jump. Caleb’s head poked out from the arched opening of the kitchen as he tilted one of the chairs back. When did he get here? And how did he get in?

“Methinks someone’s mad,” Caleb said.

“Shut it.”

Laughter followed—laughter that wasn’t Caleb’s. Taycee groaned. Of course Luke would be in her apartment right now. As if her horrible day couldn’t be complete without a visit from him—a major source of Taycee’s current problems.

“So, uh, Sterling’s still in it, huh?” Caleb said. “I thought for sure he’d be gone after the horse incident.”

Taycee glared. “Don’t you have anything better to do than watch some lame bachelorette show on the internet? And why didn’t you tell me you were coming again? I would have sprinkled itching powder all over the guest bed.”

“Exactly why I didn’t tell you. I value my sleep and health too much.”

“Ha. Ha.” Taycee could almost see him grinning from her place on the floor. She picked up the broken frame and larger glass pieces, and then stalked to the kitchen where she tossed them in the garbage can.

“Want to join us?” Luke asked, waving a handful of cards at her.

“No.” She grabbed a small vacuum from the closet.

“She had a bad day,” Caleb said, as if it wasn’t obvious.

Taycee rolled her eyes and returned to the front room with a hand vacuum, where she sucked up the remaining pieces of glass. This was twice she’d broken something when Luke was around. Wasn’t that a bad sign? The equivalent to breaking a mirror or walking under a ladder? Or maybe just knowing Luke had destined her to a lifetime of bad luck—at least whenever he was around.

Taycee returned to the kitchen and jerked open the fridge, pulling out a can of Squirt. She popped it open and let the carbonation burn her throat as she drank. Then she glared at Luke. “It’s all your fault, you know.”

Luke leaned back in his chair and fanned out his cards. “Your bad day is my fault? How so?”

“Greg was the winner, not Sterling. But because of your little stunt, he decided he couldn’t date anyone with a police record.”

“Really?” Luke chuckled. “If you ask me, I did you a favor.”

Taycee dropped down beside him and plopped her drink on the counter. “Remind me to send you a bouquet of flowers to say thanks for finding a way to keep Sterling in the running.” Especially now that she had to “up” the romance factor.

Her head hurt.

“Look on the bright side. At least Sterling doesn’t seem to care that you have a shady past,” Luke said, resting an arm on the table as he leaned toward her. “Speaking of which, do you have a copy of those mug shots? I’d give anything to see them.”

Taycee’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve got problems.” But in reality, she was the one with problems. Lots and lots and lots of problems.

“Just think.” Luke taunted her with his eyes. “If you hadn’t sicced Missy on me, you might have been stuck with me instead. Isn’t Sterling the lesser of two evils?”

A rude reminder that Taycee really only had herself to blame for all of this. If she’d just stayed out of it and let things play out on their own, Luke and Greg would most likely still be in the running, and Alec and Sterling would not. “Let’s just say that I’d rather go out with Greg any day over Sterling.”

“But not me?” Luke teased with a raise of his eyebrow.

“I’d even take you.” Over everyone else. In fact, Taycee would love for Luke to swoop in and rescue her from all this.

Luke grinned. “Wow, you must really be dreading your date with him.”

Taycee relaxed against the back of her chair. “He’s a nice guy, he really is. We just have nothing in common. And I’m really sick of getting spit on.”

Caleb’s hand covered hers. “Sounds like what you need is a good game of Rummy to get your mind off stuff.” He wiggled his cards. “Sure you don’t want in?”

Taycee bit her lip. She had two choices: Go hide in her room and try to work up the courage to let Sterling kiss her. Or hang out with Caleb and Luke.

“Deal me in.”

“Ahhh, see Luke? Told you,” Caleb said as he tossed some cards her way. “All you have to do is mention cards and Tace can’t resist. She’s predictable like that.”

Taycee picked up her cards and sorted them. “How many nights are you crashing here this time?” Her eyes flickered to her brother, who looked at his cards and not her. “I saw a listing for what sounds like a nice little office space in Colorado Springs. We could check it out if you want.”

“Sorry, sis,” Caleb said. “I’m only here to do a couple depositions and then it’s back to Phoenix.”

Taycee frowned—both at the news and at her lousy cards. “I’m starting to think that you’re putting me off.” She shot him a worried look. “You still want to move back here someday, right?”

Caleb looked meaningfully at Luke before glancing at Taycee. “Sure,” he said. “But unless we can settle, there’s no telling how long this case will drag on for. I’ll be back again in a few weeks though—after this whole bachelorette thing is over. Hopefully then we’ll have some more time to hang out. And to… you know… talk… about stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

Caleb shrugged. “Nothing in particular. You know, just… stuff. Life. That sort of thing.”

Life? Since when did Caleb want to talk about life? A sinking pit settled in her stomach. Especially when Caleb went back to examining his cards without looking at her. Luke, too, avoided her gaze.

Something was up. Something Caleb wasn’t ready or willing to talk about yet, which probably meant that Taycee didn’t want to hear it. But why did Luke seem to know and not her? That bothered her more than she cared to admit. Even though she was younger, she’d always thought of them as a trio—like the three musketeers. But now, sitting here, Taycee felt something she’d never felt with them before.

She felt like an outsider.

Chapter Twenty-five

It didn’t take long for Taycee to discover that Jessa had also chatted with the bachelors about upping the romance.

On Monday, Sterling took her miniature golfing in Colorado Springs and felt the need to hold her hand after every hole and during the entire ten steps it took to get to the next one. The doorstep scene was even more awkward. He went in for a kiss, and she turned her head just in time to get a wet peck on the cheek.

Gross.

But if Taycee had thought Sterling was bad, Alec was ten times worse. He found every excuse to hug her or hold her hand, and against her better judgment she let him. She even let him kiss her. But when he tried to turn it into a full on make-out session, Taycee broke free and left him standing on the doorstep.

Miles, thankfully, had been better. He held her hand during appropriate times, and then left her with a light peck on the lips. She could handle light pecks.

Now she was down to only one date left: Jake.

He picked her up from her apartment, his eyes a deeper blue than ever as he grinned at her from beneath the rim of a blue baseball cap. He had a natural way about him that made everyone feel like they were someone worth listening to and spending time with—as though he looked beyond people’s outside appearance and into their heart. And what he found, he liked. It was his gift.

“So, I was thinking you could give me a tour of your town.” His fingers laced through hers as they walked to his car.

A tour of Shelter? Hadn’t he already seen all there was to see? “Okaaayy,” Taycee said as he shut her inside the car, where Megan was already waiting in the back. Taycee waved before searching Jake’s face for any indication that he’d been joking. “Are you serious? You really want a tour of Shelter?”

He nodded. “Believe it or not, I’d love to check out some of the farms and land around here. It’s a beautiful place.”

“It is a beautiful place,” she agreed. “But honestly, if you’ve seen one farm you’ve seen them all.”

“So show me one.”

Taycee was glad that a city boy like Jake could appreciate her small town, but she didn’t quite know where to take him. Which farm? One of the few still in operation? Or one of the tired, dilapidated ones that had given up the ghost years ago?

As Jake backed out of the driveway, she made a quick decision and directed him to the old Meyer place. Ten miles outside of town, it had once been the home of a good friend of hers. Now it was bank-owned with a tattered “For Sale” sign planted out front.

They pulled up the drive, and a pit formed in Taycee’s stomach. Twenty acres that had once thrived with so much life now sat dormant. Well, not dormant, exactly. The weeds sure flourished. But the house and barn had an unkempt, unlived in appearance, making Taycee long for the old days when they used to play tag in and around the corn stalks and eat sugar snap peas straight from the vine.

She swallowed the bittersweet nostalgia and reminded herself that she’d chosen this farm for a reason. Before the show officially started, Jessa had included some footage of the existing farms, along with interviews from a few of the farmers and her aunt and uncle, but she hadn’t shown the already damaged parts, like this farm. Whether it made a difference to the viewers or not, Taycee wanted people to see what Shelter Springs would become if something didn’t change. She wanted them to understand why she played this part. This was so much more than a silly dating competition to her.

Megan followed them around as Jake examined the property and the land that had once been used for farming. After their previous two dates, where everything had been planned to the last detail, today was different. More relaxed. Nice. Her life had been so packed full of structure lately that it felt good taking each minute as it came.

Jake led her through the weed infested fields, and then bent to examine the plants. He pulled a few from the ground, fisting a handful of dirt before letting it strain through his fingers.

What was he doing? He couldn’t possibly be this interested in weeds and dirt—or farming for that matter. Why were they even here? Maybe this was Jessa’s idea, a way to generate more sympathy for the town. Or maybe Jake wanted to see for himself the state of Shelter Springs, Colorado.

“Exactly what kind of business is your family involved in?” Taycee asked.

“Agriculture.” Jake stood and brushed the dirt from his hands. “About forty years ago, my grandfather started what is now called NWOPO. The Northwestern Organic Production Organization. Basically, it’s a long title for organic farming.”

During all of her dates, Taycee had tried to keep things lighter and less personal. No one could get attached to someone he didn’t really know. But this news caught her off guard, and she couldn’t help asking, “You’re an organic farmer?”

Jake reached for her hand again, and they started wandering through the field, mashing weeds under their shoes. “Not really, although I feel like I know everything there is to know about it. I’m actually on the corporate side of things and oversee distribution for a network of farms.”

“And here I thought you just wanted to play in the dirt for our date,” Taycee said with a smile.

He gestured toward the field. “I’m wondering if some of the producing farms might be interested in switching over to organic farming.”

Organic farming? Although Taycee didn’t know much about the process, she knew that organic produce cost more at the grocery store, which meant that there was a lot more involved in the farming process. She also knew the local farmers were pretty set in their ways. “But isn’t that more labor intensive and expensive?”

“Yeah, but it also pays much better. The farming market is becoming so competitive these days that most of the smaller farms, like the ones here, are finding that the only way to stay in business is for them to make the switch.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only that organic farming is mostly done by the independent farms. It’s a market with an increasing demand, creating a situation where the independents are able to work together, rather than compete against the bigger commercial farming organizations.”

Jake made it sound so simple. So easy. Like a minor change could solve a very real problem in Shelter. But it couldn’t be that easy. “What would it take to make the switch?”

Jake stopped, looked around one last time, and then pulled her back in the direction of the car. “It’s more of a training and educational process. NWOPO operates sort of like a franchise. Farms from all over the country buy into it via an annual membership fee. Then we teach them how to make the switch to organic farming, get them certified, and when it’s time to sell we have a distribution channel already in place. It’s a pretty smooth system actually.”

“It sounds too good to be true,” Taycee said.

Jake smiled. “Don’t get me wrong, it will take some money, work, and time to get the farms pesticide and chemical free—usually in the neighborhood of three years. But if the farms can survive the transitional period, ultimately the returns are much greater. In addition, they’ll live in healthier conditions, have better soil, and better tasting produce that needs less water to grow.”

Three years sounded like a century to Taycee, especially with the way things were going now. Very few of the existing farms could survive one more year—let alone three. But maybe the farmers market co-op could help them get through those years. The farmers would be a lot more willing to consider something like this if it meant they could one day sell through regular distribution channels again. That was their biggest concern with the co-op. No one was excited about taking on the responsibility of selling their own produce.

“Hey,” Taycee said. “Would you be willing to put together a presentation for the farmers in the area? Talk to them about organic farming and how your company works?”

“If you think it’s something they might be interested in, I’d be happy to.” Jake stopped and turned to face Taycee. “But please don’t think that’s why I’m here. I didn’t come to drum up more business for my company.”

Taycee grinned. “No, you came because your sister roped you into it.”

“That may be true, but when I saw your face and read about the girl who owned her own flower shop and liked making people happy, she didn’t have to twist my arm too hard. That’s why I’m here—not for any other reason. But if I can help at all with your town’s situation, maybe there’s a chance this can end up being a win-win,” he said with a smile.

Taycee forced herself to return his smile, even though she knew it could never be a win-win—not if one of those wins included her and Jake getting together. It made Taycee wish that he had come with ulterior motives so he wouldn’t care if she walked away at the end of it all.

“I honestly don’t care what brought you here,” Taycee finally said. “Not if your company really can help the town. In fact, if it’s all right with you, I’ll see if Jessa can get something set up soon. Maybe Saturday night? Would that work?”

Jake tugged her closer, and his hands circled her waist. “Sure, as long as you’ll come with me.”

“I’m not sure Jessa would approve of that,” Taycee joked. “You know, no preferential treatment and all that.” She hadn’t been to a town meeting since the whole bachelorette fiasco, and she had no intention of going again anytime soon—especially not as the date to one of the bachelors. There would be whispers and pointed fingers. Maybe Luke would even be there.

No thanks.

Taycee backed out of Jake’s hold and led him toward the car. “Okay, so now that that’s settled, do you really want to keep looking at farmland, or can we do something else?”

Jake chuckled. “I have some reservations at a restaurant in Colorado Springs, and then I was thinking we could do some window shopping afterwards. Or do you have a better idea?”

A hearty breeze whipped some of Taycee’s hair into her face, giving her a much better idea. She cocked her head to the side. “How do you feel about kite wars?”

“Kite what?” The bewildered look on his face made Taycee laugh.

“Wars,” she said as she climbed into his car. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

“If you say so.”

Megan climbed in back with her camera, and Taycee directed Jake to Nicky’s Novelties where they purchased a couple of kites. Ten minutes later, he pulled to the side of the road, next to a wide open grassy meadow.

The wind lifted Taycee’s hair from her shoulders and whipped stray tendrils across her face. She closed her eyes, enjoying the fresh country air and how comfortable it was being with Jake. He didn’t make her nervous. Her stomach didn’t knot and twist whenever he was around. Her thoughts didn’t scatter. It was nice. Easy.

“So how does this war thing work, exactly?” Jake asked as he assembled his kite.

“Well…” Taycee snapped the plastic rods into the connector, making the bright pink and black checked kite go taut. “Basically the first kite to get knocked out of the sky loses.”

Jake waited a second before his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “That’s it?”

“Welcome to Shelter Springs.” She grinned at him. “We like to keep things simple ‘round here.”

Jake chuckled. “I can live with that. In fact”—His fingers brushed some hair behind her ear—“I’m starting to really like simple.” His words, combined with the way he looked at her made Taycee’s stomach knot. Not good. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t!

Before she could step away, Jake dipped his head, and his lips brushed across hers. It wasn’t a bad sensation. It felt good—his touch, his apparent admiration. She didn’t feel chills or fireworks or the all-consuming desire to wrap her arms around him and return the kiss, but she didn’t necessarily want to stop it either. Besides, it would make Jessa happy which was always a good thing.

Jake pulled back, and Taycee studied his eyes. So open. So honest. Do I like you? Could I like you? He really was the complete package. Why wasn’t she throwing her arms around him and kissing him back? Feeling giddy? Twitterpated? At the very least excited?

Probably because when she looked into Jake’s blue eyes, what she really wanted to see was deep brown.

Taycee dropped her gaze and picked up her kite. Holding it up, she forced a smile. “Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Jake said. “But just so you know, if your kite dies first, you owe me another kiss.”

Taycee watched him as he backed away. Was he being sincere or was it all an act for the camera—him doing his duty like Jessa had asked?

If they were all alone, completely alone, with no camera, no future viewers, no expectations or pressure, what would this date really be like? Would Jake still look at her that way? Would he still want to hold her hand and kiss her? Or would he relax, let things be as easy and uncomplicated as they had been before?

Because it suddenly seemed like easy just got complicated.

“What’s the matter?” Jake taunted, holding his kite high to catch the wind. “Afraid you’re going to lose?”

“I never lose at kite wars.” Which was a complete lie. Taycee had only ever played with Luke and Caleb, and Luke had always won. Every. Single. Time. Him and his pathetic little cheap kites that always refused to die.

“Until today,” Jake said.

Taycee pointed a finger at him. “Pride goeth before the fall.”

It didn’t take long before both kites sailed high in the sky, beating against the wind and soaring.

“Okay,” Jake said as he let out more string. “Here’s the stakes: If I win, you owe me a kiss, and if you win, I owe you a kiss. How’s that?”

Taycee laughed. “Sounds like a win-win to me.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re on.” Letting out more string, Taycee let her kite sail even higher, until it looked like a tiny pink and black diamond diving this way and that as it floated high above the ground.

“The trick of it all is to get the distance right,” Taycee explained. “If one’s higher than the other, all we’re going to end up with is twisted string and two kites stuck together.”

“Gotcha. No twisted string.” Jake grinned. “So much for simple.” He pulled his kite towards Taycee’s and missed, hooking his string under hers. Taycee stepped around him to untangle them, wound her string around her handle to lower her kite, and then steered it toward Jake’s once again. They bumped against each other and separated.

“Perfect,” Taycee said. “Game on.” Without missing a beat, she yanked hard on the string and rammed Jake’s kite again, making it drop dive before soaring up again.

“You don’t play nice, do you?” Jake said.

“Not if I can help it.”

“For that, you’re going down.”

“In your dreams.”

Jake sailed his kite into hers, crashing into it and making Taycee laugh. After a few more minutes of battling it out, Jake’s arm locked around her shoulders, keeping her prisoner.

“Cheater!” Taycee called, giggling. The strings tangled and the kites wrapped around and around each other. “Stop it! You’re going to make us both crash!”

“You said there are no rules. I can do whatever I want.”

Taycee’s laughter rang out as she struggled to free herself and the kite. Soon, both kites nose-dived toward the ground, with Jake’s landing a second before her own.

“I won, I won!” Taycee hopped up and down beneath Jake’s arm. “I can’t believe I actually won!”

Jake’s sandy blond eyebrow raised as he studied her. “You sound pretty excited for a girl who always wins.”

“Okay, so maybe I never win,” Taycee admitted. “Until now, that is.” She threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, thank you. Seriously, you have no idea how happy this makes me.”

“I guess if you’re happy, I should be happy,” Jake joked. “But seriously, how bad does that make me if I just lost to a loser?”

Taycee grinned. “Only by a second or two.”

“True.” Jake’s arms circled her waist. “But it still means that I owe you, right?”

Before Taycee could remember the bet, his lips were on hers, warm and soft. His arms tightened around her as he tried to deepen the kiss. But she’d finally won her first ever kite war and what she really wanted to do was run and dance and scream into the open sky, “I won!”

Maybe Luke would even hear.

Jake finally drew back with a sigh. “Wow, this really does mean a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

“I’m sorry,” Taycee said, laughter threatening to burst. “Really, it’s just so…”

“Funny?”

“No. So great.”

Jake shook his head. “Is this some sort of sanctioned sport around here or something? I mean, do you now get a medal for beating me?”

“No, only bragging rights. But believe me, I will brag.”

“I believe it.”

Together, they wound up their kites, and Jake’s arm came around her again as he led her back to the car. “Note to self: Don’t play any more games with Taycee.”

Her shoulder nudged his side. “You’re just bugged you lost to a girl.”

“It’s true. First Speed and now Kite Wars. My pride can’t take anymore.”

Taycee gave him a side-hug as they walked the rest of the way to the car. “Thanks, Jake,” she said. “You have no idea how much I needed that.”

Chapter Twenty-six

A loud pounding on the door awoke Taycee.

With a yawn, she rolled to her side and squinted at the clock. Seven o’clock. Who would be waking her up at seven on a Sunday morning? Someone with no compassion, that’s who.

Jessa.

More pounding.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Taycee rolled from her bed and raked her fingers through her hair as she padded toward the door. The banging came again before she finally opened it. Sure enough, Jessa stood on her doorstep.

“Do you know what time it is?” Taycee groaned.

“I brought breakfast.” Jessa handed Taycee a muffin then waltzed past. “Did you see the show yesterday? Holy cow, girl, you’ve got the message boards hopping. How many times did you kiss Jake anyway? I lost count.”

Taycee suddenly felt very awake. “Three. How could you lose count with only three? And small ones at that. They shouldn’t even count.”

Jessa laughed. “Burt and Megan must have done some creative editing because it looked like a whole lot more than three. And a good thing, too, because the site is flooded with traffic. With the footage of the farm—which was quite brilliant of you—we scored several more donations. Oh, and Wake Up Denver wants to have you on their show in a couple weeks.” She said this last part in a rush of words that Taycee almost didn’t catch them.

“Whoa—what?” Taycee nearly dropped her muffin as she stumbled after Jessa. “You said no, I hope.”

“Of course not,” Jessa said. “They want to interview you and the two remaining bachelors right before the final vote. It will be great—the perfect time to remind everyone how much we need their vote one last time.”

“Jessa! You told me those two news interviews would be it. Please don’t make me do this.”

Jessa leaned across the bar. “I knew you’d feel this way, but this isn’t a bad thing. It’s actually a very good thing. We’re so close, Tace, but we really need all the votes we can get. You’ll be awesome.”

“And if I’m not?”

“The show will be practically over by then so it really won’t matter.”

“Jessa!”

“Oh please. You’ve got nothing to worry about. You have those viewers wrapped around your pretty manicured fingers.”

Taycee held up her hands, wanting to remove the nail polish and file them down. “They’re fake. Just like me.”

Jessa rolled her eyes. “You’re not a fake. The person I saw on TV last night was the same person I’m standing in front of right now. Taycee Lynne Emerson. My beautiful, talented best friend, who has three bachelors half in love with her right now—and for good reason.”

“You’re wrong.” Taycee sank down on one of the barstools and rested her head on the counter. “It’s all a show. Don’t you see that? Those guys act like they like me because they want to win, and I act like I’m into them because I don’t want to screw things up for Shelter. I feel like such a fraud. Please don’t make it worse by making me go on some talk show.”

“But it’s turning into the best story ever.” Jessa’s hand came to rest on Taycee’s. “Small town girl falls for big-city, rich guy—potential savior of our town. Shelter couldn’t have asked for better publicity. Besides, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You and Jake seemed to really hit it off this past week.”

“That’s just it.” Taycee sighed. “He’s a great guy, but… I just don’t know if it’s real. I want the people, the cameras, and the pressure to all go away so I can see what’s real and what’s not because right now it all feels too fake to be real. You know?”

“That makes no sense.”

“It’s seven in the morning.”

Jessa opened the fridge and pulled out a quart of orange juice. “You know what they say, early to bed, early to rise—”

“Shut up.”

Jessa smiled as she poured herself a drink. “How about this: By the end of the show, if your feelings toward Jake are still fake, then I’ll happily take him off your hands.” Something about the way Jessa said it made it sound like she actually would.

Taycee’s arms folded on the counter and she leaned forward, resting her chin on her arms. “Wait a sec, you like Jake?”

“I think he’s cute, that’s all,” she said with a nonchalant wave of her hand. “Maybe even good for a kiss or two.”

“He’s rich too,” Taycee taunted.

“Okay, so maybe he’d be good for more than a kiss.”

“You’re terrible.” Taycee picked up the muffin and removed the paper wrapping, shoving a piece into her mouth. “I take it Burt and Megan included the part about organic farming in the footage?”

“Yes, and I spent most of the night researching everything I could about it. From what I’ve read, it’s a brilliant solution—something I can’t believe we haven’t looked into before. They say that the transitional period is the hardest, but the co-op could be the solution for that.” Jessa’s smile had never been so big. “It’s all so perfect how this is panning out. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”

“So you’re fine with Jake presenting it to the town on Saturday?”

“More than fine,” Jessa said. “I’ve already shot off an email to the mayor’s secretary, who will spread the word.”

“Of course you have.”

“Smart, wealthy, handsome, and could help save our town.” Jessa shook her head. “And you don’t know if you like him. Seriously, girl, what’s wrong with you?”

Taycee wondered the same thing herself.

“Is it because of the Tin Man?” Jessa asked.

“Who?”

“The Tin man. You know, Luke.”

It took a minute for Taycee to get the reference. The one without a heart. It was sort of like a slap in the face, the way the words lodged painfully in her chest. Her initial instinct was to defend Luke and tell her that he had a heart. A really good heart, capable of loving harder and stronger than most people, because that’s what Taycee wanted to believe, more than anything. But the truth was, she really didn’t know if he did—at least not when it came to finding true love and making a commitment. He’d been engaged at least once before, and he’d admitted that he hadn’t loved his fiancée enough.

Maybe Jessa was right. Maybe Luke was the Tin Man.

The thought made her heart hurt.

Jessa moved toward Taycee with a clack of her sandaled shoes on the tile. She leaned against the counter. “You’ve got to get over that guy. I refuse to watch you get your heart broken over him again—not when someone like Jake is around to take you away from all this.”

“All what?”

“This town. The people here. The memories. It’s like you’re caught in a net and can’t get out. What you need is to get away from Luke and leave him behind once and for all.”

That had to be the worst advice Jessa had ever come up with. “But you were the one who said you could see sparks between us. I thought you liked Luke.”

“And I thought those so-called sparks I saw weren’t real?” Jessa countered. “Isn’t that what you told me? That he only pretended interest to goad you?”

Taycee’s finger scraped at a nonexistent spot on her counter, avoiding the question and Jessa’s eyes. Deep down, Taycee wanted to believe that it had been real, that there was a chance Luke could be interested in her. But no matter how much she wished it, that didn’t mean it would come true. Because that was how life worked. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. And when you lose, you have to get over it and move on.

Which was exactly what Jessa was telling her to do now.

Jessa’s hand squeezed Taycee’s. “I thought his coming back would be a good thing. If things worked out between you, great. If not, you could finally move on. But since he’s returned, all I’ve seen him do is hurt you more, and frankly, I’m sick of it. In my mind, he never has been, nor will he ever be, good enough for you. You deserve someone who looks at you the way Jake does.”

In Jessa’s roundabout way, she’d just given Taycee a compliment. But for some reason it felt more like a solid punch to the stomach, knocking the wind out of all her wishes and dreams. Which was completely stupid, con-sidering Taycee had tried time and time again to convince herself of that exact same thing. Yet deep down, that hope refused to die.

* * *

Taycee walked into the diner, fighting the fatigue of yet another late and stressful night. One more round of dating was now over and only three bachelors remained: Jake, Alec, and Miles. Which meant only two weeks and five dates left.

Whew. She could do this. She had to do this.

Early on, Taycee had pictured herself going on date after date after date and being filmed in the process. That was it. But now there were things like upping the romance, keeping viewers happy, doing interviews, and going on talk shows. Every day, the pressure mounted, making her feel like one of those pressure cookers her mother once used to can grape juice, looking ready to blow at any second.

Did Taycee have it in her to keep this up? With each new date, each new vote, and each new donation to the town, the guilt grew. People gave so freely to the little town of Shelter, expecting what in return? A good romance? A happy ending for her and some chosen bachelor?

Well, it didn’t feel happy. Not when a pit formed in Taycee’s stomach before each date, making her feel like what she was doing was deceptive and wrong. Was it right that Shelter was benefitting from something that wasn’t real?

Jessa didn’t think so. She seemed to think that Taycee could turn on and off her feelings like a faucet. Off to Luke. On to Jake. Everyone wins. The bachelorette show gets a happy ending, the money raised forms a much needed co-op, and Shelter Springs gets another chance to keep on keeping on.

But Taycee had doubts. Lots of doubts.

“Taycee, your order’s up,” Liza’s voice called out.

Already? She glanced at the clock in surprise. It had only been fifteen minutes. Was Liza actually being nice now? Wouldn’t that be something.

“Thanks, Liza. That was fast.” The smell of the curly fries wafted into Taycee’s nose, making her mouth water.

“Oh, I’m off early today for a date, so I wanted to make sure you got it before I left,” Liza said in her sugary sweet way as she removed her apron.

“That was nice of you.” Taycee examined her food. Maybe Liza had spit on it or added salt instead of sugar to the chicken salad. “A date this early in the day? Sounds promising.”

“I hope so,” said Liza. “Luke’s taking me into Denver for a show and dinner. Should be fun.”

Wait—what? Liza was going out with Luke? The curly fries suddenly looked and smelled like wooden springs. “Oh, that’s great,” Taycee managed to say. “I’m sure you’ll have a fun time.”

“I plan to.” Liza’s white teeth sparkled through too-pink lips before she disappeared into the back room.

With slow steps, Taycee carried her plate to the far corner of her booth and slid all the way to the end, trying to hide from the eyes of everyone else in the room. She felt transparent, as though a visible cloud of jealousy and patheticness surrounded her, announcing to the world that Luke had just shaved off another chunk of her heart.

Because if he was interested in someone like Liza, there was no way he’d ever be interested in Taycee.

The sting of tears came. She immediately blinked them back, despising them almost as much as she despised herself.

The door opened and Luke stepped inside, looking so good it tore at Taycee’s heart even more. Liza came out of the back room and gave him a winning smile.

“Ready?” he asked.

“As if I’d ever keep you waiting.” She turned and called out, “I’m off, Maris. See you tomorrow.”

“Have a good time, hon.”

“I will.” Liza looked Taycee’s way and waved a smug goodbye, which made Luke look her way as well.

For a moment his brown eyes met hers and Taycee’s heart thwacked in her chest, feeling like it would burst from her body any second. The room suddenly seemed devoid of everyone but her and Luke—locked into a staring contest that crackled with an underlying tension and awkwardness. Under normal circumstances, Luke would have grinned and waved, even come over and chatted with her for a few minutes. But not today.

Maybe he didn’t know what to do or how to act either.

Liza’s head came between them, breaking the connection, and Taycee returned her attention to her food, trying not to feel the deep-rooted pain that came with the chiming of the bells.

She let out a breath as she shoved her curly fries away. Maybe Jessa was right. Maybe it was time for Taycee to move on with her life.

Jake was handsome, kind, funny, rich—the perfect bachelor. It was beyond ridiculous to think that Taycee couldn’t develop feelings for someone like him. What she needed to do was try a little harder and really go for it. If not, she might end up spending the rest of her life pining away for a guy who never pined back.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Taycee closed her apartment door behind her and leaned against it. Her date with Miles had been horrible. Not horrible in the she-couldn’t-stand-him sense. More in the she-was-a-scatter-brained-idiot sense. How many times had he repeated something he’d said because she wasn’t paying attention? How many times had the words “Earth to Taycee” forged their way through her fogged mind?

Too many. Way too many.

And when he’d kissed her goodnight, all Taycee could think about was Luke and how he was on a date with someone else. No matter how hard Taycee tried, she still couldn’t concentrate or regroup. Even now that she was home, her thoughts still strayed to Luke and Liza and how cute their names sounded together. Were they hitting it off? Was he holding her hand? Making her laugh? Kissing her?

Taycee wanted to cup her hands over her ears and tell the screaming voices to take a hike. She breathed in deeply, trying to organize her thoughts, but they continued to explode inside her head like a finale to a fireworks show. She needed to get out of her apartment, calm down, and find a way to regain some equanimity.

As soon as the sound of Miles’s engine faded into the distance, Taycee yanked open her door and escaped to the darkness of the night.

* * *

“Thanks for the fun night, Luke,” Liza said, leaning against the door of her duplex. “Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

“Yeah, that would be great.” It was the polite response, but Luke didn’t really mean it. Liza could be nice and even funny at times, but he’d really only asked her out as a distraction—a way to keep his mind from going somewhere else.

Liza gave him a flirtatious smile, expectation written all over her face.

Luke cleared his throat and took a step back. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“What, no promise of a phone call?” she teased, only there was too much hope in her voice for it to really be teasing.

Normally, Luke wouldn’t have any qualms about making such a promise and not following through. Polite, but insincere promises were how you played the dating game. But now he knew better than to do that. Taycee had taught him better. So he gave Liza a half-smile instead. “I like to surprise people.”

“Oh.” Liza’s smile faded a bit, looking more forced. “I do love surprises.”

Luke gave her one last wave, and then turned and jogged to his truck. Moments later he drove away, regret tapping on the door of his conscience. He shouldn’t have asked her out. It was a dumb move. But after watching all those kissing scenes with Taycee and the bachelors this past week—especially her date with Jake—Luke had made a rash decision to ask out the one girl in town Taycee liked the least. Why? Because he was completely immature.

He’d basically used Liza—something he never set out to do. But looking back, that was exactly what he’d done.

Shame on him.

Turning the corner, Luke hit the brakes when he saw a slim figure cross the street in front of him. Taycee. Wasn’t she supposed to be on a date with one of her bachelors tonight? Luke tapped the horn.

Her head twisted around, and she squinted into his headlights. Then she nodded and continued to cross the street, picking up her pace.

Luke unrolled his window. “Hey, you’re on my road.”

“Forgive me for getting in your way,” Taycee called over her shoulder, sounding less than happy.

“What’s the matter? Bad date tonight?”

Taycee didn’t answer, just kept on walking, so Luke drove to the wrong side of the road and drove next to her slowly, hanging his elbow out of the open window. “If it’s any consolation, my date didn’t go that well either.”

She stopped and hesitated before turning to face him. “Too bad, because you and Liza seem so perfect for each other.” Wincing, she clamped a hand over her mouth and stomped her foot. With a shake of her head, her hand fell back to her side, revealing an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean that. You’re just… just…”

“In the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“Something like that.” She glanced down as her foot scuffed against the sidewalk.

Luke had never seen her look so vulnerable before. So… down. He didn’t like it. “Want to go for a drive with me?” he asked casually, hoping she’d say yes. All of a sudden it didn’t matter that she kissed four different guys this past week. Nothing mattered if she would just climb into his truck and take a drive with him.

Her eyes flickered to his. “It’s late. I really should head back.”

“No, what you should do is come and check out some stars with me. It’s a perfect night. Not a cloud in the sky.”

Taycee let out a breath and gazed up the road to where his headlights highlighted the street. “Star gazing, huh?”

“That’s what they call it.”

She hesitated a moment longer before shrugging. “Okay. Sure, why not?”

Luke couldn’t hide his smile as he leaned over and opened the passenger door for her. When she hopped inside, he resisted the urge to pull her next to him and kiss that sad vulnerability away.

Luke’s hands clutched the wheel as he drove out of town and up a windy mountain road. Thirty minutes later, he pulled into an open meadow and stopped near the middle of the clearing. From behind the seat, he lifted a heavy blanket. “Ready?”

Taycee eyed the blanket with a raised eyebrow. “Is this the second time you’ve star-gazed tonight, or do you always keep that in your truck?”

“Third time, actually.”

Both eyebrows shot up.

“Joking,” Luke said. “One of my clients gave me this as a gift the other day, and I keep forgetting to take it inside. So, no, this isn’t a repeat.”

She reached for the handle. “Okay then.”

Luke followed her to an area away from the truck and spread the blanket across the grassy meadow. Taycee laid down first and folded her arms across her stomach as she gazed toward the starry sky above. The moonlight made her skin glow and her eyes look dark and mysterious. Beautiful.

“Coming?” she asked.

Luke didn’t need to be asked twice. He dropped down next to her and scooted close enough that their shoulders touched. Then, to distract her from his fairly obvious move, he lifted his finger and pointed at the stars. “Look, there’s me.”

“Where?”

He maneuvered even closer, bending his head toward hers. “See those four stars that make up a trapezoid and all those stars coming away from it, sort of like the legs of a spider?”

“You mean Hercules?”

“Exactly,” Luke said. “Me.”

Taycee’s quiet laugh seemed to fill the night with something better than happiness. “Aren’t you cocky.”

“Hey, sometimes you just have to brag—especially when there’s someone around you want to impress.”

A pause. “I’m sorry. Did I hear that you’re trying to impress me?”

Luke’s heartbeat quickened as she turned her head to glance at him. He’d arrived at a crossroads that could go one of two ways: He could brush aside her question with a “Now why would I want to impress you?” or answer honestly and risk breaking whatever connection they’d managed to form lately.

Luke swallowed, picking at the blanket between them. “Well, I did compare myself to Hercules.” It was as honest as he could get at the moment.

Taycee let out a breath. “I never liked Hercules. Way too conceited.”

“Oh.” So much for her seeing the honesty in that. Strike one for him. Luke pointed toward the sky once more. “What about Draco then? It symbolizes a dragon that once guarded the pole star. No one could attribute that to conceit.”

“Sorry, but no,” Taycee said. “The name makes me think of the evil kid in Harry Potter.”

Strike two. “Forget Draco and think dragon then.”

“As in ‘Puff, the Magic Dragon?’”

Strike three and Luke was out. This wasn’t going very well at all. He gave up. “Whoever came up with the name Puff, anyway?” he grumbled. “Talk about a sissy name.”

“Unlike Luke, right?”

Now they were getting somewhere. “My point exactly. I’m as far from sissy as you can get.”

“So it should be Luke, the Magic Dragon?”

“Even you have to admit it’s better than Puff.”

A moment of silence until Taycee finally conceded. “True. Luke is definitely not a sissy name.”

Luke grinned at the night sky, feeling like he’d won something—whatever it was. “Thanks, Taycee Lynne. That only took about ten minutes to get you to say.”

She laughed, and once again the sound filled something inside Luke, making him feel better somehow.

“Thanks for convincing me to come,” Taycee said. “I needed this.”

“It didn’t take much convincing.”

“True,” she said. “Were you on your way here when you saw me?”

“No. I was headed home.”

“Well, thanks for changing your plans.”

Luke hesitated, feeling like he’d stumbled upon another chance at coming clean. Who knew how many more chances he’d have? He cleared his throat, his heart hammering. “Anything to get some time with you.”

The silence that followed made him feel exposed, as if he’d put his heart on a platter for her to take or wave away. A few more seconds came and went without a word. Not good. Was she trying to think of a nice way of letting him down, or was she scared too—like Luke? Hopefully the latter. He should reach for her hand, touch her, something. Only a few inches and his hand would brush against hers. Still, Luke hesitated.

Coward. Hold her hand already, you pathetic excuse for someone named Luke.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Luke’s fingers laced through hers. At first her hand hung limply in his, but then her fingers tightened. Luke let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Her fingers were soft and cold, but her hand fit perfectly in his. Probably the same way she’d feel in his arms or the same way her lips would feel against his.

Luke stared at the starlit sky, feeling that his world had suddenly aligned. As though all the dots had been connected, creating an awesome picture, way better than Hercules or Draco or any of the other constellations out there. He felt something good. Something real. Something he’d never expected to find with his old friend from Shelter Springs, Colorado.

“So Liza? Really?” Taycee blurted. “You had to go and ask out the one person in town who hates me the most, didn’t you? I blame you for my ruined date, you know.”

A smile came to Luke’s face. He could ruin her night. He liked that. Really liked that. “Jealous?” he asked, not daring to hope that she actually was.

“Maybe.”

He chuckled, loving the slightly snide way she’d admitted to it. He brought her hand to his face and smoothed it over his cheek before letting it rest against his lips for a moment. Who would have thought that such a bad day could end so well? Not him. It almost felt undeserved. Like doing something as petty as asking a girl out to make another girl jealous shouldn’t have paid off. But it had.

“It never hurts to date the diner girl,” he said. “You know, free food and all that.”

Taycee pulled her hand from his and slugged Luke in the arm. “Not funny.”

Luke rolled on his side, facing her. His entire body pulsed with a kind of need he’d never felt before—not even with his former fiancée, a girl he thought he’d once loved. It took every ounce of willpower Luke had not to lean in and kiss her.

He swallowed as he stared into her hazel eyes that were as expressive as they were beautiful. He smoothed her brown hair away and ran his fingers down her neck. He didn’t think he could take watching her date or kiss one more guy. He wanted to be the only one in her life. The only one she touched. The only one she looked at the way she looked at him now. He didn’t want to share that look. He didn’t want to share her.

“What’s happening?” Taycee whispered.

“I don’t know, but I like it.”

Taycee scooted over and snuggled into him, laying her head against his chest. “Me too.”

He held her close, locking her against him as if it would keep her from ever slipping away, from going out with Jake or Miles or the scumbag Alec ever again. But the reality was he couldn’t.

They stayed that way for what seemed like hours, until the air turned chilly and she shivered in his arms. Only then did Luke reluctantly let her go. He helped her up and drove back as slowly as he could, wanting to extend their time together as long as possible. All too soon he was at her apartment, walking her to the door.

He gave her one last lingering hug, wishing it could last forever. Everything felt too new, too fragile. As if the dawning of a new day could somehow ruin it all. His lips lingered near her ear, brushing against it as he whispered, “Why did you have to go and get me voted off?”

Taycee chuckled as her arms tightened around him. “Not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, was it?”

“You said it.” Luke drew back, and his eyes met hers in a look that made the air crackle between them. All he could do was stare and think about how badly he wanted to kiss her. But that’s what all the other bachelors did at the end of their dates. Luke wanted to be different somehow. Stand out.

He took a step back and let his hands trail down her arms. “I’ll call you.”

“Promise?” Although she tried to make it sound teasing, there was an underlying hint of concern. A distrust. Luke hated that he’d been the cause of it.

“Promise.” It was easy to say. The second she walked through that door, Luke knew he’d want to do just that. Call. Text. Be back bright and early in the morning so he could see her wild morning hair and somehow convince her to spend the rest of the day with him.

If only he didn’t have animals to see and she didn’t have flowers to arrange. If only he didn’t have mountains of paperwork to deal with and she didn’t have another date with another guy who wasn’t him.

Life really sucked sometimes.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Taycee’s mouth watered from the smells wafting through the expansive room. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast and everything smelled good—even seafood.

Jake had brought her to Denver, and they now sat in a beautiful high-rise seafood restaurant overlooking the city. Under normal circumstances, Taycee would have taken in the view and the experience, but every time her gaze traveled that direction, a slight reflection in the glass reminded her that both Burt and Megan were there, filming.

She should have been used to it by now, and she was, for the most part, but here in this quiet, more intimate and romantic setting, Taycee wanted to crawl under the table and hide from all the eyes sneaking glances their way.

Jake leaned across the table and slid his hand under hers. He looked so comfortable, unphased by the fact that they were the center of attention. How did he do it? How did he forget about everything and everyone else?

“So, it looks like I’m scheduled to present to the town tomorrow night,” Jake said.

“I know.”

His fingers played with hers, tracing each finger up and down. The gesture should have caused goose bumps to emerge up and down her arms, but it only added to her discomfort. After last night with Luke, so much had changed. It made everything even more wrong. She shouldn’t be here with Jake, nor should she have gone out with Miles yesterday or go with Alec tomorrow.

“Jessa wants to air some of the footage from it. You know, to get more publicity.”

“That should be good for your business too, I would think.”

He nodded. “That’s pretty much what Jessa said. She called it a win-win, but the jury’s still out on whether or not any of the farmers will be interested.”

“I think they’ll be more receptive than you think. They’ve never fully embraced the farmers market idea, but they went along with it because it was either that or give up. You’ll be giving them the option that it doesn’t have to be forever if they don’t want it to be.”

“True. But it’s still going to take some major work on their part if they choose to go that route.”

Taycee shrugged. “That’s their choice to make. All you can do is give them enough information to make it.”

The waiter interrupted them to refill their glasses. Taycee’s gaze wandered to a table not far from them, where a guy with broad shoulders and dark hair sat with his back to her. He looked so much like Luke that she couldn’t help but stare and wish that the situation could be different. That it could be Luke sitting across from her instead of Jake.

“You seem kind of distracted today.”

Taycee’s eyes snapped back to Jake’s. “Sorry,” she said. “I was just thinking about work. I should have phoned in an order today but ran out of time.”

Jake frowned. “You should have said something. We could have pushed back our date a little.”

“Oh, it’s not that.” Taycee waved off his concern. “The warehouse closes at four, and I let time slip away.”

“Too busy thinking of me?” Jake teased.

Taycee nodded because it was the truth. She had been thinking of Jake. And Alec. And Miles. But not in a good way. More like a stressful, only-four-dates-left I-can-do-this sort of way. She sighed. “It’s hard to believe this bachelorette thing is almost over, isn’t it?” Especially since it seemed like it had been going on for years, rather than weeks.

Jake lifted her fingers and kissed them lightly. “The show might be almost over, but win or lose, I plan to stick around for a while after.”

Taycee’s plush chair suddenly felt like concrete. She shifted. “For business reasons?” Please say yes.

He chuckled, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s not what I meant—not that I wouldn’t be happy sticking around to answer anyone’s questions. I was referring to you. Win or lose, I’d like the chance to spend some more time with you.”

Taycee blinked across the table at him. Whoa. Where did all of this come from? One second they talked about a missed flower order and the next Jake said he wanted to stick around for her? She felt blindsided. Suddenly “only four dates left” got a whole lot longer.

“I have to be honest,” Jake continued, still caressing her hand. “I never expected to like you this much.”

No, no, no. Taycee’s fingers quelled in his. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “What are you saying, Jake?”

“I’m saying I want to keep seeing you, even after this is all over. Under normal circumstances—without all the cameras and publicity. I’d like to give us a chance.”

Taycee couldn’t look at him any longer, so she pretended to stare out the window. But what she really stared at was the reflection of Burt and Megan, filming everything. Jake’s words. Her reactions. A pit formed in her stomach. She couldn’t handle hurting someone as great as Jake. It wasn’t right. Or fair. Why did love have to be so complicated and hard anyway?

“Who ordered the chicken?”

Taycee could have hugged the waiter for his perfect timing. She’d never been more relieved to see anyone. If only he’d pull up a chair and hang out for the rest of the night.

If only.

“That would be me,” she said.

The waiter set a plate in front of her and another in front of Jake, and then left. An awkward silence descended, but Taycee had no idea what to say or how to right this horrible wrong. She wanted to open up and tell Jake that she was a fraud, that her heart belonged to someone else. The desire weighted her down with its desire to be let out. But what would happen if she did that? How would Jake react? Would he get up and leave? Walk away from the show like Greg had done? Would Miles?

Two voting opportunities remained. If they didn’t get those votes, what then? What would happen to the farmers, to Jessa’s aunt and uncle? Would they be able to find another way to make up the difference in only a few weeks? Or would they end up losing everything? All because of Taycee.

Thankfully, Jake switched to a different topic during the rest of their dinner. It wasn’t until later, when they meandered around the walkways of a dimly lit park that he brought it up again.

“So, about our conversation from earlier,” he said, swinging her around to face him.

“Which one would that be?” Taycee frantically tried to think of a way to change the subject. “The one about organic farming or the one about all the scientific names of my favorite flowers?”

“The one about us.” Jake’s hands travelled up her arms. “The one that got interrupted by the waiter.”

“Bringing us the most amazing meal,” Taycee inter-jected. “Speaking of which, have I thanked you for that yet?”

“Yes.” Jake grinned as his hands arrived at her chin and framed her face. “You’re avoiding the subject.”

Taycee’s gaze flickered toward the cameras that were undoubtedly zooming in on them with the expectation of a romantic moment. “Please don’t ask me this right now,” she pleaded.

“Forget about the cameras,” he whispered.

“I can’t.”

His eyes probed hers, searching, seeking. “Just answer one question for me: Do you like me?”

“Of course I do.” Just not in the way you want me to.

“Do you want me to stick around after?”

“That’s two questions.”

“Taycee,” he warned.

A battle waged in her mind. Jake’s heart versus the lives of a whole lot of farmers. Was this one of those situations where it was okay to hurt one person for the greater good? Because it didn’t feel okay. Not by a long shot.

Jake searched her face, waiting for an answer.

“Yes,” she breathed finally, even as the pounding in her head screamed “no.”

Warmth and hope sparkled in Jake’s eyes right before his lips found hers. Taycee kissed him back, putting all of her apologies into it. But when two brown eyes appeared in the back of her mind, she broke away and hugged him instead.

* * *

Taycee’s date with Alec went better in some ways, worse in others. Although the fear of breaking his heart wasn’t a concern since she really didn’t think Alec had a heart, he couldn’t keep his hands off her the entire night, making Taycee want to throw him into the nearest river to cool him off. She played along as best she could, even let him steal a kiss or two, but she detested every second of it.

By the end of the date when she could finally close the door on Alec, all Taycee cared about was that she had another week behind her and three days of peace before she’d have to start the act all over again.

Why had she ever agreed to do this?

Taycee wandered toward her bathroom and twisted the knobs on the bathtub. Minutes later, she soaked in a much needed hot bath that wafted smells of vanilla. She breathed it in, letting it soothe her. When her phone buzzed with a text message, she picked it up. Her heart raced the way it always did when she saw Luke’s name. Which was a lot lately. Although she hadn’t seen him since the night they’d gone star-gazing, every day since, sometimes even twice a day, he called or texted. Sometimes both.

Have plans tomorrow? he asked.

No, she quickly answered.

Want to?

Depends.

On what?

Who? When? Where? What? Why?

His response came fast. Me. 7. Denver. Surprise. Miss you.

A smile spread across her face as happy flutters raced inside her. Her fingers shook so much she nearly dropped the phone.

Miss you too. What should I wear?

Whatever you want.

So . . . sweats?

You’ll look beautiful regardless.

Her stomach flip-flopped as she set down the phone. It all felt so surreal, so unbelievable. She’d dreamed about this happening for more than a decade and suddenly it was here, at her doorstep. An un-coerced, voluntary, real date with Luke Carney.

Giddy—that was the word for it—only it still didn’t do it justice. Times giddy by a few hundred million and it might be close.

Her phone buzzed again.

7AM not PM.

You’re kidding.

See you bright and early. Don’t eat breakfast.

Taycee let out a happy sigh as she settled against the back of the tub. Only seven more hours and she’d get to see him. No cameras. No pressure. No expectations. And no acting. Only her and Luke.

She couldn’t wait.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Taycee’s stomach grumbled as Luke drove past the diner. She looked back longingly, and then frowned when Luke turned on the highway and headed toward Denver. “You did say not to eat anything, right?”

“Patience, Taycee Lynne.” His hand found hers, and he lifted it to his smiling lips, kissing it, before placing it on his lap and covering it with his own. Taycee didn’t think she’d ever get used to how it felt to hold his hand. The initial touch made her stomach drop every time.

“Will you at least tell me where we’re going?” she asked.

“I already told you, it’s a surprise.”

“You won’t even give me a hint?”

“Nope.”

“Meanie.”

He chuckled, rubbing slow circles over her hand. Was this really happening? Her? Luke? Out on their very first real date? The whole idea seemed too-good-to-be-true. As though she were cocooned in a beautiful dream that she’d be nudged awake from any second.

“Do you have to be back by a certain time?” Luke asked.

“Nope.”

“Good.”

Taycee eyed his profile. His near perfect nose with the slight bump on it from when he’d broken it after getting thrown from a horse. The lines at the corner of his eye that crinkled when he smiled. His thick, dark eyelashes that most girls would kill for. And his lips—the ones she’d fantasized about kissing so many times. She swallowed and dropped her gaze to his hand covering hers. They’d spent plenty of time together when they were younger, but now she was no longer his best friend’s little sister tagging along. Now he wanted to ask her out. Wanted to be with her. Even wanted to hold her hand.

True to Luke’s word, they stopped at a small, out-of-the-way restaurant just outside of Denver for breakfast. Taycee had never tasted such fluffy pancakes. With juicy blueberries and rich syrup, they melted the moment they touched her tongue.

“How did you find this place?” she asked. “These are incredible.”

“By accident,” said Luke. “The owners have a horse they needed me to look at, so they googled veterinarians near Denver and randomly called me. They didn’t realize that I lived so far away.”

“But you still came.” Of course he had. Luke never turned down someone who needed him. Like the time he’d missed going to the swimming hole because a neighbor asked him to watch her kids. Or the summer he mowed the lawn of a recently widowed woman without pay. It was one of the many reasons she fell for him way back when.

“I would have never found this place if I hadn’t.” He leaned across the counter and lowered his voice. “They even have the most amazing curly fries—not to mention very fast service—and I know how much you hate to be kept waiting on curly fries.”

“Yeah, well, Liza did serve me pretty fast the day she went out with you.” Taycee paused. “Come to think of it, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if you kept dating her.”

Luke picked up the maraschino cherry off the top of her pancakes and dropped it in his mouth.

Taycee’s mouth fell open. “Hey, those are my favorite!”

“I know.” His eyes glinted at her. “Serves you right.”

She shook her head, and then finished her breakfast. Luke left a hefty tip, chatted with the owners for several minutes, and returned with a small bowl full of maraschino cherries. She laughed, nodded her thanks to the couple, and before long, they were back in Luke’s truck, driving toward Denver once again.

“How’s business going?” she asked.

“Pretty slow, which is actually a good thing because I’m still trying to figure out an effective billing and filing system, as well as a decent way to advertise. And then there’s the whole tax issue. What stuff do I need to save? What can I pitch? I have stacks of receipts and copies of invoices sitting around that I have no idea what to do with.” He sounded a little lost and worn out.

“Sounds like you could use an office manager,” Taycee said.

“Someday that would be great, but I can’t afford to pay one right now.”

“If you want, I could help,” Taycee said. “I’ve learned a little about how to run a business over the years.”

Luke shot her a look. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course.” As if she’d ever turn down any excuse to spend time with Luke. Or to help him. “In fact, I don’t have anything going on Monday night. I could come over after work.”

“That would be great, thanks.” His hand squeezed hers. “Just promise not to think I’m a disorganized slob when you see the mess that is my office.”

“I make no promises.”

He chuckled.

Thirty minutes later, they pulled into a parking lot of a large convention center. A sign above the door read, “Rocky Mountain Bridal Show.”

Taycee blinked. Did Luke know where he’d taken them? Was he lost? “Um… you brought me to a wedding expo? Are you planning to propose or something?”

“Well, it’s never too early to start picking stuff out, right?” The words were loaded with teasing insinuation.

Taycee refused to let him make her blush. “Right. But just so we’re clear, I get to pick the cake flavors.”

“What’s wrong with the flavors I would choose?”

As if this needed an explanation. “Funfetti and weddings don’t go together.”

Luke gave her a lopsided smile. “Believe it or not, my tastes have matured a little since high school. For all you know, dark chocolate ganache with raspberry filling is now my favorite flavor.”

“Please. You asked for a Funfetti cake for your eighteenth birthday—with sprinkles no less. There’s no way your tastes have risen to the level of dark chocolate ganache in only ten years.” She pointed a finger at him. “Admit it, Funfetti is still your favorite.”

He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Maybe,” he murmured against her fingers.

Taycee suddenly wanted to blurt out that Funfetti was the perfect choice for a wedding cake. In fact, if he was the groom and she the bride, Taycee wouldn’t care about anything else. Not even the flowers. He could insist on red roses, orange sunflowers, and purple pansies and she’d happily comply. Standing next to him and saying “I do” would be all that mattered.

Luke gave her hand one last squeeze, and then jumped from the truck. Taycee breathed in deeply, trying to slow her racing heart—not that it obeyed. Probably because she couldn’t keep her eyes off Luke as he walked around to open her door. Normally, she was a jump-from-the-truck-on-her-own type of girl, but she couldn’t get her brain to tell her hand to pull the handle.

Luke opened her door, and she slid out, somehow managing to land on her feet.

“Seriously, what are we doing here?” Taycee asked as he pulled her toward the building.

Luke stopped and waited for a car to pass, and then moved forward once again. “Turns out that people in the wedding business from all around come here every year. DJ’s, caterers, wedding planners, cake decorators—oh, and florists.” He shot her a sideways look. “You did say you wanted to start doing flowers for weddings, right? When you’re ready, this is a great place to drum up some business. I figured we could check it out.”

Taycee stared at him. She had mentioned that once—weeks ago—and he’d remembered. He even planned a date just for her, because coming to a wedding expo was the last place Luke would ever willingly go.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and stopped just outside the doors. “Wow. Thanks, Luke. This is really… sweet.”

“You sound surprised.” The way he said it made it sound like he didn’t want her to be surprised.

In that moment, when Luke watched her with a half-teasing, half-hurt expression on his face, Taycee realized something. She hadn’t been fair to him. It wasn’t that Luke didn’t remember the past. It’s just that his memories were fewer and far between and perhaps different than hers—the kind of memories a guy would have of his best friend’s kid sister.

“No,” she said. “I’m not surprised at all.”

Chapter Thirty

Inside the expo, hordes of excited girls buzzed around with bored fiancés in tow, collecting brochures, tasting samples, talking to florists, designers, caterers, DJs, and representatives from other companies.

An energy and excitement filled the building and bubbled over onto Taycee. There was something about weddings, about the idea of love and two people wanting to spend the rest of their lives together. It was a blissful, wonderful time, and Taycee couldn’t imagine anything better than creating beautiful floral arrangements to accent such a life-altering day.

They milled through the booths, stopping at some, breezing by others. A florist booth with the most amazing display of bridal bouquets drew Taycee’s attention. Everything from clusters of deep red roses to simpler, equally beautiful, bouquets of wildflowers tied with a satin ribbon. Her fingers itched to touch the soft petals and breathe in their sweet fragrance.

“These are gorgeous,” Taycee told the woman seated behind the counter.

“Thank you.” The woman handed Taycee a brochure, and her eyes flickered to Luke. “You two make a handsome couple.” The comment made Taycee’s day. If only they really were an engaged couple picking out flowers for their wedding.

Luke’s arm came around her shoulders. “That’s exactly what I keep telling her,” he deadpanned. “But it still took years to convince her to marry me. Can you believe it?”

Taycee fought the urge to roll her eyes. As if any woman would ever believe she could be that brainless.

“Really?” the woman said. “Not many guys would be that patient.”

It was comical, the lovesick way Luke peered into Taycee’s eyes. “Yeah, well, she was worth the wait.”

“So sweet.” The woman smiled. “When’s the happy day?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “January first. I’m planning to start the new year off right with my new bride.”

Taycee almost choked on the laughter bubbling up inside her. Could he sound any cheesier? She patted his chest in an indulgent way. “Actually, there’s a curse in his family. Everyone has to get married on the first day of a new year or else their marriage is doomed to end in a tragic way.” Her voice lowered. “His uncle made the mistake of marrying on January second and lost his new wife only two months later in a roller derby accident.”

The woman’s smile now looked forced. Her eyes darted past them, as if searching for normal people to talk to. “I’m so sorry. That’s uh… interesting.”

“It is. Very interesting,” said Luke. “Have a good day.” He shot Taycee a look, and then grasped her hand, pulling her toward the next booth. “Superstitious? Really? That’s the best you could come up with for me? I told her I loved you enough to wait years, and you had to go and turn me into some irrational psycho. Thanks a lot.”

“No. You told her that I was the irrational one for stringing you along for so long.”

Luke stopped her with a hand on her arm, guiding her around to face him. “Wait a sec. Did you just say that you would have to be crazy to not want to marry me?”

Taycee’s cheeks burned. She might as well get down on one knee and declare her love for him right now. Why did he have this effect on her? Why?

“No,” she said, and then pulled her arm free and headed toward the next kiosk, ignoring the low laughter following her. She picked up a catalog and pretended to browse various place settings.

Luke leaned casually against the counter next to her. “Next year I think your booth should go right there.” He pointed across the room from them, toward a table near the front. It was a good spot—one of the best, actually. Taycee tried to picture it. What would her booth even look like? What floral arrangements would she bring as samples? What sort of brochure and information would she hand out to people? A nervous pit formed in her stomach. Every kiosk looked so nice, so professional. It suddenly made her feel like an amateur. “I’m not sure I’m ready for something like this.”

“Sure you are.”

“Luke, I…” She searched for the right words. “Believe it or not, I like my life. The slowness of it all. The easiness of it. With the exception of the past couple of weeks, I’ve been comfortable and happy. I really don’t need any more than I already have.” But as she looked around, Taycee knew she wanted more. She wanted this. But was she even capable of competing at this level?

When Luke didn’t say anything right away, she turned and found him watching her with an unreadable expression. “I don’t believe you, Taycee Lynne. And neither do you. I saw the look in your eyes when you first told me you were interested in doing weddings. And I saw your mind working with ideas while you looked at those arrangements back there.” He paused. “I get that you like the slowness of your life—it’s one of the reasons I decided to move back. But you should never stop setting goals and trying to achieve them regardless of where you live. You’ll only be hurting yourself if you do.”

Taycee glanced down at the catalog in her hands. It suddenly felt heavy so she dropped it on the table with a thunk. Was Luke right? Had her life in Shelter become too comfortable and easy? Had she been holding herself back in a way? Would she be standing behind one of these booths right now if it wasn’t for her fear of change and the unknown?

Taycee looked around once again, feeling claustrophobic. There were too many people. Too much noise. The excitement and energy from earlier faded instantly, leaving behind a feeling of dissatisfaction. As though she didn’t deserve to be in a room with people who didn’t shy away from change the way she did.

“I think I’ve seen enough,” Taycee said. “Ready to go?”

“You sure?” Luke craned his neck, looking over the heads of the people milling through the aisles. “There’s another florist over that way.”

“I’m sure.”

Luke followed her out. He slid the key into the ignition, started the engine, and then glanced at Taycee.

“Did I say something wrong in there?” he asked.

“No. But sometimes the truth hurts, and you were right. In a way, I’ve been a bit of a coward.”

His eyebrows drew together in confusion. “I never said that.”

A small laugh escaped from Taycee’s mouth as she shook her head. “You didn’t have to. It was more of a revelation for me. My entire life I’ve resisted change, and any time something happened to threaten my happy little comfort zone—like this bachelorette thing or you moving back to town—I balked, just like I balked when you and Caleb and my parents moved away. Instead of embracing change and seeing how far it could help me fly, I let fear keep me grounded. The only reason I’ve grown at all over the past few years is because of circumstances I had no control over.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m actually really glad you stayed in Shelter.” Luke’s warm fingers closed over hers. “And you are not a coward, Taycee Lynne. Not even close. You did what you wanted with your life, including moving back to a place you loved, despite the fact that all your family left. You even opened your own business—a successful one at that.”

He nodded toward the building. “I brought you here because I know you have a goal of doing more with your business, and I wanted to help with that goal. I honestly didn’t mean to make you feel like you were anything less than the amazing person you are.”

Taycee gnawed on her lower lip as she stared straight ahead. It was funny how two people could look at the exact same thing and see two very different perspectives. Was this the half-full, half-empty metaphor where Luke was the optimist and she the pessimist? Maybe. Or maybe Luke didn’t really know her as well as he thought he did.

Regardless, his words made Taycee want to become what he thought of her. To crawl out of her cozy little hole and make some actual plans. Goals. Really see what she could achieve with her life. She leaned over and kissed his clean-shaven cheek. “Thanks for seeing me that way, Luke.”

His hand cupped the back of her neck, keeping her close, while his thumb traced a line down her neck. “What I don’t get is how I didn’t see you before.”

Taycee’s heartbeat throbbed like a subwoofer, vibrating through the cab. Luke brought his other hand to her face, caressing her cheek and sending the most amazing sensations through her body. His eyes rested on her lips as he inched forward, closing the gap between them until his lips brushed across hers. The kiss was light and tentative, as if he didn’t know whether he should be doing it or not.

Taycee sat, almost frozen. She wanted to throw her arms around him and deepen the kiss, but something held her back. Fear. Shock. Whatever it was, it kept her rigid, as if any movement on her part would make him come to his senses.

His forehead rested against hers while his lips lingered, feathery light against her own. They remained that way for a moment, their breaths colliding together and warming the air between them until Luke slowly backed away. The usual teasing glint was gone, and in its place was an intensity Taycee completely understood. Something was happening between them. Something real and scary and… incredible.

Without a word, Luke turned his attention to the road and threw his truck into gear. He drove to a nearby strip mall and pulled to a stop at the curb.

“Be right back,” he said. And then he was gone. Out of the truck and through the doors of a small little eatery with a blinking pink neon “Open” sign affixed to the door.

Taycee stared at the sign, watching it blink on and off. On and off. Her thoughts were muddled and obscure. People walked by on the sidewalk, their shoes clopping by with dull thuds. But still Taycee stared at the sign, letting the people pass between them like a blurred image.

Luke had kissed her.

Really kissed her.

Her lips still burned, aching for more. She touched them with a hesitant fingertip, not wanting to disturb the tingling, but needing to feel it. Nothing would ever be the same now. How could it? If Luke had ruined other guys for her before, now they were destroyed. Obliterated.

Just like her heart would be if he decided to walk out of her life again.

Chapter Thirty-one

“I think this is a very bad idea,” Taycee said as she tried to stand. The afternoon sun beat down on her as the wheels of her rented rollerblades spun. Her arms jerked frantically in the air before she lost her balance and landed with a jolt on the hard concrete. She peered up at Luke. “Told you.”

Luke braced one roller blade against the other to keep from rolling. He held out a hand. “The Taycee Lynne I know isn’t a quitter. Up you go.”

She eyed his outstretched hand, and then grudgingly rested her fingers on his. “Okay, but if I break something, I’m holding you responsible. I haven’t tried rollerblading since you and Caleb left.” Which wasn’t one hundred percent true. She’d gone with a group of friends in high school once. They’d taken her to a skate park, where she’d promptly fallen and sprained her wrist. After that, Taycee had never been invited along again—not that she would have gone. Wheeled shoes didn’t belong on her feet.

In a fluid movement, Luke pulled her to her feet, keeping a firm grasp on her hand. “Seriously, who doesn’t know how to rollerblade?”

He’d pretty much said that same thing ten years earlier, the summer before he left for college when he offered to teach her. They fit in three lessons before he left, which obviously hadn’t done much good.

“No one else had the patience to teach me,” Taycee said. Her skates started to move again, and her other hand latched on to Luke’s solid bicep.

He steadied her. “Good thing I came back then. No way can you go through life not knowing how to rollerblade. That’s so… un-American.”

Her feet started to roll backwards again, so she gripped Luke with both hands. “So that’s what’s been missing in my life all these years.”

“Yeah,” he said. “And me.”

“I never said anything about you.”

His finger tapped her nose as he grinned. “But you were thinking it.”

If she wasn’t before, she was now. The feel of his strong arm beneath her fingers and the smell of his spicy cologne served to remind her even more. Suddenly, hugging his arm wasn’t close enough, so she took a step closer. Stupid move, because once again her feet rolled out from beneath her and she fell toward the ground again. Luke’s arms caught her around her waist. He pulled her up against him, holding her steady.

Okay, so maybe not such a stupid move.

His voice was husky and his breath warm and minty as he murmured in her ear. “I’m glad no one else wanted to teach you. I’m kind of liking this.”

“Only kind of?”

He laughed. Gently, the pressure of his hands at her waist eased up as he slowly spun her around. “Just put one foot in front of the other,” he said. “It’s that easy.”

“Maybe for you,” she muttered, although he was making it difficult for her to want to learn to rollerblade. She liked holding on to him for support way too much.

His hands slipped from her waist as he moved to her side, grabbing her hand. “Glide for a second like this, and then turn the other foot at an angle and give yourself a push to keep going.”

Not wanting another sprained wrist, Taycee gripped his hand hard as she pushed her feet forward, trying to copy his movements. She managed it for a few strokes, but when Luke tried to pick up the speed, Taycee pitched forward.

“Easy there, killer,” Luke said, raising his arm to steady her. “I guess we’ll just take it slow.”

“Or I can take them off and jog along beside you.”

“Not a chance. You are going to learn to rollerblade whether you want to or not.”

“Fine.”

An hour later, Taycee was finally able to skate slowly on her own, but her legs burned from the strain of constantly tightened muscles. As she came around a turn, a large maple tree beckoned her with its shade, so she rolled off the sidewalk and trudged across the grass, sinking down beneath the tree. Minutes later, she tossed the rollerblades aside and wriggled her toes in her socks. It felt good to be free.

Luke chuckled as he dropped down beside her and removed his rollerblades. “Not bad for a rusty beginner.”

Her eyebrows raised in an I-don’t-believe-you look.

He shrugged. “Okay, so you stink.”

Taycee’s fingers closed around a fistful of grass, and she yanked it from the ground. Then she leaned over and stuffed it down the back of his shirt before he could stop her.

“You’re so going to regret doing that.” Luke lunged for her arm, but she rolled to the side and leapt to her feet, sprinting away from him. It didn’t take long for him to catch up. She soon found herself locked in his arms as he dragged her toward a drinking fountain.

“But I’m not thirsty,” she said through giggles as she fought to break free.

“I wasn’t planning on giving you a drink. More like a shower.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Actually, I would.”

They arrived at the drinking fountain at the same time as a teenage boy. He had a ring through his nose and carried a skateboard under one arm.

“Hey, you wouldn’t mind holding that on for me would you?” Luke asked him.

“Luke! Stop it!” Taycee laughed. The poor kid looked uncomfortable and probably regretted ever coming near them. “Don’t let him turn you into the bad guy,” she said to the teenager.

“I’ll give you five bucks if you do,” Luke countered.

The kid shrugged and twisted the knob on the fountain, stepping aside.

Taycee glared. “And you looked like such a nice person.”

Another shrug. “I could be nice for ten.”

“You’re on the path to juvenile detention,” Taycee said. “You know that right?”

“Don’t listen to her.” Luke brought Taycee’s face within an inch of the water. “Now, I’ll let you stay dry if you repeat after me: I, Taycee Lynne…”

She rolled her eyes. “I, Taycee Lynne…”

“Love Hercules.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The spray of water hit her forehead. “Say it.”

“Okay, okay. I, Taycee Lynne, love Hercules.”

Luke grinned and pulled her up, looking at the kid. “Don’t ask.”

“Wasn’t gonna.” He took a drink, and then held out his palm expectantly.

Luke withdrew the money from his wallet and handed it over. The kid smirked and stuffed it into his pocket, and then stalked away with a tug on his skinny jeans.

“Wow,” Taycee said, watching him leave. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“There’s a first.” He started laughing.

Taycee stuck out her tongue, and then bit back a smile as she spun on her heel to collect the rollerblades.

* * *

The amphitheater at Red Rocks reminded Taycee of some Indian ruins she’d seen once—the kind that had been carved out of the mountain and appeared almost like they’d formed naturally over time. Rows and rows of bench-style seating sloped up and away from a stage centered below, blending into the red rock background of the Rocky Mountains. How did she not know a place like this existed only fifteen minutes east of Denver?

“Pretty cool, isn’t it?” Luke said, his hand resting on the small of her back as he guided her to their seats.

“It’s amazing. I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.”

“I hope you like Bluegrass.”

“Love it.” It really didn’t matter what band performed or what type of music they played. With Luke’s arm around her, Taycee would love anything. In fact, her mouth hurt from all the grinning and laughing she’d done that day. That’s how happy Luke made her.

When they found their seats, he shook out a blanket he’d been carrying—the same one they’d shared stargazing. The night air began to chill, so he wrapped it around them both and pulled Taycee tight against him as they sat down. It felt so good, so natural, so warm. Here, right now, all that existed was him and her, tucked into a warm cocoon with the beauty of the mountains surrounding them.

The concert was incredible, a perfect accompaniment to cuddling with Luke. The strains of music echoed off the rock walls and seemed to come alive, swirling around everyone in a soothing, relaxing way. People sang, clapped, danced, and swayed along with the music. Taycee stayed snuggled next to Luke, content to feel the vibrations of the music through his body.

All too soon, it ended. Luke continued to hold her close until the worst of the crowds dispersed, and then he led her back to his truck. He drove down a dark windy road, eventually pulling off to the side.

“C’mon, you’ve got to see this view before we head back.” He jumped out and came around, reaching for her hand.

“View?” Taycee squinted through the darkness. All she could make out were rock formations and desert shrubs. Still, she slid from the truck and allowed Luke to lead her to the other side of a large boulder. It felt like they’d walked through a magic door that opened up into a completely new world. Denver’s lights glowed in the distance, beneath a canopy of sparkling stars.

“Oh. That view,” Taycee breathed.

Luke’s arms circled her from behind, and his chin rested on her head. “The owners of the restaurant we ate at this morning told me about this place. Said if we were coming to the amphitheater, we couldn’t leave until we stopped here.”

“I’m glad you listened.” Taycee inhaled the cool night air, feeling like her heart had never felt so whole, so complete, so alive.

Before Luke came back, she’d been comfortable. Even happy. But standing with him now, it were as if all of her hopes and dreams collided and erupted into something bigger and scarier than she’d ever thought possible. A feeling of rightness mixed with a very real fear that this could all be taken away.

The fear won out and a sudden chill shot through her, making her body stiffen.

“Cold?” Luke asked, tightening his hold on her.

Taycee twisted around, her arms circling his waist as she looked up at him. “Today has been…” She searched for the right description.

“Fun?”

“Perfect.”

“Hmm… even better than I’d hoped.” His words came out low and hushed, melting into the night.

Taycee swallowed, her gaze dropping to his chest. Her fingers smoothed over the soft fabric of his shirt, feeling his muscles beneath it. “As perfect as today has been, I have to know what it means—to you, I mean.” Taycee clamped her mouth shut, hating herself for sounding so insecure.

“What today means to me,” Luke said slowly. His hands rubbed circles up and down her back before he finally said, “When I first decided to move back here, I hoped you and Caleb would still be around because I wanted a taste of my old life back. But in my mind you were still that little fourteen-year-old kid with braces. So it caught me off guard when I first saw you at the diner—all grown up and gorgeous.”

His hand moved to her jaw, and his thumb caressed her cheekbone. “When I found out you were the bachelorette, I tried to tell myself that I wanted to stay on the show just to make you uncomfortable, but the real reason was that I wanted to get to know the grown up version of Taycee Lynne. But then I got voted off, which sucked. So I figured I’d lay low until it was all over.” He grinned. “I guess I’m not a very patient person.”

Luke lifted Taycee’s chin, forcing her to look at him. “As far as what that means, I’m not one hundred percent sure yet. You’re stubborn, crazy, and more confusing than any girl I’ve ever met, but I can’t get you out of my mind.”

Taycee’s heartbeat surged, feeling ready to burst. “So, this isn’t another one of your practical jokes? You know, make me fall for you, and then walk away laughing?”

Luke stiffened. “Is that what you think this is?”

“No.” Her finger rubbed a slow circle on his shirt before she peeked up at him. “But you said it yourself once. You’re an eye for an eye kind of a guy, so I had to ask.”

Luke dipped his head until their lips were inches apart, with his breath sending shivers down her spine. “Does this feel like a practical joke to you?” he murmured before covering her mouth in a kiss that devoured any lingering doubt. He crushed her to him, searching, seeking, and tasting. Something ignited deep inside her, jolting her into a whole new awareness. Her hands slid up his back and to the base of his neck, clinging to him as she responded to his kiss in a way she’d never responded to anyone’s.

This was the reason Taycee had never gotten over Luke. He was it. The one person who could make her feel this alive, this happy, this complete. She belonged right here, in his arms.

Gradually, Luke’s lips eased off hers, and she found herself wrapped in a fierce embrace. The throbbing vibration of his heartbeat pounded against her ear with a beautiful, untamed melody. More beautiful than any music any band could ever make.

Chapter Thirty-two

Taycee had to tell Jake and Miles about Luke. After yesterday, she couldn’t keep pretending that she was into them—at least not unless they were okay with it. Which they would be. They wouldn’t be like Greg and leave town before the final vote. They’d understand why Taycee did what she did, and they’d stay to help her finish.

Right?

She shoved the worry aside and pulled open her fridge, rummaging around for something edible. Nothing called out to her. She tried the pantry next. Chips, cereal, and a box of crackers. Hmm… no thanks.

Her cell rang with Jessa’s ringtone, and Taycee snatched it up.

“Hey, girl, missed you last night,” Jessa said.

“What was last night?”

“Jake’s presentation, duh. I can’t believe you forgot.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Taycee leaned against the counter and pressed the phone closer to her ear. “How’d it go? Was anyone interested?”

“Jake did awesome, of course,” Jessa said. “He fielded millions of questions and I think piqued a lot of interest. No one committed to anything last night, but they loved the idea that the farmers market might not have to be a long-term solution. Assuming, of course, it can still be the short-term solution.” Worry tinged her words.

“What’s wrong? I thought things were going well,” said Taycee. “We got more votes last round than ever before, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” said Jessa. “But we still have fifteen grand to go and only two voting opportunities left. If we get within a few thousand, I think the farmers could pool together whatever savings they have left to make up the difference, but I’m getting worried we might not make it. I’m really wishing I would have scheduled the voting to go one more round because we could really use an extra week.”

One more round. Taycee didn’t think she could handle the one week they had left, and yet here was Jessa, wishing for more. Taycee’s heart sank. With that much money on the line, Jessa would never agree to risk telling Jake and Miles the truth. And Taycee wasn’t sure it was worth the risk either. “We’ll make it, Jess. I still have that morning show interview to do before the final vote. I’m sure that will help drive up the numbers.”

“Let’s hope so.” But Jessa sounded anything but assured. “I think this organic farming thing is a good fit, I really do. My uncle was up all night reading about it. I just got off the phone with him, and I’ve never heard him sound this hopeful before. But what if we can’t earn enough for the co-op? They’ll be ready to start selling in only a few weeks.”

“We’ll earn enough, Jess, I promise,” said Taycee. “Even if I have to get down on my knees during that interview and beg for people’s votes.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, you know.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything different.”

“Where were you last night, anyway?” Jessa asked. “I figured you’d at least pop in for a second, just to see how everything was going.”

Taycee hesitated. With the way Jessa had been trying to push Jake on her lately, how would she react to the news that Taycee had spent the entire day with Luke? Not good.

“Oh, I knew you’d have everything under control,” Taycee said.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Probably because I didn’t want to answer your question.”

Silence. Followed by more silence. Just when Taycee thought the connection had failed, Jessa gasped. “You went out with the Tin Man, didn’t you?” It sounded accusatory—not the typical gushing, overly-excited way most best friends would phrase a question like that. Not that Taycee had expected anything different. Still, it would have been nice if Jessa at least pretended to be happy for her.

“Yes,” Taycee finally said. “I spent the entire day with Luke—who, believe it or not, does have a heart, and a pretty big one at that—and had the most incredible day of my life. Now go ahead and ruin it for me because I know that’s what you’re going to do.” Maybe Jessa would take the hint and back off.

“What were you thinking?” Jessa said. “Did anyone see you?”

What kind of question was that? It made Taycee feel like a scolded child who’d snuck off and done something she wasn’t supposed to, which was ridiculous. “Of course not,” Taycee said. “I mean, how could they when he picked me up in a dark tinted car and drove to a hidden cave where we spent the day reducing the mosquito population one by one. I won, by the way.”

Jessa didn’t laugh, not that Taycee expected her to.

“How could you?” Jessa said. “Luke got voted off weeks ago, which means you shouldn’t be dating him, at least not until the show is over. If word got out, we might as well post a banner declaring ourselves fraudulent.”

“Aren’t you being a tad melodramatic?”

“No! The viewers think you’re in love with one of the remaining bachelors. They want you to be in love with one of them because they’re the ones who picked them. If they find out you’re off gallivanting around with someone they already voted off—especially the one from Shelter Springs—what do you think they’re going to say? You go, girl? Wahoo? No! They’re going to be ticked!”

Which was exactly how Taycee felt at the moment. She took a calming breath and struggled for a level tone. “Look, Jessa. You practically forced me into doing this show, and for the sake of your aunt and uncle and the rest of the farmers, I agreed. I let you push a new wardrobe on me and get manicures, and then I endured weeks of dating with guys I never wanted to go out with in the first place. I understand this show is important, and I would never want to do anything to jeopardize that, but you’re the producer of the show—not my life.”

“You’re not getting it,” said Jessa. “What if someone who watches the show saw you with Luke last night? What if they decided to comment about it online and speculate what you were doing out with a bachelor who they voted off when you’re supposed to be falling for someone else? How do you think that would go over? Do you think people would still be willing to vote or give to our cause after something like that? I don’t think so. Nobody likes to be made to feel like a fool, Tace. Which is exactly how they would feel. A fool who’s been taken in by yet another fraudulent charity case.”

Taycee frowned. Why had she answered the phone? She should have kept today all to herself as the day to relive the most perfect day ever. Instead, in two minutes flat, Jessa had tainted it. Granted, her friend had a point, but that didn’t mean Taycee had to like it.

“Okay, so I never thought about it like that,” Taycee said grudgingly. “But he picked me up early, we spent the day in Denver, and he dropped me off late. No one saw us.”

“Maybe not in Shelter, but did someone recognize you while you were in Denver?”

“I seriously doubt it. I’m not that famous.”

Jessa let out a breath. “Just promise me you won’t see him again until after this is all over, okay?”

“Fine,” said Taycee, hating how bossy Jessa sounded. “Try to remember, though, that you put me here. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve been a fraud from the beginning. In fact, I’ve about made up my mind to tell Miles and Jake exactly that.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“It’s the right thing to do, Jess.”

“And what if they walk?” Jessa’s voice escalated. “Is it also the right thing to tell my aunt and uncle—two people I consider my parents—that they’ll have to hand their farm over to the bank in a few months because you can’t get over your obsession with Luke Carney?”

“That’s not fair and you know it,” Taycee snapped.

“You know what your problem is?” Jessa sounded angry.

“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“You’re stubborn, that’s what. You’ve made Luke out to be this perfect guy who no one can compare with, and because of that, you’ve missed out on some great relationships in your life. Now you’re letting a guy like Jake slip through your fingers as well. Is Luke really worth this?”

“Yes.” Taycee had never been more sure about anything.

“I hope so, because Jake is pretty amazing.”

“For crying out loud, Jessa! Enough about Jake!” Taycee practically yelled. “Yes, he’s amazing, but do you know what? Luke’s amazing too—and a way better fit for me. Again, this is my life. My choice. Back off.”

“Fine,” Jessa snapped. “As long as you promise you won’t say anything to Jake and Miles.”

“Fine.” Taycee drove her thumb into the “end call” button and resisted the urge to throw her phone across the room. For the millionth time, she cursed Jessa for turning her into Shelter’s bachelorette. Not only had it put her in this horrible position, it had driven a solid wedge into their friendship, distancing them. Yes, Jessa had always been blunt and domineering, but she’d also been someone Taycee could joke around with, talk to, and turn to in both good times and bad.

Not so much anymore.

Taycee’s phone rang, and she nearly auto-rejected the call until Luke’s handsome face appeared on the screen.

“Hey,” she answered, hoping she didn’t sound too upset.

“Hey yourself.” His voice instantly became a soothing melody to her throbbing mind. “I was wondering if you’d had dinner yet.”

Her gaze flickered back to the kitchen. “I was about to open a can of soup.”

“Seriously? Canned soup for Sunday dinner?”

“I didn’t make it to the store yesterday. It’s all I’ve got.”

“Want to come over? I’ve got some steaks marinating.”

The thought of spending the evening with Luke made Taycee want to bolt to her car and drive as fast as she could. But she’d promised Jessa she wouldn’t, and a promise was a promise. “I’d love nothing more than to come over, but I can’t.”

“Got other plans?”

“If I did, I’d break them.”

Silence. “That makes about as much sense as… well, you usually do, I guess.”

Taycee smiled. “It’s Jessa. She thinks that if someone saw us together it would be bad for the show’s reputation. Which is probably true. And since we need all the votes we can possibly get, I’ve promised not to see you again until after it’s all over. So I guess this means I can’t come over tomorrow night to help you out either. Sorry, Luke.”

“I guess I can wait another week.”

“Thanks,” said Taycee. “Although it will be more like a week and a half since they pushed back the final vote until after that morning show interview.”

“What?” The way Luke said it sounded like he’d have to wait years, not weeks. It made Taycee smile.

“After that, I’m all yours.” She barely stopped herself from adding “forever.” That might come across as a bit much at this point.

He let out a breath. “All right then. I guess I should be grateful I got to spend yesterday with you. But that doesn’t mean I can’t call, right?”

“Right.”

“Every night?”

“And morning,” Taycee added. “If you want. During the day would be fine too.”

Luke chuckled. “Well, I’d hate to give you the chance to forget about me.”

“As if I could.” Taycee hesitated, wanting to add something but not sure how to put it. “Luke, I…” her voice drifted off.

“You?”

“I’d quit this bachelorette thing right now if there wasn’t so much on the line. You know that, right?”

“Yeah.”

She swallowed. “I still have two more dates to get through. Which means that even though I don’t want to, I still have to act like I’m into both Jake and Miles. And well…” This was awkward. And embarrassing. Something Taycee would rather not talk about, but she needed him to understand.

“Then I won’t watch,” said Luke. “What I don’t see won’t hurt me, right?”

Relief flooded through Taycee as she heard those words. Pure relief. As much as she’d dreaded getting through the last two dates, she was more concerned about Luke’s reaction to seeing her with two other guys. But now she didn’t have to worry because he trusted her enough not to watch. Or judge. Or demand that she drop out.

“Thank you,” she breathed. For whatever reason, tears stung the back of her eyes. Whether it was because she was already emotional from her chat with Jessa or because of Luke’s willingness to understand, she didn’t know. What she did know what that she now loved him more than ever.

“Just so you know,” Taycee said, holding the phone closer to her ear as if it would somehow bring him nearer. “It’s always been you for me.”

Chapter Thirty-three

Taycee applied some lip gloss and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Alec had finally been voted off, much to her relief, and Miles would be here any minute to pick her up. If it had been up to her, Jake and Miles were the two she would have chosen from the beginning. The two she liked the best. Still, she couldn’t wait to get the date over with. Although she liked Miles and had fun with him, the sooner he dropped her off, the sooner she could talk to Luke and get her mind off the fact that she was a horrible person for deceiving two great guys.

Then after tonight, there would be only Jake’s date left.

Knock, knock-ety, knock, knock. Knock, knock.

Taycee smiled at the now familiar rhythm of Miles’s unique knock. She would definitely miss him when he left town in another week. His smile alone could brighten any day. And his energy—he was like a kid at Disneyland.

Taycee smile as she opened the door. “Hey you.”

“Don’t you look prettier than a glob of butter melting on a stack of wheat cakes.” Only Miles could pull off a line like that and make it sound like a compliment. He stepped forward and kissed Taycee’s cheek before his hand caught hers as he pulled her out the door. “Ready for a hick night out?”

“Did you just say ‘hick?’” Miles was always full of surprises.

He nodded as an easy smile split his face. “I thought I’d show you some of my world.”

“So we’re flying to Oklahoma, and I get to watch you ride in a rodeo?”

“Nah.” He grinned. “I decided to bring Oklahoma to you.”

Normally, Taycee would be intrigued and excited by such a description. But all she could think about was how uncomfortable this “hick night out” would be. Which was sad, because Miles was obviously thrilled. “Sounds like my kind of night,” she said with a smile.

“One you’ll never forget.”

And it was that. Miles drove her to Denver where they ate dinner at some over-the-top Denver version of a barbeque joint where troughs served as sinks and peanut shells dotted the stained concrete floor. Their food came to them on tin plates, and slow, twangy country music played in the background.

“Wow, when you said hick, you meant hick, didn’t you?” Taycee teased.

“I’ve always been a man of my word.” Miles paused. “Well, most of the time, anyway.”

Taycee leaned forward over her plate. “I’m sensing a story here. Do tell.”

“Okay, but don’t forget you asked for it.” He leaned closer. “Back in high school, there was this sheriff who liked to pull my friends over every chance he got. He used to hang out at a gas station in town, ready and waitin’ for one of us to drive by. So one day, me and my buddy decided to do something about it.”

Taycee’s hand covered his, stopping the story. “This isn’t something that’s going to get you carted off to prison, is it? If so, I need to remind you that you’re on camera right now.”

“Nah.” Miles waved away her concern. “Like I was saying, one day we waited for the sheriff to take a break and go inside the gas station. Then we snuck up and chained the rear axle of his car to a light pole.”

“You did not.” If Taycee ever thought of doing something like that to Ralph, he would definitely update her mug shots.

“Sure did.” Miles’s grin broadened. “Then we hustled to my cousin’s truck and waited for him to come back out. When he did, we sped down main street as fast as we could.”

“What happened?”

“His siren sounded, and he took off like an inchworm stuck to hot concrete. His tires screeched and gravel spewed everywhere.” Miles’s laughter rang out as his hand slapped the table. “He was madder than a mosquito in a mannequin factory. We spent a night in jail for that one.”

Taycee laughed so hard her sides ached, especially when Miles added, “It didn’t solve our problem though. For some reason, that darn sheriff started pulling us over even more after that.”

The story was exactly what Taycee needed. Miles soothed her stress, making her forget about the cameras, the viewers, Shelter. She’d miss him when he left, the way she missed Caleb or any other really good friend. He was fun—the kind of guy she would have loved to hang out with in high school.

After dinner, they watched the first half of a demolition derby, and then blitzed across town to catch the second half of a rodeo—just in time to see some crazy lunatic on the back of a motorcycle barrel up a ramp, through a ring of fire, and over a line of cars. Miles yeehawed the entire time, and with his hilarious asides, the date was over almost as soon as it had begun.

He drove her home and walked her to her front porch. “Well,” he said, “this is it, I guess.”

“Thank you for a truly unforgettable date, Miles. You are one of a kind.” Taycee meant every word.

“Kinda like you.” His arms circled Taycee, and he pulled her close. Before she could say anything, his mouth covered hers in slow and thorough kiss. It felt wrong, like she was kissing a good friend, but she let it happen even as the guilt plucked away at her insides. She had to picture the sweet, hard-working faces of the McCrays in order to keep from blurting out the truth.

“Even if I don’t get chosen, I’d sure like to keep seein’ you,” Miles breathed in her ear.

The words echoed through Taycee’s head like a pounding hammer. She resisted the urge to run inside and close the door firmly between her and a guy who wanted more than she could ever give.

Taycee swallowed. She had to say something. No way could she leave him hanging like that, especially with the camera filming their every move, their every word. But what could she say that wouldn’t give him false hope, while still keeping the viewers hopeful?

“Uh…” The words wouldn’t come. There was nothing she could say.

“Speechless,” Miles teased. “I’ve been known to have that effect on girls.”

“Overcome is a better word.” Taycee pasted on a smile and forced herself to answer his question. “And yes, I’d like that too.”

Miles grinned, kissed her one last time, and left her with a wink on her doorstep. Taycee shoved her key in the lock and disappeared inside, barely refraining from slamming the door behind her in an effort to block out the world, the stress, the knowledge that she’d just given a genuinely nice guy a reason to falsely hope.

Chapter Thirty-four

On Wednesday evening, Taycee closed her shop and walked the short distance to her apartment. There was a time back in high school when she wanted guys to notice her, when she craved being asked out on a date, and when the idea of more than one guy liking her at the same time filled her teenage, girlish fantasies.

But now that it had actually happened, it wasn’t nearly as romantic as she once supposed. At the time, it had all been about her. About popularity. About being the kind of girl that guys flocked around. Never had she thought about the feelings of anyone but herself, or that dating more than one guy would lead to having to choose one and hurt the other. Or worse, hurt them both, which was the case now.

Jake and Miles were two good guys who didn’t deserve to fall for a girl who was never really available.

Opening the door to her apartment, Taycee slung her purse over a hook and walked toward the kitchen.

“About time you got home,” Caleb’s voice boomed, making her jump and cover her pounding heart with her hand.

“Caleb! You have got to start calling first.”

He was lying on the couch with his ankles crossed and his arms tucked behind the back of his head. “Sorry, sis. Couldn’t resist.”

Despite the scare, it was really good to see him. His presence made her feel less alone, her apartment not so empty. Taycee plopped down on the armrest next to him. “When did you get back?”

“A few hours ago.”

“Why don’t you ever let me know you’re coming? I would have left some dinner for you in the fridge or something.”

Caleb sighed and sat up, resting his elbows on his knees and raking his fingers through his already mussed hair. “Then I wouldn’t get to surprise you. It’s kind of fun seeing you jump.” He yawned. “I have to be in Denver in the morning, but I should be finished by the end of the week. I thought we could hang out this weekend.”

“I’d love that.” Taycee could really use some Caleb-time and the distraction he’d undoubtedly bring, especially since she couldn’t spend the time with Luke. Besides, If anyone could help her get beyond the guilt from her dating deception, it was her brother.

“In fact,” Taycee said. “What about taking a few hours on Saturday to check out some potential office spaces? I know you’re not ready to make the move, but it never hurts to keep your eyes open, right?”

Caleb’s fingers scratched his head in a rapid, nervous way—something he always did when he had something to say that she probably wouldn’t want to hear. Her heart sank before he even started talking.

“Yeah, uh… well, that’s just it, Tace. I won’t need any office space. I was planning to tell you before, but the truth is, I’ve been offered an associate position at the firm I’m with, and I’ve decided to take it.”

A hollow emptiness settled in Taycee’s stomach. Deep down, she’d known something like this was coming, but that didn’t make it easy to hear. An associate position. Permanent. Caleb wasn’t coming back. Like her parents, he would never come back.

Her brother had been gone for years now. This shouldn’t be a big deal. And yet the permanence of it was a big deal for her. For the past few years, the hope that Caleb would one day move back—that something would return to the way it used to be—had given Taycee the strength to get by on her own. And now, all of a sudden, that strength felt depleted. As though she was somehow more alone than she had been a minute before.

Why did everyone want to leave? Why did things have to keep changing? Taycee wanted to rewind the clock back to a time when life was simple. When the only worry was finding something to do to stave off boredom.

“How long have you known?” she asked, trying not to sound as broken-hearted as she felt. The question hung in the air between them, like dark gray clouds threatening rain.

”They made me an associate a few months ago.”

A lump lodged in her throat. A few months? Caleb had already become an associate? “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

The nervous scratching came back. “I planned to. But every time I started to tell you, you’d go off about when I’d be moving back and how excited you were at the prospect. I just… didn’t have the heart.”

No matter how many times she swallowed, the lump remained. “So instead you let me go on and on like some stupid moron.”

“That’s redundant.”

Taycee glared. “Not the time for jokes, Caleb.”

“Sorry.” He rubbed his fingers together, avoiding eye contact.

“Does Luke know?” She took his silence to mean yes. “Of course he knows.” Taycee stood and started pacing the room. “Your former best friend. The guy who left after high school without a backward glance. Who forgot us both. Of course you told him before me—your own sister.”

“That’s exactly why I told him,” Caleb said, his voice growing louder. “Because I knew he’d understand. You, on the other hand would make me feel guilty. Like I’m deserting you.”

“I would not!”

“You are, Tace. Right now!” Caleb said. “It’s no wonder Luke didn’t stay in touch. If he did, every time he contacted you he would have gotten some sob story about how everyone wanted to leave and how things were changing. He would have gotten the same guilt trip you’re giving me right now.”

“That’s not true,” Taycee snapped. “I’m not giving you a guilt trip over leaving. I’m giving you a guilt trip over not telling me sooner. How could you!”

Caleb’s jaw clenched as he stood, making his way toward the door. “For the same reason I never told you I’m also engaged.” He left the apartment with a slam of the door, sounding almost like a crack of thunder.

Taycee felt like he’d just slugged her in the stomach. Caleb was engaged? To who? There was no way he’d ever joke about something like that, especially not in anger. Yet during all their conversations over the past several months, not once had he ever mentioned a girl, let alone the fact that he was thinking of marrying her. How long had they been engaged? Was a date already set? A florist hired?

Caleb. Her only sibling. They’d been so close once upon a time, telling each other everything. They used to stay up late into the night talking, laughing, teasing. What happened? When had a chasm formed between them and how had Taycee not noticed it until now? Had she really been so opposed to change that her only brother didn’t feel like he could confide in her anymore? Tell her that he was getting married?

Taycee had missed out on something special. Something important. Something she’d never be able to get back. She’d always looked forward to the time when Caleb started dating someone serious. She’d pictured him calling her, telling her how excited he was and how much Taycee would love her. They’d talk about how he would propose, how he needed to make it as unique and special as possible. In fact, she had hundreds of possibilities stored in her head for just such a conversation.

But none of those conversations would happen now. Taycee had no idea how Caleb proposed, when he proposed, if he’d asked her father’s permission and how that conversation went. She had no idea when they’d be getting married or what her future sister-in-law was even like, let alone her name.

The walls seemed to close in and around her. She couldn’t stay here. Taycee’s hand shook as she fiddled with the door handle, finally throwing it open. She charged into the warm summer air, hugging her arms against her chest.

Her eyes stung as she headed down Main Street in the direction of the park. The smells coming from the diner turned her stomach sour, so Taycee darted across the street, ignoring the hellos of people she passed. She jogged the rest of the way to the park and came to a stop beneath the large oak tree that she and Luke and Caleb once spent hours climbing.

Her fingers dug into the crusty old bark as she pulled herself up to the lowest branch, not caring about the scratches the rough branches left on her legs. She climbed higher and higher, until all she could see were patches of the town here and there through the dense foliage. There, in that natural haven, Taycee let the sobs come.

She cried for all those lost moments, all the memories she could have had but never would get. She cried until her eyes burned and the sky glowed with the promise of a beautiful sunset. She cried until all her tears were dried up.

“Is it safe to come up yet?” a voice came from below.

Taycee started, nearly losing her precarious hold on a branch. She peered down through the leaves to where Luke stood almost directly below her, his arm resting on a branch. The back of her hands wiped desperately at her eyes as she sniffed. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” With an easy grace, Luke swung up into the tree and slowly made his way to her, finally perching his body across from her. His thumb grazed her cheek in a soft caress. “What happened?”

She sniffed again, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “Tell me the truth. Was I the reason you didn’t keep in touch?”

His eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Why would you be the reason?”

“Because you didn’t want me to make you feel guilty for leaving.”

Luke chuckled, resting his hands on a tree branch above his head. “Well, you did lay on the guilt a little thick before I left, but no, that wasn’t the reason. I already told you why.”

“I know.” Taycee sniffed again. “I just needed to make sure.”

Luke nudged her foot with his. “What’s going on? I was in the diner when you blew past earlier.”

“Caleb’s back.”

The leaves rustled in the silence. “I take it he finally told you,” Luke said after a moment. “About time.”

“You should have told me.” Taycee felt more miserable than ever. “I can’t believe my own brother couldn’t bring himself to tell me that he was engaged or that he wanted to remain in Phoenix. I didn’t even know he was dating anyone or that he wanted to stay with his firm. How could he think that I’d make him feel guilty for choosing happiness over me? I don’t understand.”

Luke’s sneaker nudged hers once again. “Are you looking for an answer or are you just venting?”

“Both.”

“Well,” he said. “I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t my news to tell. And yes, he mistakenly did believe you’d lay on the guilt.”

Taycee sniffed yet again, wishing she’d brought some tissue. “Just because I don’t like change doesn’t mean I’m incapable of dealing with it when it comes. Yes, it was hard to hear that he’s getting married and planning to stay in Phoenix, but that doesn’t mean I’m not happy for him.” Taycee paused, blinking back the tears. “Caleb’s finally getting married. I should have been one of the first to know, not the last. It just… hurts.”

Luke shifted to a closer branch and reached for her hand, rubbing circles on her palm. “Hurting you was the last thing he wanted to do. That’s why he had a hard time telling you.”

Taycee frowned at the fading light peeking through the leaves. In a way, she could understand that. She’d created expectations in her mind about Caleb. About life. About the way things should be. But she’d also learned a long time ago that change was inevitable, and, like the wind, Taycee had no control over which direction people went. It was a hard lesson, and one she continued to struggle with, but she would have been happy for Caleb.

She was happy for Caleb.

“Maybe it’s me who needs to get out of Shelter,” she mumbled, more to herself.

“Oh no you don’t,” Luke said. “You aren’t going anywhere, not if I have anything to say about it.” His words, combined with the teasing glint in his eyes, were like a kiss on a bruised knee. It almost produced a smile.

Almost.

“Now who’s being controlling?” Taycee said.

“I learned from the best.”

This time, a small smile formed. “Not nice.”

Luke grabbed a limb and swung down to a lower branch, holding a hand out to Taycee. “Personally, I think hanging out in a tree is over-rated. There’s really no view to speak of and the branches are scratchy.”

Taycee simultaneously laughed and sniffed. She placed her hand in his, and together they climbed down the tree. Luke dropped to the ground first, and then held up both hands, slowly easing Taycee to the ground. When her feet hit the grass, his arms went around her, pulling her close until their noses touched. “Want to know something?”

“What?”

“I kind of like you,” he whispered.

“Just kind of?”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Well, maybe a little more than that.” In an instant, his mouth met hers in a healing kiss that eased her pain and infused her body with warmth. Peace. Joy. He was exactly what she needed right now—the reminder that there was still something right in her life.

His lips eased off hers, and he hugged her to him.

“I kind of like you too,” Taycee mumbled into his shirt, suddenly remembering the promise she’d made to Jessa to stay away from him. She wanted to push the thought back, keep it hidden for just awhile longer. But it was too late. Her conscience was already prodding her in an annoying way.

“I should go,” Taycee finally said. ”Jessa would kill me if she saw me here with you.”

“Forget Jessa and that stupid show,” Luke said. But his hands slid from around her back, rubbing up and down her arms before they finally fell away.

It took all of Taycee’s will power not to throw herself back into his arms. She searched his eyes instead. Only one more week. Seven days. That was it.

It seemed like a lifetime.

“Thank you, Luke.”

“Anytime.”

Chapter Thirty-five

You’re a little quiet tonight,” Jake said as he and Taycee walked hand-in-hand through a park on the outskirts of Denver.

Taycee sighed. He was right. She was being quiet. Mostly because the park reminded her of rollerblading with Luke, which reminded her of the concert at Red Rocks, which reminded her of everything else she’d done with Luke over the course of her lifetime.

As much as she enjoyed Jake’s company, it was Luke she craved. Luke’s hand she wanted to hold. Luke’s lips she wanted to kiss.

“Sorry,” she said. “I guess all the craziness from the past several weeks is finally catching up to me. I’m a little worn out tonight.”

“Let’s sit then.”

“Oh no. Really, I’m fine.” If he had any idea where her thoughts really were, he wouldn’t be nearly so chivalrous.

“It’s okay to be tired, you know.” Jake’s hand relinquished hers and moved to her back, rubbing up and down. “Happens to everyone.”

His words coerced a smile from Taycee. “It doesn’t seem to happen to you. What’s your secret?”

Jake stopped and pulled her into his arms. “Healthy living and lots of exercise. In fact, did you know kissing is one of the best pick-me-ups?”

Her body stiffened. She’d meant to tease him and lighten the mood, not open the door for an invitation like this. But it seemed everything she said today was the wrong thing because Jake was more affectionate than ever. Or maybe it was because this was their last official date. Either way, it made Taycee increasingly uncomfortable.

“I don’t know,” she said, trying once more to lighten the mood. “I’ve always thought curly fries and chocolate shakes were the best pick-me-ups.” Next to Luke, of course.

Jake’s lips twitched. “Did you really just compare my kiss to a chocolate shake? Because it kind of sounded like you did. And it kind of sounded like I came in second.”

“Never,” Taycee said.

“Good.” A full smile formed as Jake inched closer. “But I still plan to prove that I’m preferable to chocolate.”

Taycee felt like throwing her hands up in a gesture of defeat. But then Burt stepped into her peripheral vision, coming in for a close up shot. She held back a sigh. There was no escape, not if she wanted it to look real. So Taycee let Jake kiss her.

At first her lips felt stiff and awkward beneath his, but then her thoughts drifted to Luke. How it felt to be held by him, kissed by him, looked at by him. Suddenly, her lips melted against Jake’s.

Her fingers threaded around the base of his neck, and she pulled him close, as if she could turn him into Luke by kissing him long and hard. She poured all of her frustrations into the kiss. Jake not being Luke. Jessa signing up for this to begin with. The viewers need for romance. The pressure of helping the town. And now Caleb and his accusations.

But when her eyes started to sting from unshed tears, Taycee pulled back. She couldn’t do this anymore, not to Jake. Blinking rapidly, she turned her head away from the camera and buried her face in his chest. His arms pulled her tight against him.

What was she doing? How could she kiss him like that when it wasn’t him she wanted to kiss? Why hadn’t she followed her gut and told the truth last week like she’d wanted to do? It would have been the right thing to do, even if it had meant a mad scramble to come up with the rest of the money another way.

Instead, Taycee had caved. She’d even given everyone a finale.

* * *

Taycee cut a long stemmed rose and pulled the leaves off the bottom part of the stem. Her date with Jake was officially behind her, and for the first time in weeks, she felt the stirrings of relief. Yes, she still needed to get through the interview and find a way to coax Jake and Miles to move on, but the worst was finally over.

Or so she thought.

Bells jingled, and Jessa’s voice screeched through The Bloom Boutique. “You promised, Taycee! How could you?”

Now what? Honestly, this show had been the worst thing for thier friendship. Taycee picked up another rose and snipped the end off. “How could I what?”

Jessa appeared with windblown hair and a look that made the room feel chilly. She slapped a picture down in front of Taycee on the counter. “That!” she shouted. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

There, on a bed of green leaves, was a low resolution picture of Taycee kissing Luke under the giant oak tree at the park. A sick feeling filled her gut. Someone had seen them and had snapped a picture they had no right to take.

“Where did you get this?”

“Off the gossip blog, along with several others. But that’s not the point. The point is, you lied to me.”

“I’m so sorry, Jessa. I had it out with Caleb yesterday. Luke saw me walking by the diner and followed and—”

“I don’t care how it happened!” Jessa shrieked. “What I care about is that you broke your promise. This looks so bad, Taycee! For me, for you, for Shelter. How could you?”

“I’m so sorry,” Taycee repeated, still staring at the picture with a sense of loss. The day they climbed the old oak tree was special—or had been special—before someone set out to ruin it. Who would do such a thing and why?

“Sorry?” Jessa spat. “You’re sorry? How kind of you to be sorry.”

In one swift move, Taycee grabbed the picture, wadded it up and threw it into the trash. But it didn’t help. Her body shook with frustration and anger. She’d had enough. Of Jessa. Of Shelter’s Bachelorette. Of always being watched. Everything. “What else do you want me to say? I can’t take those pictures back any more than you can.”

Jessa let out a heavy sigh and dropped down on a nearby chair. Her rapidly blinking eyes made Taycee feel even worse. Jessa never cried. And if she was fighting back tears, then things really must be as bad as she said.

“Hey.” Taycee placed a hand on Jessa’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Is it?” The words came out so quiet, Taycee could barely hear them. “People are really upset, Tace. They’re demanding their money back and threatening to sue. A few reporters have called.” Jessa paused and swallowed, staring beyond Taycee with a glazed look. “And the mayor even asked for my resignation.”

“What?” Taycee felt sick. She let go of Jessa’s shoulder and slumped against the counter. All this because someone got a pathetic little cell phone picture of her kissing Luke—a guy she shouldn’t feel guilty kissing.

How did this happen?

Jessa’s tear-filled eyes trained on Taycee. “We were so close. So close. I really thought we’d make it and that I’d finally be able to repay my aunt and uncle and all the other farmers who have been so kind to me over the years. But now”—she shook her head—“now I’ve made it worse. I gave them hope, and then snatched it away.” Her head dropped to her hands. “Tace, what am I going to do?”

Taycee wrapped her arms around Jessa. Just when she thought the worst was behind her, this happens. But what could she possibly say or do to make things better?

Jessa sniffed. “I know I shouldn’t have manipulated you into being the bachelorette. And I’m sorry I did. But you were great and everything was going so well. But now…” Defeat reflected in her eyes, making Taycee’s heart sink. It wasn’t fair that falling in love should have such a disastrous impact on everyone else.

But as Taycee’s mom had always told her, life wasn’t fair.

“I’ll fix this,” Taycee said. “I will. It was my fault. I’ll apologize and explain everything, and if people still insist on getting their money back, we’ll find another way. I promise.” But her words sounded empty and hollow. An impossible promise made out of desperation.

* * *

Luke knew something was up the moment he set foot in the diner during the dinner rush. All pairs of eyes looked his way. Some accusing. Some knowing. Some disappointed.

He frowned and stepped up to the counter where Liza stood with angry eyes. “What can I get you?” Her voice was like ice.

“Uh… ” Did Luke dare ask what was going on? Did he even want to know? “I’ll take the special.” Hopefully whatever it was it would be quick because he suddenly wanted to get out of there pronto. “To go.”

“Sure thing,” Liza said, punching numbers on the register the way she’d poke someone’s eyes out. She slid Luke’s credit card through the reader with an angry slice of her hand before tossing it back to him.

Luke eyed her warily. “Something wrong, Liza?” He shouldn’t have asked, but the words were out before he could reconsider.

“Why don’t you ask your girlfriend?” Liza snipped. “Or is it Jake’s girlfriend? Or Miles’s? I can’t remember anymore. From the looks of it, she’s not exactly sure either.”

Luke picked up his credit card and shoved it back in his wallet. “What are you talking about?”

“Give me a break.” Liza planted a palm on the counter and leaned toward him. “Don’t play all innocent with me. I saw the pictures of you kissing her. Was that why you asked me out? To make her jealous?”

Pictures? What pictures? Did someone see them at the park? Luke nearly groaned. Oh the perks of living in a small, nosy town. Liza glared at him, as she had every right to do. But it had only been one date. Nobody could be accused of leading someone on after only one date. Not even Luke.

“I asked you out to get to know you better,” Luke said.

With one final glare, Liza turned and walked toward the back room. Luke breathed a sigh of relief and looked around for a seat near the window where he wouldn’t have to watch everyone staring at him. But the diner was crowded, more so than usual, so Luke slid into the nearest seat he could find and wondered if the special would be worth the wait.

Probably not.

His fingers drummed on the counter until the sound of Taycee’s voice had him looking over his shoulder. Babette, a woman who loved gossip as much as she loved coffee, sat directly behind him with her laptop open. Luke would bet his truck that she was the anonymous keeper of the town’s gossip blog. Only it wasn’t the blog that appeared on her laptop today, it was Shelter’s Bachelorette’s website, featuring Taycee’s last date with Jake—something that Luke had promised he wouldn’t watch.

Taycee was in Jake’s arms.

“Did you really just compare my kiss to a chocolate shake?” Jake said. “Because it kind of sounded like you did. It also kind of sounded like I came in second.”

“Never,” Taycee’s tinny voice came through the small computer speakers.

“Good.” A full smile formed as Jake inched closer. “But I still plan to prove that I’m preferable to chocolate.” And then he kissed her.

At first, Taycee’s response was tentative, but then her arms went around him, and she kissed him the way she kissed Luke. Luke’s stomach churned, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away. This was why he hadn’t watched the show the past couple of weeks. Luke didn’t want to see her with other guys. Didn’t want to see her holding their hands, hugging them, or kissing them. It was bad enough picturing it in his mind.

But not once had he ever pictured Taycee responding like that.

Babette craned her neck to look back at him with her fake eyelashes and blue eye shadow. “That girl sure gets around, doesn’t she? That how she kissed you?”

With a barely controlled clench of his jaw, Luke stood and walked out of the diner. He set out on foot, leaving his truck behind in the parking lot.

What Taycee did was all an act, a way to keep people interested in the show, that’s all. She needed to make it look real. Luke knew this. But what if her response really had been genuine?

Taycee had always made it sound like the show was nothing more than an annoyance—something she couldn’t wait to be through with. But what if she cared more about Jake than she let on? What if she didn’t know who she liked better? What if her feelings for Luke weren’t as strong as he thought?

Luke suddenly felt like he didn’t know anything anymore.

But Taycee did.

He turned and headed in the direction of her place, his steps purposeful. A few blocks later, he stood in front of her door, his fist lifted to knock. He hesitated. What if he didn’t like what she had to say? Did he really want to hear her admit that she didn’t know who she liked best?

Luke stood there, hand raised, as varying emotions slammed into him all at once. Jealousy. Betrayal. And now… fear. The kind of fear that had him dropping his hand and backing away.

Chapter Thirty-six

Taycee slipped her feet into her sandals and reached for her purse. Her head pounded from the incessant worry and stress that seemed intent on following around her wherever she went, like Eeyore’s little raincloud. But the feeling wouldn’t go away. Like a storm that hovered for weeks at a time, trapping out the sun, the feeling enshrouded her.

Taycee started forward, knowing the only way past this storm was to force her way through the clouds and find the sun herself. And she’d start with Jake and Miles. Sure, she could rationalize her actions all she wanted—a greater cause and all that—but what she’d done to them was wrong. They deserved an apology. A big one.

Taycee flung her door open and stepped out into the humid evening air. She paused on her doorstep when she caught sight of Luke’s wavy brown hair and broad shoulders—shoulders she’d give anything to bury her head in right now. They would be warm and smell good and feel good. But why was he walking away?

“Luke?” she called.

He spun around, his eyebrows drawn together in wary surprise, as if he’d been caught somewhere he didn’t want to be. “Hey.”

Taycee stepped toward him, suddenly nervous. “Did you knock?”

He hesitated. “No.”

The pounding in her head changed from a rubber mallet to a sledgehammer, striking with strong, hard strokes. The way he looked at her made her want to run back inside and let her door take the brunt of whatever he came here to say—or not say.

But her feet wanted to run to him, not away.

“I saw your date with Jake,” Luke said. The words sounded accusatory and final, as though he’d already formed his own opinions and challenged her to negate them.

Taycee let out a breath of frustration. Not this. Not now. Not after everything else that was going on. “You said you weren’t going to watch that.”

A flicker of annoyance passed over his features. “Really?” he said. “That’s your response? That I shouldn’t have watched it? Well it’s too late because I already did.”

Taycee sighed. “It wasn’t what it looked like, Luke. You should know that better than anyone.”

He took a purposeful step toward her, and then stopped and raked his fingers through his hair. “I want to believe you, I do, but this bachelorette thing isn’t some fictional Hollywood movie. It’s called a reality show for a reason. You can talk all you want about how it wasn’t the way it looked and how I should know better, but here’s what I do know: On that video clip you weren’t acting.”

If it had been Miles or Jake standing there accusing her, Taycee would have expected something like this—even deserved it—but Luke was a different story. She had no reason to act when she was with him. There were no cameras trained on them. No viewers to please. No expectations to save a bunch of farms. He knew that. And yet here he was, questioning her motives just like the rest of the viewers.

Questioning her.

“What did you want me to do, Luke?” Taycee said. “Pretend to drop an earring every time he tried to kiss me? Or maybe I should have downed a spoonful of garlic before our date. That would have gone over really well on the final episode of a reality show about finding love.”

“That wasn’t just a kiss,” said Luke. “It was a full on make-out session—one that you looked more than happy to be part of. What do you expect me to think?”

“I expect you to trust me,” Taycee snapped. “Do you think I liked pretending to be into all those guys? Or kissing them? Or parading in front of those cameras like some happy-go-lucky girl who couldn’t get enough male attention? Because I didn’t! I never wanted any of this. I would have rather been with you during all of those dates.

“But I did it anyway. For six weeks, I went out with guys I didn’t care about and let my life become public domain so a lot of good people wouldn’t lose their farms. But now that’s all in jeopardy, and you know why? Because you decided to follow me to the park one afternoon and kiss me yourself!” The words were out before Taycee could rethink them.

Luke stiffened, saying nothing. He simply stood there, looking at her with a mixture of disbelief, anger, and hurt. Then he took a step back, pivoted, and left. It was the second time tonight she’d watched him walk away. Only this time, she didn’t call him back.

Taycee bit her lip hard and let the tears fall. One by one, they dripped down her cheek. Her own little shower. So much for forging her way through the storm.

* * *

Luke closed his front door and turned on the light. He should have never gone to the diner. Never watched that video. Never showed up at Taycee’s. Then he’d still be in his happy little cocoon, completely oblivious to the fact that the girl he was crazy about wasn’t so crazy about him right now. She made no secret of the fact that she would undo their kiss at the park if she could—a kiss he’d never want undone no matter how many problems it caused.

Luke dropped down on his recliner and flipped on the TV. A quick perusal of the stations offered him nothing, so he shut it off and resisted the urge to chuck the remote.

The silence of his house suddenly felt like a foreshadowing of his future. Empty. Alone. Deprived. He felt as if he were six again, when his golden lab ran in front of a moving car. Luke had stood there and watched him get hit, watched his best friend get taken away from him. But it wasn’t until that night, when he was lying in bed without his dog at his feet to scare the bad dreams away, that it had really hit him. He’d cried—long and hard. And with that cry came a promise to never own another dog again—not if that’s what it felt like to have your heart broken.

Unfortunately, that promise did nothing for him now.

The faint sound of Luke’s cell phone filled the house. He reached into his pocket and yanked it out, as if it could somehow stave off the ever increasing pain gnawing away at him. He answered without looking at the number.

“Luke?” a familiar female voice asked—a voice he’d never thought he’d hear again.

“Madi?” He hadn’t spoken to his ex-fiancée since he moved back. Hadn’t really even thought about her. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Dad,” she said, her voice breaking. “He had a heart attack last night.”

“What!” Luke sat up straight.

“He didn’t make it, Luke. He’s gone.” Sobs practically vibrated through the phone.

Luke blinked, not quite able to believe it. Madi’s father had been in perfect health. He was a runner. Lived on a strict diet of healthy foods. How could this happen to someone like him? “Madi, I’m so sorry. What can I do?”

“I need you,” was all she had to say.

“On my way.”

Chapter Thirty-seven

Taycee pulled to a stop in front of the town inn and wiped a finger under each eye, removing any smeared makeup. Three windows glowed in the darkness. Which room was Jake’s? Was he even here or had he seen the gossip blog and already left town? Taycee wouldn’t blame him if he had.

She sat in her car for several minutes, taking deep breaths and trying not to think about what had just happened with Luke. An engine rumbled behind her as a car pulled into the lot. Jake’s Audi. He was still here. Maybe he didn’t know anything yet.

Taycee wiped her eyes one more time and stepped from her car. Before she lost her nerve, she walked quickly to Jake’s car and tugged on the passenger door handle.

Locked.

She tapped against the dark window. It rolled down, revealing Jessa’s face with her hair clipped artfully back and her silver dangling earring shimmering in the lamplight. She looked beautiful and put together—the opposite of how Taycee felt.

“What are you doing here?” Taycee said.

“Probably the same thing you’re about to do,” Jessa said. “Apologizing.”

Leave it to Jessa to say it how it was. Taycee almost smiled. Almost. Until she looked beyond Jessa and caught two wary blue eyes looking back at her. She swallowed. “Finished?”

“You’re timing is perfect.” The door opened and Jessa got out of the car, turning back to Jake. “Thanks, Jake.”

He nodded.

Jessa offered Taycee a sympathetic look before walking across the parking lot to her car. Taycee slid into the passenger seat and closed the door, shutting herself into an almost eerie silence. Jake stared straight ahead, his elbow hanging out an open window. Minutes ticked by, coating the car in discomfort.

He finally broke the silence. “Yes, I read the blog and saw the pictures.” A pause. “In case you were wondering.”

Taycee closed her eyes. Great. Now he thought she was here to deal with collateral damage, which she was, but it was also more than that. She’d wanted him to hear the truth from her, not some lousy gossip blog that exaggerated everything.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

In front of them, a maple tree moved gently in the wind, sending shadows darting across the sidewalk. She focused on the shadows. “I owe you an explanation,” she said, “and I hope you’ll hear me out.” Then she started at the beginning, telling him everything. How she’d wanted out. How she’d never gotten over her teenage crush. How she’d gotten Luke voted off the show. And how she’d wished she could fall for Jake instead.

“I should have told you sooner,” Taycee said. “I wanted to. I even planned to at some point. But there was too much on the line, and the fear of you walking away held me back. It was so wrong, I am sorry. If I could rewind the past few weeks and do things differently, I would.”

Jake shot her a hard look. “Of course you say that now, after everything went down the way it did. But the only reason you’re sitting here is because of those pictures. You never would have told me otherwise—or, at least not until after the final vote. Instead, you let me believe that you were into me, that you wanted me to stick around after the show.” His head shook slowly as he peered out the windshield. “You played me, and like an idiot, I fell for it.”

Taycee reached a hand toward him, and then withdrew it. The last thing Jake probably wanted right now was for her to offer comfort. Not when she’d been the cause of his anger. “You’re not an idiot, Jake Sanford. Far from it.”

Jake continued to stare out the window, his hands resting low on the steering wheel. “What gets me is that I had no idea. Looking back, I can totally see it—the way you started joking around every time the topic got serious or when I went in for a kiss—but at the time”—he shook his head again—“how could I have been that clueless?” His gaze flickered to her for a second and then back toward the building. “You should have told me, Taycee. I would have told you.”

He sounded so sure, so confident, but would he have told her? Really? He made it out to be so easy. So simple. Tell the truth. But life wasn’t easy or simple. It was complex and hard and filled with a million questions that had no clear answers. There were no directions or warnings that stated, “This is what you should do” or, “Bad idea. You’ll be sorry.” Sometimes you just had to make a decision and sometimes that decision was wrong.

Jake twisted his head to look at her. “Was any of it real? At all?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I do care about you. You’re the kind of guy I would have fallen hard for if I hadn’t already…” She couldn’t finish. The last thing he needed to hear right now was a reminder of why they’d never had a chance.

Jake nodded again, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Well, as Jessa put it, what’s done is done. And since I can’t do anything to change the past, I might as well do something to change the future.”

“Yeah,” Taycee said. “That sounds like something Jessa would say. Only less dry and more abrupt.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth before his expression turned solemn once more. “She was right, though. And since I’m the type of guy who finishes what he starts, I’ll show up for the interview. I’ll even play the part of the supportive, understanding, second-place bachelor who is still mature enough to be happy for the bachelorette. Those farmers will not lose that money because of me.”

Taycee felt a moment of relief before the pain struck—the kind of pain that came from knowing she’d wounded someone who didn’t deserve it and couldn’t do anything to fix it. There was no antiseptic or Band Aids to slap on him, no words of comfort to offer, and no kiss to make it all better. All she could do was walk away and let it heal on its own.

She wanted to tell him thank you. That he was a good man. That even if things had worked out differently, she wouldn’t deserve him anyway. But all of it sounded so trite—words meant to heal but really only made it worse.

With a tug on the handle, she pushed open the door. Stepping out of the car, she gave him one last look that she hoped would convey her apologies and gratitude. Then she left to go find Miles.

* * *

Taycee closed her apartment door with a soft click and leaned back against it. Her head still throbbed and her body ached like she was coming down with the flu.

Her conversation with Miles had gone pretty much the same as it had with Jake, although Miles had tried to joke off the hurt and lighten the heady feeling in the room. But Taycee could still see the pain in his eyes.

With a sigh, she kicked one sandal off, and then the other. Forcing her feet forward, she headed for her room.

“Hey, sis.”

Taycee started as a dark shadow emerged from the kitchen holding a drink. A Diet Coke. Caleb took a swig before leaning against the doorway in the dim light. “About time you showed up,” he said.

Had it only been a few days ago that Caleb had dropped the news of his engagement? It seemed like years. What had been such earth-shattering news at the time was now a tiny weed in a meadow filled with Stinging Nettle.

Taycee walked around the couch and plopped down, too tired to remain standing. Her head fell forward in her hands. “I figured you’d gone back to California.”

“Not yet.”

“Where’d you stay last night?”

“Luke’s.”

“Oh.” The one person Taycee couldn’t stop thinking about. Why couldn’t Caleb have stayed at Luke’s another night? Why couldn’t he have already flown back to Phoenix. She wasn’t in the mood for another argument or to hear about yet another one of her many flaws. More than anything, she ached to be alone. To curl up on her bed in her favorite yoga pants and let the silence engulf her. “What do you want, Caleb?”

“To apologize.”

Taycee stilled at his words. Caleb was never serious. Even when he messed up, he always found a way to apologize in a teasing way, as though it would somehow speed up the process of things returning to “normal.”

She peeked at him, not quite sure how to take the sincerity.

He plopped down next to her. “Don’t be too shocked. Jenny told me I needed to say sorry and make it sound like I meant it.” He paused, and then quickly added, “Because I do.”

A laugh bubbled up inside of Taycee. The kind of frenzied laugh that coupled humor with a desperate need for release. It started off as a snicker and grew into a series of giggles.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry. I’m just loving the fact that there’s a girl out there who can say jump and you ask how high.”

“As if,” he scoffed. “I just thought she happened to be right about this. That’s all.”

The laughter died, and Taycee stared at her hands. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me before. I feel like I missed out on an important chunk of your life.”

Caleb leaned against the back of the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. “It wasn’t that big of a chunk actually. I’ve known her for a while, but we’ve only been going out a few months.”

Taycee twisted her head to study her brother. So much about him was still the same. His care-for-nothing appearance. His dry sense of humor. His laid-back attitude. But there was now a depth to him that she hadn’t noticed before. He’d grown up a little—not enough to change the things Taycee loved most about him—but enough to add a level of maturity that complimented him. Whoever this Jenny was, she’d been good for her brother. That much was obvious.

“I want to meet her,” Taycee said.

“Why? So you can tell her she’s making a big mistake? I don’t think so.”

A smile found its way to her mouth as she scooted over and laid her head on Caleb’s shoulder. “No. So I can thank her.”

“Thank her?”

“For being a good influence on you.” Taycee paused. “And okay. So maybe I do feel a duty to let her know what she’s getting herself into.”

Caleb’s arm locked around Taycee and a finger jabbed into her armpit, making her squeal. “Stop it!” Taycee cried between painful giggles.

“Take it back.”

“Okay, okay, I take it back.” There was nothing worse than being tickled by Caleb, especially since he wouldn’t stop until she finally did as he asked.

He let her go. “Don’t ever forget that I will always be your big brother.”

Taycee poked him in the stomach that had softened a little over the years. “Big is right.”

“You’re asking for it.”

“I know, I know.” Once again, her head dropped to his shoulder as she fought to keep her eyes open. Her body had never felt so tired. So devoid of energy.

“So how’s Shelter’s bachelorette?” Caleb asked. It was like he’d read her mind and asked the worst possible question he could have asked.

Taycee groaned. “Let’s just say I’ve made a mess of everything and leave it at that.”

“How?”

“Don’t you understand what ‘leave it at that’ means?”

Caleb’s arm came around her once more, this time in a side-hug. “Sounds like someone has some splainin’ to do.”

The last thing Taycee wanted was to relive the night all over again. “No. If I tell you, you’re just going to do your best Dad rendition and say, ‘Don’t you know that honesty’s the best policy?’ and make me wish I’d never told you. So no, I’m not going to explain anything.”

“Hmm… Taycee Emerson actually lied?” Caleb grinned. “I don’t believe it. What could you have possibly lied about?”

“It’s more about what I didn’t say than what I did.”

Caleb laughed. “And what, exactly, didn’t you say?” He made her sound like a drama queen who was freaking out over a little white lie.

Taycee succumbed to the bait. “Only that I fell for a bachelor who got voted off weeks ago while still dating the remaining bachelors, even though I had no intention of ever getting serious with any of them.”

A grin spread across Caleb’s face as he pumped his fist in a triumphant gesture. “It’s Luke, isn’t it? I knew it!” When he caught Taycee glaring, the grin left his face and he quickly lowered his hand. Then he shrugged. “So why not tell the truth now? Maybe if you fess up and explain what really happened, people might actually understand. Okay, so maybe not the bachelors that you’ve been stringing along, but the viewers might.”

“Might?” Taycee muttered. “There’s some encouragement for you. Sure, I’ll just march into that interview and say, ‘Hey, sorry I lied to everyone, but the truth is I’ve actually been in love with my brother’s best friend for years, and now that he’s back and finally paying attention to me, I really don’t care about the show or the rest of the bachelors anymore. But we still need your money, so please vote anyway, even though whoever wins really isn’t going to win anything.”

“Seriously?” Caleb asked. “You’ve liked Luke all this time?”

Taycee’s eyes closed. Out of all that, Caleb would zero in on that one little bit. She blamed her exhaustion on her slip-up. Why did he have to be such a lawyer anyway—always pressing for answers in a way that made people blurt them out? “What am I going to do, Caleb? Even the truth won’t make it okay. People are calling the show a fraud and asking for their money back.”

Caleb gave her shoulder a pat. “Stop beating yourself up about it and just explain to everyone what really happened. That’s all they really want anyway. A good, solid reason for your actions. Make them understand why you did what you did and things will work out fine. You’ll see.”

No, she didn’t see—especially not when it came to Luke.

“I messed up with Luke, too,” Taycee admitted, knowing that was the biggest reason for her misery. More than anyone else, she needed Luke to listen, to understand, and to forgive.

“I’m beginning to feel like a broken record,” Caleb grumbled, “so I’ll say this one more time and never again. Explain. And. Things. Will. Be. Fine.”

If only it could be that easy.

Chapter Thirty-eight

On the set of Wake Up Denver, Michael Roik leaned forward in his comfortable leather armchair. “So, Taycee, what’s it like going from the beloved bachelorette saving her town, to someone who manipulated the viewers by pretending to be something she’s not?”

Only an hour earlier, Taycee had walked into the studio with some serious trepidation. She’d been interviewed by news stations before, but this was different. It had a much larger audience and felt more intimidating. Now, however, only ten minutes into the interview, her trepidation had been replaced with anger. Michael had done nothing but attack her character and belittle Shelter Springs.

“What did I pretend to be exactly?” she asked, her voice hard.

“Available.” The way he said it made it sound like she was an idiot for not knowing that.

“But I was available.”

Michael settled back in his seat with a seedy smile. “Let me tell you how this looks to the rest of us since you can’t seem to grasp the implications.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say—”

“Twenty bachelors were initially chosen, but a couple weeks before it began there was a last minute add-on. A bachelor from Shelter Springs, of all places. And, according to several reliable sources, you were the one who made that suggestion. Is that correct?”

Taycee shifted in her seat. Okay, so maybe it did look bad. “Yes, but—”

“Here’s what people are saying,” Michael said. “That you had feelings for Luke and possibly a relationship going on before the show started, so it made sense to add him as one of the bachelors.” He leaned forward. “But when he got voted off, that put a kink in your plans, didn’t it?”

Michael knew nothing. All he cared about was showcasing Taycee and Shelter Springs in the worst possible light. He was on a mission to uncover some nasty, manipulative person, and nothing she could say or do would change that, especially since he wouldn’t let her get a word in edgewise. “You’re wrong. I never—”

Michael held up a hand. With his horrid triumphant smile still in place, he faced the camera. “As you all know, the two remaining bachelors, Jake Sanford and Miles Romney, have agreed to join us today.”

Taycee lifted her eyes as Jake and Miles sauntered onto the set. Jake, with his confident air, and Miles, with his black cowboy hat and boyish grin. She hadn’t spoken to either of them since the night she and Jessa had attempted to right a wrong. But here they both were, as promised. Would they really be supportive runners-up, or would it now be three against one?

Miles pulled her up into a big bear hug, saying, “Don’t worry, we got your back,” and then Jake followed suit. He reached for her hand and held it in his as they sat down—Miles on one side, Jake on the other.

Michael cleared his throat, his squinty eyes absorbing the affection. “Welcome, gentlemen. Glad you could make it.”

Jake nodded. Miles said nothing.

Michael crossed one leg over the other. “Miles, let’s start with you. How do you feel about the recent turn of events regarding Luke Carney and Taycee Emerson?

Miles caught Taycee’s eye for a moment before returning his attention to Michael. “I feel about how anyone else would feel if a girl they liked had eyes for someone else. It’s a blow, but that’s life for you. Feelings aren’t always mutual, so when they go south, ya gotta accept it and move on.”

Michael turned to Jake. “What about you, Jake? From what I can tell after reading all the comments, you were the clear favorite. Any thoughts?”

Jake shrugged. “I have to agree with Miles on this one. Of course it was a disappointment, but Taycee found a better fit for her with one of the other bachelors, and that’s that.”

“Yes, but how do you feel knowing you really had no chance to begin with?” Michael prodded. “Especially after all the time and money you sacrificed to be on this show? You’ve got to be a little miffed by that.”

Jake shrugged. “I might be if I actually believed it.”

“What do you mean?”

Jake leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, relinquishing Taycee’s hand. “Taycee may have had feelings for Luke before this all started, but I had a chance to change her mind. Each of us bachelors did. If any of us had been a better fit then those feelings would have changed. Happens all the time, actually. But it didn’t with her, which also happens. It’s the ups and downs of dating. It’s life.”

Apparently Michael didn’t like that answer because he frowned. “You’re telling me that you don’t you think it was wrong for Taycee to become the bachelorette when she already had a bias or preference for one of the bachelors?”

“They weren’t dating at the time the show began.”

“How can you be sure they weren’t dating?”

“Call me naïve, but I believe Taycee. Besides, Luke had been gone for a decade and had only just moved back to town.”

“You’re pretty loyal for a guy who’s just been played.”

Jake shot Taycee a look before answering. “I’ll be honest. I was pretty upset at first. But when I heard her side of the story and gave it some thought, I started to wonder how I would have reacted in the same situation. I mean, this wasn’t just a show about finding love, it was about saving farms and homes and people’s livelihoods. If there hadn’t been so much on the line, I’m positive Taycee would have dropped out the second her relationship with Luke started to get serious.”

“I’ll second that,” Miles agreed.

Taycee’s fingers fiddled in her lap. As horrible as the interview had begun, Jake’s words soaked into the hole in her heart, repairing it a little. If anyone had a right to be angry or feel duped, it was Jake and Miles. And yet here they were, going to bat for her against the mean-spirited Michael Roik. She didn’t deserve it.

Michael shifted in his seat and flashed a meaningful look to a guy standing near a large camera. “It’s time for a short commercial break. We’ll be back in a moment.” When they were off the air, Michael rose and strode away.

As soon as he was gone, Taycee said, “Thank you. Both of you.”

“Where’s Luke?” Miles asked. “If anyone should be here, it should be him.”

Miles’s words were a depressing reminder that Luke still hadn’t called her back. It had been two days now. Two very long days. He didn’t answer her calls, didn’t respond to her texts, didn’t answer his door when she pounded. Where was he? Was he planning to leave Shelter? Had he already gone? Would he ever give her a chance to fully explain?

Taycee let out a breath. “I haven’t heard from him since Saturday night. He saw the final episode of the show and was pretty upset with me.”

Jake actually smiled. “I guess I can understand that. That was quite the kiss.”

Taycee cringed. She didn’t feel up to discussing this right now—especially not with Jake and Miles. “Well, thanks for standing up for me. It means a lot that you’re both here.”

Jake caught her eyes before turning back to face the empty armchair in front of them. “You know he’s only using this time to regroup don’t you? In another minute or so it’s back to the firing range with a freshly loaded automatic.”

Taycee clasped her fingers together and sat up straight. “Suddenly, I don’t care anymore. Bring it on, Wake Up Denver.”

But the truth was, Taycee did care. Too much. When Michael returned and asked if the donated money would be returned, and Jake said, “No, Taycee didn’t do anything wrong and the town needs the money,” it opened up an entire new slew of questions and accusations. Taycee was able to keep her chin up and her claws to herself, but only because Jake and Miles deflected the majority of the bullets.

Or at least tried to. In reality, the shots found their mark. Each one cut in a little deeper, pierced her soul a little harder. By the time it was finally over, Taycee was more than ready to put it all behind her and get away from the horrible Michael Roik. She’d come to the interview ready to explain and apologize to the viewers, but she never had the chance. What did this mean for the town? Would people still vote, even after all that had happened? Or would they still insist on getting their money back?

After it was all over, Taycee found Miles by the lockers in the back. She gave him a long hug goodbye. “Thank you, Miles. For everything. There are amazing things in store for you, I know it.”

Miles’s hands trailed down her arms. “It was great seeing you one last time, but I’ve gotta head back and get myself ready for a rodeo next week.”

“I hope you win.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that would sure be awesome.”

“Good luck to you.”

His finger grazed her chin. “Chin up. Everything is going to work out just fine.”

“I hope you’re right.”

One last hug and Miles walked out the door. Jake was nowhere in sight, so Taycee grabbed her purse from a nearby locker and headed out the back door and into the bright, sunny Denver morning.

“Taycee, wait up,” Jake called from behind.

Taycee stopped and turned around. “I thought you’d already gone.”

“I had to sneak away to take a quick phone call.”

“Oh. Well, good,” said Taycee. “I want to thank you again. You didn’t have to come here today and take my side, and yet you did.”

Jake nodded. “You still look worried.”

He was far too perceptive. “Probably because I am worried. I feel like a failure. He didn’t even give me a chance to explain, which was the main reason I showed up here today.”

Jake leaned against his car. “Oh, I don’t think Shelter’s going anywhere anytime soon. As warped as it is, people love a good drama, and Miles and I were able to get in enough of an explanation that the viewers will understand. They might surprise you.”

Taycee let out a breath and folded her arms. “How can you be so nice to me? If I were you, I’d want to get as far away from me as I could.”

“Don’t think the idea hasn’t crossed my mind,” Jake joked. “But I’ve come to realize that maybe we aren’t the best fit after all, so maybe this is a good thing. While you’re content to live in the small town of Shelter Springs, I like the bustle of Sacramento and all the travelling I get to do. You like kite wars while I’m more of a symphony and Broadway type of guy. In the end, we’d probably drive each other nuts.”

Taycee touched his arm as she studied him. Tall. Smart. Good-looking. Heart of gold. A guy who’d won everyone over with his charm and genuine nature. He’d even given the farmers a bigger reason to hope.

“There’s someone way better for you out there, Jake, I know it. Someone who actually deserves you.”

“I’m sure there is.” Jake smiled, but it started and ended with his lips.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“And I’ll miss you.” He gave her a lingering look, and then dug into his pocket for his keys.

Taycee wanted to throw her arms around him for one last hug, just to show him how much his friendship meant to her. But she clasped her fingers together instead and forced her arms to remain by her side. It was time to let Jake go so that he could move on with his life.

Just like it was time for her to track down Luke so that she could move on with hers.

Chapter Thirty-nine

New message from Taycee:

Where are you, Luke? Please call me! We need to talk.

Luke’s thumb hovered over the reply button for a second, and then he deleted the message, just like he had the few others she’d sent before it. He wasn’t ready to open that door just yet—not while he was still in Ohio. It had been an exhausting few days, and he was emotionally spent. Watching a good friend get buried while his family stood by and sobbed wasn’t an experience he ever wanted to repeat.

Everything around him still felt subdued and gray, as though some of the life had been sucked out of the house. A wife was now without a husband, a daughter without a father, and two parents without a son.

Luke tossed his phone on the bed and grabbed his suitcase. He’d done as he promised. He’d given Madi a shoulder to cry on and had even said a few words at the funeral. But now it was time to go home and somehow find a way to shake off the heavy feeling that hung over him.

A light tap sounded at the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened. Madi took a few tentative steps inside, her long, curly strawberry blonde hair framing her face. Not many girls could pull off red, puffy eyes and still make it look attractive, especially with that hair color, but right now she looked vulnerable and beautiful. Luke wished he knew how to comfort her, but nothing he could say or do would make it all right. That was the crappy thing about loss.

“Packing?” she said.

Luke tossed a few shirts in his suitcase. “I’m booked on a flight tonight. I need to get back.”

She nodded and took another step forward, resting her hand on the bedpost. “You’re sure I can’t convince you to stay? Dad always wanted you to take over his practice, and we could really use your help.”

The words tugged on Luke’s conscience, making him feel even heavier. Ever since he’d arrived, Madi had been hinting about him staying around for a while—at least until they could find someone else to take over the practice. But Luke had to say no. He hated doing it, but staying here would only create more problems. Madi obviously wasn’t over him yet, and the last thing Luke wanted to do was give her false hope, which was exactly what he would be doing if he agreed to stay. Besides, he had his own problems and practice to worry about.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” Luke said. “I have a life back in Shelter now, and it’s time for me to get back to it.”

Madi studied him with a solemn expression as her fingers tapped against the bedpost. “Does she deserve you?”

Luke’s eyes shot to hers. This wasn’t exactly the conversation he wanted to have with his ex-fiancée, especially not after everything she’d been through. “What?”

“That bachelorette girl.”

Madi knew about that?

She shrugged and tried for a smile. “I saw the way you looked at her. And if that didn’t convince me, those pictures of you two kissing did.” Her head cocked to the side. “So, I’ll ask it again. Does she deserve you?”

Luke had no idea how to answer the question. What made one person deserve another, anyway? “She deserves to be happy,” he said. “Just like you do.”

“And you.”

Luke chuckled, more at the absurdity of the conversation than actual humor. “Yeah, well, a lot of people do I guess.” He gave her a wary look, thinking of her father. “But that doesn’t mean we always get to be happy, does it?”

A knowing sadness reflected in her eyes. “Right.” She took a step back, and her fingers clasped together. “Well, I’ll let you get back to packing. Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll give you a ride.”

“Thanks.”

She turned and walked to the door, her hand resting on the doorknob as she looked back at him. “I hope you find happiness, Luke. Wherever that is.” Then she opened the door and left.

Luke tossed a pair of shoes in his bag, and then sat down on the bed. Happiness. His parents had always taught him that he was responsible for his own happiness and to never put that burden on someone else’s shoulders. It was good advice, and for the most part, Luke had tried to do that. But now that Taycee had come back into his life, she’d somehow taken that happiness and made it bigger and better than ever before. She’d given him a taste of bliss. Misery, too. But mostly bliss.

It wasn’t something he wanted to give up.

Luke stood and shoved the rest of his stuff in the bag, his movements more purposeful. Then he slung it over his shoulder and walked out the door, shutting it and the reminder of his old life firmly behind him.

* * *

Taycee’s sparkly brown eye shadow fell to the floor with a clack, dusting her ceramic tiled bathroom floor with the fine powder. She frowned and kicked the container, creating an even bigger mess. Whatever. Better on the floor than highlighting her puffy, sleep-deprived eyes—something she blamed on Luke and his refusal to call her back. Where was he anyway?

In twenty minutes, Taycee was supposed to be at The Barn for her final interview. It was a day for celebration, yet her feet still dragged. Jake had been right about giving the viewers more credit. Ever since the interview with Michael Roik aired, the site’s traffic increased. Jessa had added Luke’s name to the final poll, and more people voted during the last round than any of the others. Why that was, Taycee had no idea, especially when the winner turned out to be Jake. Did it mean that people still hoped that Jake was still in the running? Hopefully not, because if they expected Taycee to proclaim her love for Jake, they’d be disappointed—not a reaction she wanted to deal with again.

Which was exactly why she took her time getting ready. Her cell phone rang at 6:30 on the nose, but she ignored it as she put a couple of eye drops in each eye, hoping it would help get the red out. Then she grabbed her purse and walked to The Barn. She needed fresh air to breathe and time to think.

“Hey,” Jessa said when she walked through the door. “Where have you been? I was getting worried.”

“Sorry I’m late,” said Taycee. “I needed some time to think before I do this.”

Jessa studied Taycee from under the rim of a black Colby cap. “You know you have nothing to worry about, right? Miles and Jake stood by your side when you needed it most. While I’m sure the viewers would love for you to say you’re falling for Jake rather than Luke, even if you don’t, it’s going to be fine.”

“Is it?” Taycee was thinking more about Luke than the show when she asked the question.

Jessa shrugged. “Think about it this way: The majority of our viewers are female, right? Since most of them are probably half in love with Jake anyway, they’ll be more than happy to find out he’s still available. So you’re really doing them all a favor by choosing Luke instead.”

Taycee tried for a smile, but it didn’t quite feel real. Yes, she chose Luke. Hands down, she chose Luke. But what if he didn’t choose her back? What if she blew her one and only chance with him?

Jessa grabbed Taycee’s elbow and pulled her toward the couch. “I’m willing to bet that someday we’ll look back on this and have ourselves a good laugh, especially when we tell our kids and grandkids about it.”

“That would require you finding a guy first,” Taycee said. “Settling down and all that.”

“I can settle down.”

Taycee laughed. “Just don’t try to be too efficient when you start looking. Learn from my mistake—and yours—and take it one guy at a time.”

That earned her a grin from Jessa. “See? We’re already cracking jokes.”

A deep breath in and Taycee took a seat next to a table holding a vase of beautiful white chrysanthemums—a flower arrangement she’d made herself. In the US, chrysanthemums were known as the positive and cheerful flower. In some countries of Europe and Asia, they were symbolic of death or grief. In others, they represented honesty. For Taycee, the bouquet typified her journey these past several weeks and now served as a reminder: To be strong. Honest. Real.

With any luck, maybe Luke would even watch. It would finally give her the chance to explain.

“And we’re on in three… two… one…” Burt pointed at them.

Jessa opened her mouth to ask the first question, but Taycee held up a hand. She faced the camera and lifted her chin. “This past week, I have been accused of several things: Dishonesty, deception, manipulation, leading people on, etc.” She paused. “In a way, you were right because I was never completely honest with you. But that’s going to change right now.”

Taycee’s fingers played in her lap, clasping, unclasping. Clasping, unclasping. “For me, this show has always been about Shelter Springs, rather than the people it was supposed to be about: me and the bachelors. If I could rewind the past several weeks and do things differently, I would. I would treat the show, you viewers, and the bachelors with the respect that you deserve.”

A cream linen envelope lay next to the bouquet on the table by Taycee. She picked it up and ran her finger along the crisp edge. “Many of you have voted for your favorite bachelor tonight, and the winner’s name is in this envelope. Throughout this entire contest, you guys have chosen well for me because Jake and Miles are two of the best men I have ever known.” Taycee paused. “But so is someone else—someone who you voted off a couple of weeks ago because of something I orchestrated. The truth is, Luke Carney is not a player. Far from it, actually. He’s the best kind of person there is.

“I’ve read some of the less-than-flattering comments people have posted about Luke, and I want you all to know that you couldn’t be more wrong about him. I was the one who asked Missy to make him look bad so you’d vote him off. Like so many of my other choices these past several weeks, I let fear drive that decision. I had feelings for Luke and never imagined that he could ever return them, so I wanted him off. In so doing, I kept all of you from getting to know what an amazing person he is. Luke is kind, good, smart, funny, and truly exceptional. Had I stayed out of it and let you get to know him, I’m certain you would have chosen him for me in the end, because there really is no one else for me.”

Taycee’s hands clamped down over the top of the envelope, trapping it under her fingers. “It doesn’t really matter whose name is in this envelope, because tonight I’m doing something I should have done all along. I’m making my own choice—a choice that will always be Luke Carney.”

The silence that followed landed like a heavy weight on Taycee’s shoulders. Not even Jessa spoke. Taycee had said what she’d come to say, but it still felt so unfinished, as if she hadn’t said enough, apologized enough, defended Luke enough, or set things right enough.

But maybe that was the point. No matter how hard a person tried to make things right, sometimes it never was enough. That’s what forgiveness was for.

With slow movements, Taycee gave the envelope one last pat. Then she stood and walked out the door, back into the night.

Chapter Forty

It was late by the time Taycee made it back to her house. She had no idea how long she walked, only that her feet ached and she still didn’t feel any better. Only tired. Which was good, she supposed. Maybe she could at least get some sleep tonight.

“Hey,” a voice said, making Taycee jump. Jessa sat under the cover of darkness on the top porch step. Her hand patted the empty concrete next to her.

“Hey yourself.” Taycee plopped down and rested her head on Jessa’s shoulder.

“You did good tonight,” said Jessa. “But you weren’t completely honest with everyone.”

Taycee lifted her head. “What do you mean?”

“You took all the blame for what happened, when it was mostly my fault. I was the one who coerced you into doing the show, I was the one who told you to up the romance factor, and I was the one who told you to bury your relationship with Luke to finish it.”

Taycee’s lips lifted into a small smile. That admission was big for Jessa. “I could have told you no.”

“I know. But you didn’t because you’re a better person than me.” Jessa’s sandal tapped against the concrete step.

Taycee yawned, unable to fight the exhaustion anymore. “I wasn’t right for the job, Jess. You can see that now, right?”

“No,” Jessa said. “You were perfect for the job. If Luke had won instead of Jake, everything would have ended as it should.”

The warm humid night air seemed to mix with Jessa’s words and seep into Taycee, easing some of the ache she’d lived with for the past several days. Although things were far from great, it helped that Jessa was still here. Still her friend. “Or,” Taycee said. “If you’d been the bachelorette instead, things might have ended as it should, too.”

Silence. And then, “What?”

Taycee suppressed a laugh. It wasn’t often she surprised Jessa, and she loved it when she did. “I’m saying that maybe you and Jake would be a good fit, that’s all. You do think he’s handsome, rich, and charming.”

“I think that about a lot of guys.”

Taycee’s eyebrows rose.

“Well, okay,” Jessa said. “So maybe there aren’t a lot that fit into that category around here. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to fall for just anyone—least of all one of the bachelors on your dating show. I’m not that idiotic.”

“You keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.”

“I will,” said Jessa. “Despite everything, though, things still worked out. We raised enough money, and assuming everything goes smoothly, the farmers market will be open in two weeks. And, if they’re able to sell enough to pay off their loans, the majority of them plan to sign up with Jake’s company in the fall.”

“Glad to hear it.” Taycee smiled, nudging Jessa’s shoulder with her own. “Hey, mind if I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you still in Shelter Springs instead of out in the real world, making your splash? Because it would be huge. And beautiful. Like one of those cool fountain shows.” Please don’t say it’s because of me.

“I think you overestimate me.” Jessa’s sandal tapped against the concrete again, faster this time. “Honestly? I guess it’s because I lack the courage.”

“Please. You’re the most daring person I know.”

“It’s all an act.” Jessa’s hands clasped her knees as she leaned back and examined the sky. She rarely allowed her vulnerability to show, but now, right here, on this warm, clear night it was there in her big blue eyes.

What’s more, it looked good on her.

“Maybe you should ask Jake if his company has any openings,” Taycee said. It hurt to say the words, to make the suggestion that a life outside of Shelter Springs might be a better fit for her friend. She didn’t want to see Jessa go, just like she hadn’t wanted to see anyone else go. But go they did, and now they were better for it. Maybe Jessa would be better too.

A quiet chuckle sounded. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that. After the whole bachelorette fiasco, he’s sure to want to hire me.”

“He was actually really impressed with what you did,” said Taycee.

Jessa’s head shook again, but something shone in her eyes that wasn’t there before. Hope maybe. “No, if I’m going to venture out of here, I’m going to do it on my own—not that I wouldn’t mind living in Sacramento.”

Taycee grinned. “I’ve heard through the rumor mill that Jake isn’t leaving until tomorrow morning. According to Mary, he’s planning to grab some breakfast at the diner before heading out of town. You should, you know, drop by and say goodbye.”

“Maybe I will.” Jessa pursed her lips, and then cocked her head at Taycee. “And speaking of guys, heard anything from Luke?”

The mere mention of his name was all it took to suck the happy, light-heartedness away. “No. I’m worried he left town because I’ve tried everything. It’s like he gave up without a fight.” A thought Taycee hated voicing aloud because it sounded even more true. More real. The only possible conclusion.

“In that case, I think it’s time I give that boy a piece of my mind. In fact—

“No. You’ve done enough, thanks.”

Jessa’s finger poked Taycee’s shoulder. “You’re making it sound like I’d make it worse.”

“Because you would,” Taycee said. “You’d track him down, probably punch him, and then yell at him—assuming you can find him, that is. Good luck with that.”

“And you’re saying punching and yelling wouldn’t help?”

Taycee tried for a wry smile, but a yawn came out instead. “Just leave this one alone, okay?”

“Fine,” Jessa said. “But if he doesn’t show his face in the next day or two and beg you to take him back, I am going to track him down and then strangle him, okay?”

“Okay.” Taycee agreed. “I’ll even go with you.”

Chapter Forty-one

Luke tossed overnight bag on the couch, and then flung open his fridge. Nothing. Only sour milk and fuzzy cheese. He would have stopped by the diner on his way home if it hadn’t been closed. His flight had been delayed, and it was now after midnight, which meant he’d have to wait until morning before he could talk to Taycee.

He closed the door and sauntered over to the couch, dropping down beside his bag. His fingers raked through his hair as he glanced at his watch yet again.

His phone vibrated with a text, and Luke grabbed it from his pocket, hoping Taycee’s name would appear and that she was still awake. But it was only Caleb.

Idiot, where R you? If you don’t fix things w/ Tace soon, I might have to kill you. Or sue. So sick of hearing about it.

A second later, another text came.

If you haven’t seen her final interview, watch it. NOW. Idiot.

For the first time in days, Luke smiled. Really smiled. Forgetting his hunger pangs, he grabbed his laptop and pried it open. What final interview?

* * *

Jake’s Audi was still parked in front of the diner. Good. Before Jessa could talk herself out of it, she pulled open the door and walked in, head held high.

She clutched her purse and schooled her face into a surprised smile, but Jake was already talking to someone. Liza. She sat opposite him, leaning across the table with dreamy, flirty eyes.

Jessa made a beeline for the table and stopped beside it. “Hey, Liza. Long time no see.”

An annoyed glance darted Jessa’s way. “I just saw you the other day.”

“Oh, that’s right. My bad.” Jessa scrunched her face in a look of confusion. “Now, was that before or after you took those pictures of Luke and Taycee and emailed them to Babette?”

A flush crept over Liza’s face.

Jessa bit back a smile. “Yeah, probably not the smartest move to email them from your home computer since IP addresses can be traced. Jake, here, actually taught me that.”

The flush darkened as Liza quickly stood. Before she could escape, Jessa put a hand on her arm. “Tell you what, if you promise to start being prompt with Taycee’s orders from here on out, I’ll forget about the whole thing. If not, well, let’s just say that you’re not the only one who can spin news to the town gossip blog. Oh, and I’d love a Sprite.”

With a glare, Liza turned and left.

Problem solved.

Two problems, actually, because the seat opposite Jake was now vacant. Jessa slid right in. Jake looked amazing, as always, in a light blue polo with a navy stripe across his chest. It made his eyes look bluer than usual. “Fancy meeting you here. I figured you’d be long gone by now.”

Jake gave a wry smile. “There’s just something about Shelter that made me want to stay a little longer. And now I know why. I just got breakfast and a show. Nicely played.”

“I have my moments.

“Yes, you do.” His fingers fiddled with his drinking straw as he studied her.

“I’m actually glad I ran into you, Jake. I, uh, wanted to apologize. Again.”

An eyebrow raised in question.

“And to let you know that I was the one who convinced Taycee to continue with the show after things started to happen with Luke.” She paused, searching for the right words. “I’ve always had this issue with failure. As in, I don’t like it. At all.”

Jake chuckled. “Somehow, I already knew that. But no worries. We’re good.”

A glass of Sprite came between them, hitting the counter with a thunk. Jessa glanced up. “Thanks, Liza.”

“Don’t mention it,” Liza huffed before turning away.

Jake pointed at the Sprite. “You going to drink that?”

“It’s all yours.” Jessa slid the glass forward. “I only ordered it to tick her off.”

“I figured.” He took a swig of the drink before setting it back on the counter. “So I hear you’ve been given the ax.”

The joys of living in a small town. “Funny you should mention that. I actually got an email from the mayor this morning apologizing and saying the job’s still mine—if I want it.”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know.” Jessa rubbed at a sticker on her pink painted fingernail. She was officially at a crossroads in her life. She could either take the easy and predictable route or make a leap into the unknown. Whether it was her talk with Taycee or some deeply rooted need to have an adventure of her own, the latter suddenly didn’t seem as scary as it used to. “Shelter’s been good for me, but thanks to you and your family’s company, I’m not sure they need me anymore. It might be time to spread my wings.”

Jake took another long swig of the Sprite before setting it back on the counter. He reached for his wallet and pulled out some cash for a tip, along with a business card, which he tossed across the table. “If you ever think of venturing west—say Sacramento—give me a call. We could use someone like you on our team.”

Jessa fingered the card with both fear and excitement. Jake was giving her an opportunity to take a plunge and see if there really was life beyond Shelter Springs. Did she dare take it?

Jessa slid the card into her purse. “Thanks,” she said. “I might take you up on that.”

“I hope you do.” Jake stood, easing his tall frame out of the booth. “It was great meeting you, Jessa McCray.” He gave her one last smile before walking out the door.

As Jessa watched him drive away, a happy feeling surrounded her—the kind that comes when life gives you sweet, juicy strawberries rather than lemons. Maybe Taycee was right. Maybe it was time to see how big of a splash she really could make.

Chapter Forty-two

Taycee hugged on of her soft, ivory down pillows to her chest and stared at her bedroom ceiling.

It was over. Finally.

No more cameras, no more dating a bunch of guys, and no more pretending. Taycee could finally be herself again, whatever that meant. She didn’t really know anymore because it felt like something huge was missing from her life. Someone.

Taycee frowned—something she did every time she thought of Luke, which was often. If she kept it up, she’d probably etch permanent sad lines across her face. It had been five days since she’d walked away from him. Five days since she’d talked to him.

Five. Long. Miserable. Days.

No more. It was time to put an end to the misery. If Luke didn’t want to see or talk to her, that was his problem. Taycee refused to wallow any longer. It was a new beautiful day outside, and she planned to spend it doing whatever she wanted. Forget work. Forget responsibility. And most importantly, forget Luke. She’d earned a day of freedom.

Taycee rolled out of bed, took her time in the shower, and then slipped on some comfy yoga pants and a lime green T-shirt with the words, “Just how many frogs do I have to kiss?” scrawled across the front—a thank you gift from Jessa. She padded barefoot to her kitchen and rummaged through her pantry. Cornflakes? No. Popcorn? Yes. Taycee stuffed the package into the microwave.

Today was a day for celebrating the demise of Shelter’s Bachelorette. She would watch her favorite non-romantic movies. She would read her favorite non-romantic book. She would eat whatever she wanted. And she would not think of Luke.

The buttery smell of popcorn drifted into her nose, reminding her of a certain drive-in style date. Taycee frowned at the microwave. Okay, so maybe she wouldn’t eat anything she wanted.

She yanked on the handle and grabbed the steaming popcorn bag, playing Hot Potato with it as she carried it out to the trash. When she came back inside, the smell was still there, taunting her with images of Luke throwing popcorn at her while Sneakers played on the wall of the garage in front of them.

Argh.

With purposeful steps, Taycee opened all the windows in her house, even going so far as to place a box fan in the front window to help purge the room of that rich, popcorn smell.

Three raps sounded on the door in quick succession.

Taycee turned her frown on the door, not interested in talking to anyone—not even Jessa. Maybe if she didn’t answer, whoever it was would go away. She turned toward the kitchen.

“Taycee Lynne? You in there?” a muffled voice called through the door.

On second thought.

She rushed to the door and flung it open, revealing Luke with one hand planted firmly on her doorjamb as he leaned toward her, looking more delicious than any popcorn. Damp hair and all.

Taycee’s heart dropped to her toes, and she felt the crazy urge to beat him and kiss him at the same time. “Where have you been?” she blurted. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for days. Did you lose your phone or something? Because if you’ve been ignoring my calls on purpose, I’m going to… to…”

“You’re going to what?” His brown eyes smiled at her, making her heart beat double-time. He took a step toward her. “Punch me? Write me out of your will? Or were you planning to sic Missy on me again?”

She cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “All of the above.”

“Then you’d better get started because I didn’t lose my phone.”

“What?” Taycee suddenly felt like she really did want to punch him. Her fingers fisted at her side. “How could you? Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?”

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, nodding toward her front room. “What’s with the fan and open windows? You’re making your apartment hot and muggy.”

“I’m trying to get rid of the popcorn smell.” Taycee cringed after she’d said it. Seriously, who eats popcorn for breakfast? Someone who needs help, that’s who. “Stop trying to change the subject.”

Luke’s eyes shifted to the TV, featuring Men in Black. Yet another non-morning type thing to be doing. He probably wondered if she’d officially gone insane. “Why get rid of the popcorn smell if you’re watching a movie? I thought you loved popcorn.”

“I like to eat it, not smell it.” She waltzed over to the TV and flipped it off. “Are you going to tell me where you’ve been now? I don’t like being ignored.”

“I know.” He pushed away from the door and moved toward her.

Taycee held up a hand. “If you think I’m going to come running into your arms after you deliberately avoided me for five days with no explanation, you are one stick short of a bundle.”

Luke’s lips twitched as the usual teasing glint appeared in his eyes. “What makes you think that’s what I want?”

Of all the—Taycee’s foot stomped against the floor. “Luke Spencer Carney, you stop it right now! I am so not in the mood for this!”

“What are you in the mood for?” A lop-sided smile joined his teasing eyes as he moved toward her. “More popcorn?”

“No!”

“’Sneakers?’”

“No!”

Luke closed the distance between them. “Me?”

Without waiting for an answer, his mouth covered hers with a kiss that curled Taycee’s toes—another thing that didn’t usually happen at nine-o’clock in the morning. Her fingers somehow found their way to the back of his head, pulling him toward her. It had been too long since she’d kissed him, too long since she’d felt his arms around her.

Something that was all his fault.

The almost unbidden reminder took over, smothering the happy moment. She tried to shove it aside for later, but it pestered and nagged until she finally gave up and pushed him back.

“You can’t do that until you explain! And even then, maybe not.”

“Okay, okay, fine.” His hands travelled down her arms, stopping at her wrists. “If you have to know, I’ve been in Ohio. With my ex-fiancée.”

Taycee didn’t realize her jaw had dropped until his finger pushed it back into place. Was he joking? The teasing glint was still there, but she also heard an undercurrent of truth in his words. Which she didn’t like. At all. “Say what?”

Luke sighed. “Her father—my former boss and mentor—passed away a few days ago. I went out there for the funeral.”

“Oh,” Taycee said, feeling a mixture of relief and embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, Luke.”

“Me too.” His thumb traced along her jaw line. “His family asked me to stay to help out with his practice for a while.”

Taycee frowned. Awhile? What did that mean? As in more than a few days? She clamped her mouth shut because she knew whatever she said would be the wrong thing. Sorry, you can’t. No way. I forbid it. Better to bite the inside of her cheek instead.

His lips twitched as he watched her, like he knew exactly what she was thinking. ”I turned them down. I’m back for good.”

Taycee had heard those same words before, several weeks ago. At the time they’d nearly induced a panic attack, but not anymore. Now those words made her heart feel bigger somehow, more powerful and capable than ever before. Now they sounded fabulous.

Luke watched her face. Searching. Seeking. “Just out of curiosity, if I had said yes, would you have come with me?”

Those words, on the other hand, made Taycee’s heart stop. “Would you have asked me to go with you?”

“I would have wanted to.”

“Then I would have wanted to say yes.”

A slow smile stretched across his face. “Really? You who hates change?”

“Really.” Here, in Luke’s arms, change didn’t seem that scary anymore. In fact, it seemed downright exciting. It was a strange phenomenon, and yet not strange at the same time. Maybe Luke was the reason Taycee had been so attached to Shelter Springs in the first place. Maybe his memory had been what kept her here all these years, along with a deeply buried hope that someday he’d return.

And now that he had, home was no longer Shelter Springs, Colorado. Home was Luke.

Epilogue

Three Months Later

Taycee passed through security at the airport and scanned the throng of people milling about. When she finally spotted Luke, leaning against a pillar and looking around for her, a happy smile broke across her face. It had only been three days, but it felt like an eternity. 70 hours too long. Next time she’d make him come with her.

Luke’s eyes connected with hers, and a slow smile spread over his face. He pushed away from the pillar and made his way toward her. She quickened her steps and walked straight into his open arms, breathing in his familiar clean scent as he pulled her close.

“I missed you,” she murmured against his chest.

“Likewise.” He kissed her forehead, and then took her bag and slung it over his shoulder. His arm rested against the small of her back as he guided her toward the airport parking lot. “So, how does it feel to finally land your first big wedding gig?”

Taycee laughed. “Like nepotism. The only reason Caleb and Jenny want me to do their flowers is because I come with a family discount. I like her though. A lot. She’s perfect for my brother and will fit in great.”

”So you’re saying she’s stubborn, ornery when she doesn’t get fed, and has a police record?”

“No.” Taycee poked him in the ribs. “I’m saying she’s pretty awesome.”

“Oh, right. That too.”

Once inside Luke’s truck, Taycee scooted across the faded upholstery to the center, where she leaned against his shoulder and rested her hand on his knee. As they pulled from the parking garage, Luke said, “Since we’re already in Denver, I was thinking we could hit a movie tonight. What do you think?”

Not her first choice, since she’d rather snuggle up next to Luke on her comfy couch. “I think we should rent a movie, grab some take-out, and go back to my place.”

“But Doomsday isn’t out on video yet,” Luke said as he merged onto the freeway and headed toward downtown Denver. He’d been trying to get her to see that movie for the past month, and every time he asked, she refused. A movie about aliens and mass destruction wasn’t her type of thing. Not even close—as he knew full well.

“I told you to go to that stupid movie while I was gone,” Taycee complained.

“How do you know it’s stupid if you haven’t seen it?”

“The movie trailer.”

“You might like it, you know.”

“I really don’t think I will.”

“I think you will. C’mon, Taycee Lynne. For me? Please?”

Taycee hated it when he used her name against her, making it practically impossible to say no. “Fine,” she grumbled.

Luke laughed and squeezed her hand. “Relax, I was only joking. There’s actually this really cool little cinema that plays older movies.” He cast a quick glance her way and cocked an eyebrow. “Want to guess what’s showing tonight?”

“No way. Are you serious?” Sneakers hadn’t been that popular of a movie, at least not in comparison to shows like Titanic or Star Wars—movies that might draw a crowd. Seriously, who’d pay to see Sneakers?

Taycee and Luke, that’s who.

“I’m telling you, it’s providence,” said Luke. “We have to go.”

“Agreed.”

In no time at all, Luke pulled up to an old-style cinema. Sure enough, the word Sneakers was spelled out across a glowing white board in bold black letters. Taycee’s head shook at the sight. How did Luke even find this place?

Inside, the seats were shabby and worn, but the theater was clean—and empty. Were they early? “What time does it start?”

“Any minute now.” Luke eyed the dimly lit room. “Seriously, Robert Redford has to have more fans than just us.”

Taycee laughed as she led him to the center of the room. “I actually love the thought of having this place to ourselves. It’s cool. C’mon, let’s sit.” She tugged him down beside her, instantly annoyed by the armrest that separated them. Her fingers laced through his, and she laid her head on his shoulder.

A few minutes passed, and Luke’s foot began to tap against the carpeted floor. He shifted positions and glanced around, and then shifted and fidgeted yet again. It was almost comical sitting beside him, feeling each and every movement. What was he so anxious about?

When he started biting on a nail, Taycee said, “So… how about the weather, huh?’

Luke dropped his hand and eyed her with a look of confusion. “What?”

She grinned. “You’re acting like a teenager out on his first date. Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“Then relax, would you? You’re making me nervous.”

His foot stopped beating against the floor, but the second the lights dimmed, it started up again. Taycee bit back a laugh. What was up with him? Maybe he’d had too much caffeine.

The screen lit up and turned green as the opening bars of Taylor Swift’s “Love Story” floated through the theater. The words “A True Love Story” appeared.

Was this a preview? Taycee hoped so. She loved this song.

As the opening strains of the song filled the theatre, a picture appeared: Ten-year-old Taycee in pigtails, sitting on the back of a horse and clinging to Luke’s waist. Taycee gasped as her hand flew to her mouth. What in the world? Luke’s hand suddenly felt clammy in hers.

Another picture accompanied the lyrics, this time of Taycee, Caleb, and Luke hanging out at the swimming hole.

The song continued as picture after picture of young Taycee and Luke appeared on the screen. There she was, posing and pointing to her newly affixed braces. Then came Luke, straddling his old dirt bike. Taycee, sitting atop his shoulders after a big football game and holding his helmet high in the air. It was all there. Every single one of her favorite pictures—pictures she’d kept buried at the bottom of her pajama drawer.

Jessa.

As the song continued, the poster for “Shelter’s Bachelorette” appeared with Taycee’s glamorized face. Luke’s bachelor picture flew into the bottom corner of the screen, followed by more pictures and short video clips of the opening social and their one official date.

It was their story, Taycee and Luke’s. Tears stung her eyes, and she let them come, her hand still clinging to his. It was beautiful. Hands down the best movie she’d ever seen.

Taylor Swift’s voice faded out, and one last picture of Taycee and Luke appeared, huddled together at the concert at Red Rocks, along with the words, “It’s a love story, Taycee Lynne say yes.”

Her heart dropped to her feet as she blinked at the words, not daring to hope they meant what they could mean. The chair next to her squeaked as Luke slid to his knee and held out the most beautiful diamond ring she’d ever seen.

“I love you, Taycee Lynne,” Luke’s voice trembled slightly. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you in Shelter Springs or anywhere else you want to go. Please say you’ll marry me.”

More tears came. Not trusting herself to speak, Taycee stood and pulled him to his feet, throwing her arms around him and holding on as tight as she could.

“Is that a yes? Because you haven’t said anything,” Luke whispered in her ear, his warm breath sending a jolt of shivers down her spine.

“Yes,” she whispered back. Of course it was a yes.

“Would you mind saying that a little louder? I didn’t quite catch it, and this is kind of an important answer.”

“Yes!” Taycee choked out as she laughed and wiped at her eyes. She drew back far enough to see into his beautiful brown eyes—eyes she hoped would reappear in one of their future children.

“That’s my girl,” Luke said, just before his warm lips met hers. Taycee melted against him. A sensation unlike any she’d ever felt careened through her body. It felt like every moment, every memory, every look, every touch, collided into one massive explosion, erupting over her in waves of happiness.

When the pressure of his lips finally eased off, Luke’s forehead dropped to hers. He held the diamond ring between them. “Mind taking this off my hands?” he breathed. “I feel a little silly still holding it.”

Taycee nodded, and he slipped it onto her trembling finger while she sniffed and laughed simultaneously. She was officially engaged. To Luke. “I love it,” she said, her eyes finding his once more. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” A hint of a smile touched his lips. Luke gave her hand a gentle tug, cocking his head toward the exit. “What do you say we get out of here?”

“Sounds good to me.”

They trotted down the steps and walked hand-in-hand out the door and back to his beat-up truck. As she sat on the cracked and faded upholstery, she watched as he jiggled his keys and walked around to the other side. His easy, confident stride, his broad shoulders, those rich brown eyes.

All hers.

Five months ago if anyone had predicted this day would come, Taycee would have told them they were bonkers. No way would Luke ever move back. No way would she be the bachelorette and he the bachelor on some silly reality dating show. No way would all of her failed attempts to keep her heart safe culminate into the one thing she never imagined possible: Marrying the guy who’d stolen her heart all those years before and had never given it back.

Turned out he didn’t have to.

Author’s Note

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for carving time out of your life to read one of my books. I hope it took you out of reality for awhile and into a world of escape and rejuvenation because everyone deserves that once in awhile.

If you enjoyed this book and would like to be notified of new releases, fill out my New Release Form.

I’d also love a review from you on Goodreads or Amazon or wherever else you’d be willing to post one. Word of mouth is the best kind of advertising there is, and I could really use your help to get the word out.

You can find me at RachaelReneeAnderson.com.

Thanks again, and happy reading!

Rachael

Other Works by Rachael Anderson

Novels

Working it Out

Divinely Designed

Luck of the Draw

Minor Adjustments

Anthologies

All I Want: Three Holiday Romances

The Timeless Romance Anthology: Summer Wedding Collection

Coming soon

Righting a Wrong (A Ripple Effects Romance Novella)

Prejudice Meets Pride

About Rachael Anderson

Rachael Anderson is the author of four published books: Divinely Designed, Luck of the Draw, Minor Adjustments, and The Reluctant Bachelorette. She’s the mother of four and is pretty good at breaking up fights, or at least sending guilty parties to their rooms. She can’t sing, doesn’t dance, and despises tragedies. But she recently figured out how yeast works and can now make homemade bread, which she is really good at eating. You can find her online at RachaelReneeAnderson.com.

Acknowledgments

There are so many people who have helped me with this book. A big thanks to Wall-to-Wall Books for giving Shelter Springs its name. Buried in Books, for inspiring Sterling’s character. Kraig and Nancy, for your hilarious dating stories. Shauna, for sharing your clever and creative brain. And Rachel, for your keen eye and willingness to proofread this book.

To Valorie, Letha, Shelly, Sarah, Lucy, and Cora—the best sisters in the world—for your listening ears, brilliant imaginations, willingness to read my earlier manuscripts, and encouragement. I love you all.

To Braden and Rebecca, you guys rock. I couldn’t ask for better critique partners or friends. Thank you for your honesty, your invaluable help, and for being so willing to share your talents with me.

Lastly, to my sweet kids for allowing me the time to write and for wanting to read my books, and to my husband, Jeff, for your love, support, patience, and for picking up the slack when I fall short. I love you.

Pride and Precipitation

Chick Flick Clique Romantic Comedy Novella #1

by Heather Horrocks

To all my girlfriends—past, present, and future—
for lightening my load along life’s rocky path.

Best friends. Writing friends. Sister friends.

Faux sister friends. Sister-in-law friends.

Gang of Five friends. Church friends. Neighbor friends.

You are sisters of my heart and all of you, together,
have made all the difference in getting me to this point in my life safe and sound.

Thank you.

And to Mark, who has never been a girlfriend to me

(though he is my best friend).

Chapter One

Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather. —John Ruskin

Monday, April 1

“Mom, Dad, I have something important to tell you.” Breezy Jones sucked in a deep breath as she stood on her higher-than-comfortable heels and straightened her skirt. She had to act casual or she couldn’t pull this off.

On Breezy’s left, her mother looked up from loading the dishwasher and, at the far end of the breakfast nook table, her father lowered his newspaper. He had an iPad, but would doubtless cling to his daily print newspaper right up until the day they stopped delivering, probably because it looked silly to hide behind an iPad.

“Have a seat, Mom.” Breezy bit the inside of her lip. “You’ll need it.”

Her mother circled the counter and sat next to her father, and both watched Breezy expectantly. They made such an adorable pair. Her big, strong, silver-haired, handsome father and her petite, cute-as-a-button, flibbertigibbet blonde mother. Apparently opposites did attract.

“I don’t know how to say this other than to just say it.” Breezy sighed dramatically, and then lowered the April Fool’s boom. “I got fired from the station.”

Other than her mother’s ferocious gasp as she placed her hand to her heart, the kitchen was silent. Her father tipped his head and studied her.

It only took a moment for her mother to recover her voice and jump up from the table. With a worried look, she said, “Breanne, you cannot have been fired. Everyone loves you at the station. Your ratings are high. Your forecasts are accurate. What on earth would they fire you for? This has got to be a horrible misunderstanding.” She looked over at her husband, who set the newspaper on his lap. “Your father will go to the station with you and straighten this out. Tell her you will, Arthur.”

Before her father could say anything, her mother whirled back around. “This is awful. You’ll be ruined. Your career could be over before it’s even begun.”

Her father adjusted his glasses, smiled gently, and drew in a deep breath. “It’s April Fool’s Day, Emily.” He winked at Breezy, who couldn’t resist smiling back.

Her mother looked at her husband, then at Breezy. She narrowed her eyes. “I do not appreciate this at all, Breanne Jones.”

Breezy laughed as her smiling father ducked behind the newspaper again. “It is April Fool’s Day, after all, Mom, and I figured you must have already gotten a call from Kendra saying her house had been struck by a hurricane or something.”

“No. Your sister has not called to give me any heart attacks today.”

“The day’s still young,” Dad said, newspaper still in front of his face.

“I’m sure I’ve aged ten years from the shock.” Shaking her finger at her daughter, Breezy’s mother said, “Don’t do that to me, Breezy. I mean it. My heart can’t take it.”

“Okay. I won’t do it again.” Breezy wrapped an arm around her mother’s shoulders. “I almost told you I was pregnant, but I didn’t think you would find that very funny.”

“I didn’t think this was funny.” Her mother frowned. “And you’re not even dating anyone. Heaven knows I wish you were, and you know how much I want grandchildren, but I’m glad you know you’ve got to have a husband first.”

Breezy squeezed her mother’s shoulders and stepped over to the table, moving the bowl of strawberries to the counter. “That’s the general idea.”

Her mother touched her arm. “After you’re married, Dear. Then you can announce you’re pregnant.”

“Call us from the honeymoon suite to announce it, Breezy.” Dad’s voice floated over the weather section. “That would thrill your mother.”

“The thought of a marriage would thrill me. When are you going to start dating again, Breezy? You and Kendra are twenty-eight and thirty. Your eggs are probably drying up as we speak. Can’t you hear your biological clock ticking? Because I can.”

“The only thing Breezy hears is the weather.”

Now that was true. And Dad should know. They were kindred spirits.

“Look who’s talking,” Mom said. “Weatherman for thirty years.”

“And retired just in time to pass the mantle on to my daughter.” Dad looked over the paper again, fondness in his eyes. “How are things going at the station?”

“Wonderful.” Breezy laughed. “Though there are a few changes I’d like to make. Shake things up a bit.”

Dad laughed. “Good luck with that bunch in management.”

“Change can be hard.” Her mother put the strawberries into a container, snapped on the lid, and placed it in the fridge.

“Change can be good, too.” Dad shrugged. “But, like I always say, If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

“Wait a minute. I just had a wonderful idea.” Her mother’s face lit up with excitement.

Oh, no. Not again. Her mother’s wonderful ideas usually involved men and matchmaking.

“I’m going to invite a man over to dinner next Sunday.”

Breezy groaned. “Mom, no dates.” Though she wasn’t opposed to dating, per se, she did object to the men her mother lined her up with.

“But now you’re out of graduate school, you have time to date again. I’m going to invite over two men. And I’ll get your sister over here, too. You can both come early and I’ll give you lessons in how to flirt. I’m tired of waiting around for you late bloomers. Then when I line you up for blind dates, you’ll get a second date.”

“No date! But I could totally ace Eyelash Batting 101.”

“Mock me all you want. Your father loves it when I bat my eyelashes.”

Her father lowered his paper and smiled his gentle smile again. “It’s true. I do.”

Her mother sighed. “Speaking of batting your eyelashes, I hear Andrew’s back in town for a visit.”

Andrew North? “That’s really nice, Mom. Thanks for letting me know the man who dumped me two years ago is back in the vicinity.”

“Forewarned is forearmed.” Her father turned another page. “Like receiving a tornado warning in time to board up the windows..”

The last thing she wanted to deal with was her ex-boyfriend showing back up in town. Everyone had thought for sure they’d get married, but Andrew had bigger plans. He’d left Breezy, not for a racier woman, but for a racier city. Los Angeles, to be exact. If he was in town, she was sure it was only for a brief visit and then he’d be back out looking for the thrills that small-town Aspen Grove, California, could never provide for him.

Dad was right. Forewarned was forearmed. Now she was ready so she wouldn’t make a fool of herself if she ran into him. But she would try very hard to not run into him at all until he went back to big old LA.

Her mother tilted her head in thought. “I know. I’ll invite Andrew over.”

“Don’t you dare, Mom! I mean it! That is so over.”

Her mother sighed. “Sometimes all someone needs is a second chance. And you should do good to everyone.”

Breezy pointed her finger at her mother. “If you do, I will walk right back out the door.”

“Oh, you will not.” Her mother shot her an appraising look. “You will sit down and visit with the man while he’s here.”

Her father said, “Any man who passed up our daughter has mush for brains.”

When Breezy’s cell phone chirped to tell her it was time to leave for work, she pulled it out and turned off the timer. “Thanks for a delicious lunch, Mom. Love you both. This is much better than going to my house for a lunch all by myself.”

She pulled first her mother and then her father into a hug.

“Love you, too, Sweetie.” Her father gave her an extra squeeze, then held her suit jacket while she slipped her arms in.

She fastened the three buttons. “Time to get to the station.” She picked up her purse, glad to get away from threats of old boyfriends being invited to Sunday dinner and excited to get to the weather.

“What is the forecast for this week, anyway?” asked her mother. “I haven’t heard yet.”

Dad shrugged again, said, “With Breezy, it’s always sunny,” and disappeared behind his paper.

Her mother said, “I hope there’s a date in Breezy’s forecast.”

* * *

“The sun is shining outside. How long is this beautiful extra-warm spring weather going to last, Breezy?” Paul Nelson, the 6:00 news anchorman, motioned to her from the far end of the anchor desk. Still suave at nearly sixty, his regular workouts—and tailored suit jacket—kept his love handles in check. He was ten years younger than her father and she’d known him forever. Breezy felt honored to work with such a professional—one who had also kept her supplied with coloring books and crayons when she was younger.

Breezy smiled brightly at the camera. “There’s a storm blowing in this evening, Paul. We should get a good watering for our plants with no worries about flooding.” She reached out and lifted her red ladybug umbrella above her head and danced a few steps. “So break out the umbrellas for any dancing in the rain you plan on doing. I forgot my tap shoes, but that doesn’t matter. And these unseasonable seventies temps will depart by Wednesday, taking us back to our average April sixties. And I’ll now dance right on out of here, tap shoes or not.”

Paul’s co-anchor, Maria Lopez, was seated between Paul and Breezy, right behind the front panel emblazoned with the station’s logo. Maria was a petite brunette whose sun-streaked hair was always perfectly coiffed. Her beige dress was short, her large belt tight, and her heels two inches higher than Breezy’s. But then everyone’s heels were higher than Breezy’s here at the station.

Paul and Maria smiled at her antics. For some reason, people liked her best when she was silly, so her weathercasts had an edge of silliness to them. It was her gig, she supposed.

Maria had a silky voice with just the slightest accent. “We’ll have the full weather forecast right after this commercial break.”

As they went off air, Breezy rolled her shoulders, loosening up. The silliness hid the nervous excitement she always felt when on-air. Only after she left the studio for the evening did she relax again. She was determined not to make a mistake, but occasionally they happened, and then she tried to fake her way right through them and make a silly joke.

She drew in a slow yoga breath to center herself.

Paul interrupted the centering. “Have you heard the news?”

“Everything you’ve reported so far.” Breezy shot him a quick smile.

“No, chica.” Maria shook her head. “The other news.”

Curious, Breezy said, “Apparently not. Tell me.”

Paul frowned and fiddled with his pen. “Rumor is the station’s been sold.”

Mason, the floor manager, repositioned one of the cameras and said, “Ah, man. They never tell me anything. I’ll be the last one to hear, and the first one let go.”

“We may all be let go.” Paul frowned. “And I bet you’ll hear it all through the station by the time this broadcast is over.”

“It’s April Fool’s Day.” Breezy laughed, remembering her mother’s reaction earlier. “It’s probably somebody’s idea of a joke.”

Mason began counting down the seconds aloud.

“Later.” Paul straightened his suit jacket.

Picking up the mirror they kept around for this purpose, Maria fluffed her shiny hair with her fingers and then hid the mirror.

Breezy wove her way through the three large cameras and accompanying cables to stand behind the counter in the alcove known as the Weather Center. Besides her and the two anchors and Mason, the only other person in the studio was Stacy, who managed the teleprompter feed, along with a few other duties. Their earpieces allowed the producer, sitting in the room behind the studio and watching the wall of monitors, to issue commands into their right ears, giving them instructions as he felt necessary.

The teleprompter feeds showed on numerous monitors in strategic places all around the studio, but Breezy rarely used them. She knew the weather inside and out, and the time spent when she first arrived preparing the forecast gave her all the information she needed. She could see the map in her head, the movement of the clouds, the cold fronts—all the lovely elements that made up the weather.

She did, however, make use of the three monitors hanging around the green screen—one on the camera in front, and one to each side of the screen—to keep track of the graphics created by her weather producer, Fiona Hughes. The monitors helped Breezy see where she was pointing on the green screen.

At three seconds, Mason counted off with his fingers. The KWAC logo flashed on the monitors to the sound of the station theme, and Mason signaled Paul to begin.

Paul smiled brightly and modulated his deep, resonating voice. “We have a story that could have had a tragic ending were it not for a Good Samaritan passing by. A little Maltese dog got free from its owner’s car and was actually crossing the freeway. A motorist stopped and rescued it and another eyewitness caught it on film. Here’s the footage now.”

As soon as the dog—frantically dodging speeding cars—appeared on the monitor, she heard, “Now watch the blue Honda. The driver pulls over and gets out. Putting his own life at risk, he runs out and pulls the little dog to safety.”

Breezy and Maria ahhed instinctively over the brave act, as the little dog was pulled to safety. She loved stories with happy endings. Even Paul made a soft sound and said, “That’s what I like to see. A real-life hero.”

Mason signaled that they were going on-air again. Back to Paul, who said, “I love a hero. What a wonderful story.”

“Makes my heart feel good.” Maria motioned toward Breezy. “And now, let’s go to Breezy Jones for a weather update.”

Breezy smiled, stood as straight as she could, sucked in her stomach, and did her thing. She told viewers the temperatures to watch for and reminded them to pull out their umbrellas if they were going out that evening. After her allotted two minutes, she smiled and motioned to the desk. “Back to you, Paul and Maria.”

As they continued with the regular news, she slipped from the set. She walked down the hallway, crossing over to the area known as the Cave, where the weather people did their magic.

Even though it was only part of the ground floor, the rest of the News Department was immense. Low-walled cubicles filled the center space, giving seating and TV monitors to anchor people and other employees. Offices filled with people editing film lined one side, down to the large central command center along the back, and producers’ offices back up the right side. The fourth side was made up of the back of the studio.

The Cave fit into an alcove closer to the studio, a low counter forming the wall dividing it from the larger area. There was one opening to enter the rectangular work space. Multiple servers and monitors were spaced along the counters, and Fiona was seated at her computer creating graphics, her long, straight red hair caught up in a ponytail. Breezy envied her the straight part. Her own curled in an unruly fashion, which is why she either tamed it with a straightening iron and pulled it into a ponytail or kept it corralled in an old-fashioned French braid for her broadcasts.

As Breezy entered, Fiona turned and frowned. “People are saying the station has been sold.”

Breezy shook her head. “Just gossip.”

Chad Ivans, one of the advertising sales reps—single, likeable, and possibly the biggest gossip in the building—walked up to the Cave and leaned on the counter. He was somehow always one step ahead of everyone else, often spreading the truth, other times spreading something else entirely. And he sported a mini-fedora, the type that almost-cool people wore to look cool.

“Hi, ladies.” He lowered his voice. “Did you hear about the buyout?”

Breezy nodded as she checked her mirror for any errant curls. Not vanity. Normal TV station fussing. No one wanted to look anything less than their best while on-air, and she’d be in front of the green screen in just a few minutes. “I’m thinking it’s an April Fool’s joke.”

“No way. I was told by a reliable source...” Chad winked and went on, “...that the new general manager will be here in just a few days.”

For the first time, Breezy felt a tinge of worry. Could it be true? If so, why hadn’t anyone heard a hint about it before now? “Surely if the Quinn family had sold the station, they’d have told us. People have worked here for decades.”

Fiona leaned in closer. “What will happen to us?”

If the station had really exchanged hands, the new management would probably keep the employees in place. Maybe. At least for a while. If it had been sold. Pushing aside the worry, Breezy said, “We’re not going to lose our jobs. We do excellent, award-winning work.”

Fiona was glum. “That might not matter.”

“Look at it this way,” Breezy said. “If the station has been sold, it may be a change for the better.”

Fiona looked skeptical and Chad snorted. “Sure, Breezy. We all believe that.”

“And if the station hasn’t been sold, we don’t need to get upset.” Breezy smiled. “Now I’ve got to go. Got to hit the green screen.”

Chad rolled his eyes.

As she walked away, she heard him ask Fiona, “Does she ever think anything could turn out badly?”

Chapter Two

Don’t knock the weather. If it didn’t change once in a while, nine out of ten people couldn’t start a conversation. —Kin Hubbard

Thursday, April 4

Standing in his new office, Noah Drake adjusted his tie. He didn’t know why he still got nervous. He’d given this pep talk before at other stations.

He had two goals for today’s meeting with the employees of KWAC. He wanted to make them feel secure in their jobs and he wanted to give them a good first impression of himself as a boss they could approach with their concerns. Succeeding as the new general manager was his big chance to progress in the parent company, so he was going to do well. He planned to slick up this small town operation, raise the ratings, and move on to bigger and greener pastures.

But at the moment, he had a building full of people worried about what was going to happen now the station had been sold. He needed to calm them by letting them know that no one was going to lose their job and that he saw value in what they all did.

Noah stopped fiddling with his tie and leaned back against the edge of his new desk. “So, what do you think? Am I ready to face the troops?”

Gabe Weston, his Assistant Manager, frowned, studied him, then leaned over and flicked an imaginary piece of lint off the shoulder of Noah’s gray suit. Then he nodded. “Now you’re ready to be seen in public.”

“Oh, and now you’re an expert on fashion?”

Gabe motioned down to his own gray suit, nearly identical to Noah’s. “Why, yes. Yes, I am.”

At six feet two inches, Gabe was the same height as Noah, but sported a light blond soul patch. He was apparently attractive, if the ladies that flocked around him were any indication. And he did have a flair for fashion.

But any fashion sense he may have wasn’t why Noah had brought Gabe along with each promotion. It was Gabe’s ability to loosen him—and others—up. Noah knew he tended to stress obsessively and Gabe helped him keep his perspective. Gabe worked well with groups of people, staying outside of the emotions others could get caught in. “What do you think their response will be?” Noah asked.

“They’ll know soon enough that the last general manager no longer being here is part of the purchase agreement.” Gabe straightened his tie. “And since you’re telling them that their jobs are safe, I think they’ll respond just fine.”

“Think they’ll have heard of my stupid nickname?”

“Hope not, but news travels fast.” Gabe looked at his watch. “Come on, Doctor of Spin. Let’s go.”

Noah stood and couldn’t resist adjusting his tie again.

“It’s a millimeter off to the right,” Gabe teased.

Noah frowned at his friend.

Gabe put up his hands defensively as he grinned. “It’s your face that needs help. Maybe some botox around the eyes. Or just a little tightening around the chin. Or grow a soul patch like mine.”

Noah rolled his eyes. At thirty-four, he didn’t need fixing up. Not yet, even by LA standards. “Maybe I will fire someone today, after all.”

“Oh, I am so worried. You think you can run a station without my help?” Gabe chuckled evilly.

Noah smiled. He may threaten, but they both knew he wouldn’t follow through. He valued loyalty, efficiency, and the ability to stay centered, and those were three of Gabe’s strongest traits.

Noah followed his friend down the stairs and into the cavernous room that housed the News Department, where the employees had been told to gather. Everyone—those people standing around the periphery as well as those seated at the low-walled cubicles in the center of the huge room—stared at Noah and Gabe.

Noah nodded as he made his way up the aisle between the glass-lined offices on the left and the beehive of cubicles, complete with the buzzing of worker bees. As his gaze slid over the faces of his new employees, he saw fear and uncertainty. Except for one young lady, a really cute brunette in the center of the room whose face practically beamed and whose warm brown eyes caught his for a moment. She looked all of sixteen and he wondered what her job was. She had her hair woven around her head in what his ex-girlfriend used to call a French braid. If she was trying to look older, it wasn’t working.

When he started turning his head as he passed, Noah realized he was staring at her, and he pulled his gaze away.

At the front of the room, covering most of the wall, was the large command center. Elevated like a stage, a waist-high, semi-circular partition marked its curving boundaries, with a staircase opening in the middle.

Noah and Gabe took the three steps to the top, greeted and shook the hands of the three people who waited there, and then Noah turned to face the employees, who had shuffled over into a nervous, lightly buzzing clump. One man had stopped shuffling and stood a step behind the main crowd. Short and slender, dressed in jeans and a western-cut shirt, his stance was angry and his arms were crossed, and Noah hoped he wouldn’t be a problem.

Now it was show time.

Noah resisted the urge to touch his tie as he smiled at the worried people before him. “Good morning. I’m Noah Drake and I’m the new general manager. This is my assistant general manager, Gabe Weston. We wanted to call you all together to discuss the implications of the recent purchase of the station. I know you’re curious and concerned about the changes ahead, and I want to assure you, first and foremost, that your jobs are safe. The intent of this purchase was not to come in and destroy all the good things you’ve done during the years, but to build on them. I’m excited for the future and I hope to instill that same excitement into you.”

Stress still showed on most of the faces as they flicked their gazes back and forth between Gabe and Noah.

Noah continued. “Gabe and I have an open-door policy. If any of you have any concerns, at any time, please feel free to come speak with either of us. We want to get to know you all individually, so over the next two weeks, Gabe will arrange for each of you to come in and speak with us, one-on-one. We’d like to know your concerns. You people are the reason this station is great, and I’d like to hear any changes you think would make the station run even more smoothly.”

Some of them were starting to look relieved. Good. That’s why he was there. “Are there any questions I can answer for anyone right now?”

The man standing at the rear of the crowd raised his hand. “I have one.”

The room quieted as everyone turned to look at the man. Despite his angry tone, his face reddened and he seemed embarrassed by the attention.

Another man shook his head. A woman rolled her eyes. Someone murmured, “Ernest.”

Noah forced a warm smile. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s my understanding that at your last station you two had the nickname of the Firing Squad. Two questions for you: Is that true? And, if so, why are you really here?”

People turned back toward Noah. They weren’t hostile, but they weren’t as friendly as he would have hoped, either.

News certainly did travel fast. Unfortunately, Noah alone had been called a one-man Firing Squad. He had to let three people go at his last station and the angriest had given him the unflattering nickname. He didn’t believe in skirting issues, so he said, “It’s true. Someone with bitter feelings gave me that nickname. In the duties of my position, I have both pleasant and unpleasant responsibilities. I do what needs to be done for the good of the business, as well as for the good of the people who work there. But, as I said earlier, my intent at the present time is not to fire anyone, but to build on what is already here.”

The man who’d spoken out seemed relieved that the others were no longer looking at him. Noah would keep his eye on Ernest, but he suspected the man was just scared about his job, so he’d cut him some slack. “I want to reassure you that I will do everything in my power to keep things running smoothly and normally during the transition.”

Noah scanned the crowd. The pretty brunette caught his eye again and smiled at him. She looked familiar. He must have seen her picture on one of the employee lists, but obviously she was more eye-catching in person. He found himself smiling back and spoke to her. “I’m looking forward to speaking with each of you. Think about any questions or concerns you’d like to discuss with me and with Gabe. Now, I guess all I can tell you is, back to work. As they say: News at eleven.”

A smattering of applause went up, led by the cute young woman in the front row. He wondered again what her job entailed.

“Time for us to go to work, as well.” Gabe stepped down from the command center.

“Right.” Noah headed back down the aisle, nodding and smiling and shaking hands as he went.

As he turned the corner and jogged up the stairs back to his floor, he wished he felt better about the way things had gone. He’d like to lose that stupid nickname. He really didn’t want to fire anyone here, but he did have two major news players he was going to reassign, and he needed to spin it in such a way that they didn’t quit.

* * *

Wow.

Breezy followed the new general manager and assistant manager up the aisle. As they headed for the stairs back to their third-floor offices, she stepped into the Cave.

Double wow. She was still smiling.

Both men were attractive and, according to Chad, single.

But the one who’d caught her eye was Noah Drake. He was amazing. Swoon-worthy.

Looking at him gave her the same feeling she got watching a gorgeous sunset, or observing a building storm front, or forecasting the weather correctly. Total exhilaration. And his low voice had sent a tingle through her like a rumble of thunder.

And, not that it mattered, but it was nice that he had a steady job, unlike her previous surfer boyfriend and the substitute teacher she’d dated for a short while.

Best of all, he wanted to improve the station she had loved ever since her father brought her here as a child and showed her how he forecast the weather.

She’d never admit her attraction to this guy to her mother, who would make a huge deal out of it and embarrass her to death in front of others. She wouldn’t tell her sister, either, because Kendra could hardly relate to anything that wasn’t her art. She wouldn’t even tell her father. Not yet. She wanted to just feel the attraction and enjoy it for a few days, a secret delight like one of the single-serve Häagen-Dazs strawberry ice cream cups waiting for her in her freezer.

And he’d been staring at her! She didn’t want to read too much into that, but he’d been looking!

She hadn’t been interested in a man for over a year. She’d always been too fascinated with weather and working toward her double degrees and she hadn’t had time for much dating.

Most guys weren’t interested in the weather other than as a lame way to start a conversation. But she’d bet this guy would be plenty interested because the weather was part of the news. The most-watched part of the news, in fact. She was one of the highest paid news employees at the station because of it. Everyone wanted to know what the weather was going to bring. Weather was big news. Bad weather was even bigger news.

Noah Drake sounded like the perfect general manager: Someone who wanted to hear what the employees had to say. And Breezy definitely had ideas to share.

Breezy could hardly wait for her turn to speak with him. She’d love to get to know him better. She’d love to share her ideas for changes with him. She’d love to see if he was really as interesting as he seemed.

Surprising even herself, she decided she’d like a shot at this guy.

Chapter Three

Tut-tut, it looks like rain. —Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin

Tuesday, April 9

“Don’t joke about quitting, Chad. I mean it. It’s only been a week.” Breezy frowned at her co-worker from Sales. “None of us needs to look for other work. Periods of transition are always hard, but change can be good, too.” Echoes of her parents’ sentiments from last week.

Chad rolled his baby blues at her. “Breezy, how did you ever get to be twenty-eight and still be so freaking naive? There are going to be changes that are not so good, too. I’m just thinking it’s time to look at our options.”

“I’m nervous, too, but please don’t quit,” Breezy whispered. “At least not until after you’ve heard what they have to say. Just consider your visit a friendly little chat with the new boss.”

“It’s easier to find a new job while you’re still employed.” Chad took a deep dramatic breath. “But, fine. I’ll wait until next week to quit.”

“And you quit being so freaking negative. And melodramatic. Nobody is getting fired. You heard the man.”

Shannon Ellis came up to the Cave. “Watch out. You might be next to go,” she said cheerfully.

Chad rolled his eyes. “That is no doubt true.”

Shannon stood next to Chad and leaned her head onto his shoulder. “You’re just jealous because I am so popular with the new management.”

“I prefer to think of them as the new regime.” Chad patted her shoulder. “There, there, you can cry on my shoulder any time you need to. Those big bad bosses treating you poorly again?”

“Just the opposite.” Shannon laughed and pushed off his shoulder. “I’m going back up to the third floor. See you later.”

She waved cheerfully as she headed out of the News Department. Breezy could see the elevator from the Cave.

“Why would she choose to work with Gabe over me? I don’t get it.” Chad put his hand on his chest. “Though I’m not surprised Gabe chose her to be his assistant. She’s gorgeous. I’d eat my fedora for a date with her.”

Breezy nudged him with her elbow. “Knock it off.” She turned to the computer screen along the back wall of the Cave. “I’ve got some weather graphics to show you. Fiona worked them up and I think we can use them in—”

Chad interrupted. “It looks like Paul’s ‘friendly little chat with the new boss’ didn’t go so well.”

Breezy turned to see Shannon getting on the elevator and Paul stepping off. His normal bright anchorman smile had been replaced by a grim frown, complete with furrows in his brow. He stopped in the lobby, straightened his tie, and looked out toward the parking lot.

A sense of dread filled Breezy. Not liking the feeling, she shook it off. She was not going to let all the doom and gloom get to her. There had to be a logical explanation.

When Paul straightened his shoulders and stepped toward the Newsroom, Breezy walked toward him. Despite her resolution, she found herself starting to feel doomish and gloomish, anyway.

Catching him in the foyer, she lowered her voice. “How did it go?”

His frown deepened and he shook his head just a little. He was really upset.

Breezy had to do something to help. She tilted her head toward the parking lot he’d been eyeing just moments before. She knew his personal weakness. “Want a piece of pie? Candy’s coconut cream? My treat.”

He paused. Finally nodded. “Yes. Let me grab my briefcase. I’ll meet you at the front door.”

Breezy found Fiona and told her she’d be gone for awhile.

“What if they call you in during that time?” Fiona looked worried.

“Tell them I’ll be back by 3:00 and on-air by 3:30.”

Driving Sadie, her cute sunshine yellow Volkswagen Bug, Breezy followed Paul’s black BMW to Candy’s Café. She parked and got out, but Paul stayed seated in his car, staring straight ahead. Not a good sign.

When Breezy tentatively knocked on his car window, he rolled the window halfway down and looked up at her. “I need to take a raincheck, Breezy. I’m going to head on home.”

She leaned over in concern. “Please reassure me that you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.” He looked at her, pain etched in his eyes and still furrowed in his brow. After a long pause, he said, “I’m going home to work on my letter of acceptance of my brand new early retirement package.”

Breezy gasped. “What? Why?”

His smile wasn’t a happy one. He sighed. “Just between us?”

She nodded.

“I was given a choice. Either take early retirement or be asked to leave. I chose to take the very generous early retirement package, thus saving my benefits and retirement and any shred of dignity I may have left.”

Shocked, Breezy struggled to get her head around the news. “Paul, this is horrible.”

“It’s going to be okay. I can get a job somewhere else.”

“Of course you can, but you’ll have to uproot your family, move out of Aspen Grove.”

He looked out the windshield for a moment, not answering.

“But they said they weren’t going to fire anyone,” she said, her voice trailing off.

“And they didn’t. I’m retiring early.”

It was getting harder and harder to stay positive about this new change. She touched his shoulder. “I’ll let you head home. I’m sorry, Paul. I really am.”

He put his hand over hers for an instant. “I know. Thanks, Breezy.” He looked back at her. “It’s a sad day when even you can’t make things look rosy.”

She certainly couldn’t tell Paul to make the best of the changes. But, as she watched him pull away, she decided she was going to try to do exactly that, herself.

Paul’s bad news made it more difficult, but not impossible.

Surely she could find the silver lining to this dark cloud. Soon.

* * *

Wednesday, April 10

Walking through Candy’s Café the next evening, Breezy waved at the two regular waitresses on shift. She opened the door at the rear of the main room, anxious to forget her worries for a couple of hours.

She didn’t want to think about the station. She didn’t want to think about all the changes that were happening too fast. But she especially didn’t want to think about the look in Paul Nelson’s eyes yesterday when he’d told her about his early retirement.

No, she was hoping for a night of blessed forgetfulness, provided by good friends, good food, and a good chick flick. The food was usually served at 6:30 with the movie starting about 7:00, but that varied depending on the conversation.

Candy Kane, owner of the café, had chosen a Wednesday of each month to host the Chick Flick Clique movie nights because Wednesdays were slow nights at the café.

As she closed the door behind her, she was greeted by the six women sitting there.

In the back room that Candy hired out for big parties, Breezy dropped her five-dollar bill into the wide-mouthed vase centered on a narrow table next to the door. The money covered the cost of treats so Candy didn’t lose money on the deal.

On the wall across from the large flat-screen wall-mounted TV, two couches were angled across the corners. Three armchairs spanned the distance between them, and another armchair sat on the opposite end of each. In the middle of the room were two banana chairs and a huge bean bag chair. Candy had arranged platters of food on a dessert cart pushed up against the TV wall.

“Hi, ladies.” Breezy waved and greeted the ladies there.

Iris Summers waved from the couch. Iris’s stunningly beautiful daughter Jamie had been two years behind Breezy in school. Jamie had gone on to become Miss California and then Miss America. She had definitely gotten her looks from her mother, who was still a blonde beauty as she approached fifty.

Next to Iris sat one of Breezy’s best friends. Dani Davidson’s family owned the local donut shop, Holier Than Thou, popular with high school kids, cops, and families. In fact, everyone in town loved Dani’s donuts. Her family had been frying ‘Heavenly Donuts at Down-To-Earth Prices’ for as long as there had been a town, almost. Well, okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. But as long as Breezy could remember, anyway.

Candy motioned to her. “Come on in, Breezy, and join the fun. We were just talking about our most repulsive dates ever.”

The town’s only genuine transplanted Southern belle, Dixie Ross, laughed. “And I won the contest with the first date who kissed me and tried to stick his tongue down my throat. That was before Colt came along and tickled my fancy, of course.” A former Texas Ranger, Colt was now Aspen Grove’s Chief of Police. Both Colt and Dixie had delightful Texas drawls.

“Pretty gross.” Breezy settled herself on the bean bag, snuggling down until it fit perfectly around her. “The tongue, not Colt.”

“Tell us about your worst date.” Dixie motioned to Breezy.

She opened her eyes, wide and innocent. “All of my dates have been wonderful.”

The other women hooted at that one.

Lindsey said, “You were dating men, right?”

Breezy nodded, and asked her other best friend, “So, Lindsey, what’s going on with you and Ethan. Has he proposed again yet?” Ethan Peterson was Lindsey Taylor’s on-again/off-again fiancé. “Last I heard, he won major points for bringing you that cute little puppy.”

Lindsey snorted. “He Who Must Not Be Named now occupies the puppy’s doghouse. And this time it’s a permanent move.”

Whatever. Breezy had heard that line before.

So had the other ladies. Dani said, “But for how long this time, Lindsey? Two months or three?”

“No, this time it’s over. I mean it.” Lindsey snatched a Diet Pepsi off the cart and took a sip.

Breezy caught Dani’s gaze and they exchanged a smile. Lindsey and Ethan always got back together. They may have a volatile relationship, but everyone in town knew they belonged together if only they could stop arguing long enough to figure it out, themselves.

Iris stood and grabbed a plate. “Just give Ethan some time. He’ll grow up. They all do at some point. Even my husband is starting to come around and it only took about thirty years,” she teased. “Ethan will, too.”

Lindsey rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about Ethan any more. Let’s talk about Breezy’s hair instead.”

Surprised, Breezy put a hand to her hair. She normally had it in a French braid, but had straightened her unruly curls into a straight ponytail for the movie night.“What’s wrong with my hair?”

Her friend sighed deeply. “What is not wrong with it?”

Breezy laughed. “Talk to my hair stylist, Baby.”

“The style is great because obviously I only do great cuts. No, it’s not that.” Lindsey came over and lifted strands of Breezy’s curly brown hair. “Either start doing a side braid pulled back into a bun, which would up the sex appeal, or cut it short. You have the cutest pixie face and you would look gorgeous with a short cut. Please let me try when you come next time.”

“I like it this way. Besides, I don’t think I’m ready for that much change all at once.” There was enough change at the station as it was. But she wasn’t going to think about that.

Lindsey turned to the others. “Don’t you think her hair would look great short?”

The ladies nodded in agreement, all except Iris, who said, “I like it long.”

Lindsey leaned over until her face was only inches from Breezy’s and lowered her voice. “Trust me. You would be the belle of the ball.”

“Don’t you mean the belle of the Mayor’s Gala?” Dixie giggled. “And you would look adorable, Breezy. The single men wouldn’t be able to stay away. Don’t y’all think so?”

Lindsey straightened. “So what do you say? Will you let me cut it?”

“Maybe,” Breezy said doubtfully. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“You may as well give in,” Lindsey said. “I’ll just wear you down, anyway.”

Breezy chuckled. “Probably. But not tonight.”

Candy finished fussing with the food, and settled herself on the far couch. “Speaking of the Mayor’s Gala, how’s your brother doing, Lindsey? Getting used to being mayor yet?”

Lindsey’s brother, Jake Taylor, had been elected mayor of Aspen Grove and sworn in last January, so this would be his first year presiding over the Mayor’s Gala, which pretty much everyone in town would attend. “He’s gotten too serious. He’s not any fun any more.”

“Well, give him time, too,” Iris said. “Didn’t he and his girl just break up?”

“Four years ago,” Lindsey said.

“Has it been that long? Wow. How time flies.” Iris shook her head. “Does he like being in public office?”

“Public office isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Believe me.” Sonnet Cassidy kicked off her four-inch heels and pulled her feet up under her.

Dixie laughed. “Isn’t your daddy the governor of this fine state?”

Sonnet nodded. “That’s how I know.”

Candy carried her plate of food to a recliner and eased herself down without spilling anything. “Is he still trying to run your life?”

“Do sharks bite?” Sonnet snorted. “He still wants me to move back into the family home.”

“In Sacramento?” Breezy asked, surprised. “Into the governor’s mansion?”

“That’s what he wants. I’m not kidding. I told him I just started my business and I’m staying here. That drives him crazy, but it’s what I want to do with my life.”

“How’s your business going?” asked Iris.

Sonnet smiled. “I’ve got a wedding lined up for next week. The Jorgensen’s oldest daughter. If you know anyone else who could use a photographer, please pass around my cards. I brought extras tonight.”

Sonnet reached into her purse and pulled out a silver holder, then passed cards to the others. “And I chose my business name: Fresh Photography by Sonnet.”

“I love that, Sonnet,” Breezy said. “Congratulations.”

Breezy admired the artful way three lovely photographs had been arranged into a beautiful collage. “These are gorgeous.”

“What can I say?” Sonnet waved a hand. “I’m good at what I do.”

“You certainly are.” Candy asked Sonnet, “Are you still dating Harold?”

Sonnet said, casually, “Sure.”

They’d dated for months, but they were the opposite of Lindsey and Ethan—they seemed more like brother and sister to Breezy. But to each her own.

The door opened and Beth Lawrence entered and dropped her five-dollar bill in the vase. A sensible school teacher, Beth was dressed in jeans and a shirt advertising Aspen Grove Elementary. After she was greeted and brought up to speed, Candy asked how her dad was doing.

Beth shrugged, a movement that belied the glistening of unshed tears in her eyes. “Not good. The doctor says he doesn’t have much longer. Maybe only a few months.”

“I’m so sorry, Honey.” Candy set aside her plate, rose, and gave Beth a hug.

Breezy nodded in sympathy. She’d heard that Beth’s father’s cancer had returned.

Candy sighed. “I’ve known your father since I was a babe.”

“You’re still a babe.” Sonnet waggled an eyebrow.

“Right. A forty-five-year-old babe with some twenty extra pounds.” Candy grinned and fluffed her streaked blonde hair that curled about her face. “But at least the fat fills out my face so my wrinkles don’t show.”

“Oh, come on, Candy,” Dixie said. “You look fabulous, like Doris Day, and she is one of my all-time favorites actresses. Besides, who isn’t carrying a few extra pounds?”

With a grin, Candy pointed at Breezy. “Right there. This woman is skinny enough to look good even on TV.”

Sonnet twirled a finger around a strand of her silky blonde hair. “I heard that Paul Nelson was fired today. Is that true?”

The women all turned to Breezy, their inside source on the situation.

Oh, she so did not want to talk about this right now. She was already haunted by the look in Paul’s eyes yesterday. This morning he’d come in early and left his official letter accepting the early retirement package on Mr. Drake’s desk. Then he’d gone home. That had all happened before she’d even gotten to work. Things were not going to be the same without him.

She repressed a groan and could feel her muscles tighten. Finally, she smiled, but it was forced. It was common knowledge now, so she could tell this part of it, at least. “He wasn’t fired. Actually, he took early retirement.”

The women made sounds of sympathy for him, and wanted more details.

“I don’t really know more than that.” She wasn’t about to say anything about his being forced to leave. That was his news to tell.

“It’s a shame,” said Candy.

Beth said, “Enough depressing real life, folks. I need chocolate and a movie. Preferably a funny one. Maybe an oldie but goodie.”

Candy pulled out a DVD. “Singin' in the Rain work for you, Beth?”

“Yes. I love that movie.” Beth said, obviously ready to put her sick father out of her mind for a couple of hours.

Breezy was ready to put the memory of Paul’s eyes and her own nervous worries out of her mind. She hoped it worked.

And why not? A good movie and good friends. What else could they possibly need?

Comfort food. “Piece of chocolate cream pie, anyone?”

* * *

Friday, April 12

“Ms. Jones?”

Startled, Breezy looked up from her work station. She’d been so engrossed in forecasting the weather patterns, she hadn’t heard anyone approach. She smiled up at Gabe. “Yes, Mr. Weston?”

He smiled back. “Mr. Drake would like to meet with you as soon as you’re done here.”

Good. It was finally her turn to meet with the yummy Noah Drake. “Sure. The morning meeting is in five minutes and I can come up right after that, say in twenty, twenty-five minutes?”

“No rush.” He tapped the top of the counter. “We like thorough and accurate forecasts.”

She straightened in her seat. “Then it’s a good thing that I take pride in making mine accurate.”

He gave her a light salute and headed down the aisle, talking with people as he went. Though they were both meeting with employees in their offices, Gabe seemed much more approachable than Noah, who hadn’t made many visits downstairs. She was sure he had plenty to keep him busy on the third floor, though.

As she worked, she thought through the suggestions she wanted to present, ideas for positive changes she’d like to see made at the station, at least in the weather portion. When she finished her forecast, she stared at the monitor until the weather patterns were set, swirling, in her brain.

“Going to the meeting,” she told Fiona, who sat at a monitor along the wall. At twenty-three, Fiona was the youngest hippie wannabe Breezy knew. Her favorite attire was tie-dyed shirts and jeans, even at work. Today’s shirt was dyed in shades of gray.

Without looking up from the graphic she was designing, Fiona raised a hand in a wave.

Breezy headed for the meeting room, just down the aisle from the Cave. A conference table took up the majority of the room, and many chairs around it were filled. Breezy greeted the producers inside and took a spot along the back wall. The overview of today’s news was projected on the far wall, and on the side wall a whiteboard was sectioned off into four sections. All of the producers of the various segments—Sports, Traffic, Breaking News, and, of course, Weather—would present a summary of the projected news for the day.

Weather typically went first. Breezy didn’t need written notes because the weather for the day was branded in her brain.

When she completed her rundown and left the meeting, she glanced at her watch. It had only taken ten minutes. She’d be early. No matter what Gabe had said about not rushing, early was better than late.

Taking a deep breath and smoothing her skirt, she couldn’t help a smile. It was her turn to talk with the handsome Noah Drake, who had promised to listen. And she hoped to impress the man with the ideas she’d come up with.

She waved to people as she passed by. The two regular anchors plus the new man who’d replaced Paul sat at their desks in the maze of cubicles, a small TV playing the news silently on every desk. Another wave for her favorite film editor as he carried papers into an editing office. Fiona in the Cave. They all nodded or waved or called out a hello.

Taking the elevator to the third floor, she stopped short of Mr. Drake’s office to take a moment to smooth her skirt down again before knocking. She was more nervous than she’d realized. She drew in another long, quiet breath, trying to center herself. There was nothing to worry about.

Finally ready, she lifted her hand to knock on the slightly ajar office door but, before she could, she heard voices and paused.

“I don’t know, Gabe.” Noah Drake sounded skeptical. “I think the change needs to be made. This station is watched outside of this small community. A third of the state watches our news. But it doesn’t matter whether we agree or not; Bentley has decided.”

She lowered her hand to her side.

Noah sounded a little hoarse, as if maybe he was fighting off a cold. Poor baby. She’d have to take some of her mother’s delicious homemade chicken noodle soup over to Noah’s house. Her mother had said she was cooking some today.

Gabe responded, “She’s well liked, Noah.”

“It’s just that nobody is that sweet in real life. Pollyanna just doesn’t fly. I’ve spoken with Pamela and she said Bentley already bought her ticket. It’s a done deal.” A pause. “I haven’t found that file. Have you seen it yet?”

“I’ll check my desk for it. Listen, Noah, this young woman is the town sweetheart. I’m not kidding. Everybody loves her.”

Oh my gosh. Who at the station was too Pollyanna?

Again, she raised her hand to knock as Noah said, “It doesn’t matter. When viewers see someone forecasting the weather, they want glitz and glamour. Not small-town sweetheart.”

Her hand froze in mid-air.

What?

The weather?!?

They were discussing her?

Mr. Drake thought Breezy was too Pollyanna? For the weather?

She lowered her hand, indignation roaring through her. He had to be kidding! Who did he think he was, coming into the station and forcing people to take early retirement and saying she was too Pollyanna?

What did that even mean, anyway? She worked hard to come across as cheerful. Did he think people wanted gloomy? People liked her cheerful delivery, and she had the fan mail to prove it.

How dare he.

Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to calm herself. She needed to be professional, get through this meeting without letting him know he’d devastated her.

She would show him Pollyanna with an attitude. And she would do it right now.

“Just saying. This is a small town, Noah, and they like her.”

There was a pause in the conversation.

She knocked before they could get going again.

Chapter Four

Weather forecast for tonight: Dark. Continued dark overnight, with widely scattered light by morning. —George Carlin

After her knock, there was a long pause in the men’s conversation. Then Gabe opened the door wide. Seeing her, his mouth parted and he looked worried, no doubt wondering how much she’d heard. He quickly collected himself, his face morphing into his usual pleasant expression. “Come in, Ms. Jones.”

“Thank you, Mr. Weston.” She smiled warmly at the man who’d defended her. And then turned a chilly gaze toward the man who thought she was freaking Pollyanna. “You wanted to speak with me, Mr. Drake?”

He stood and reached out to shake her hand. “Yes. Thanks for coming in.”

He had a nice handshake, for a Pollyanna hater. Who could hate Pollyanna, anyway? What kind of cretin was he?

“Please. Have a seat.”

“I’ll go line up your next appointment,” Gabe said as he beat a hasty retreat.

Breezy sat on the edge of the seat, ready for verbal battle. She rested her hands in her lap, resisting the urge to point at him and say what she really wanted to say. Cretin or not, he was still her boss.

Noah sat down behind his desk. “So, Ms. Jones, it’s good to finally meet you officially. Gabe tells me you’re quite the weathercaster.”

Weathercaster? Puh-leeze. “Meteorologist.”

His eyes lit up in surprise, so apparently he knew the difference. “Really? You look far too young to be that accomplished.”

She narrowed her eyes. Pollyanna and too young? What was next? Did she have too many freckles on her nose? Too short? Too accomplished? She forced a light smile. “Thank you. I have double degrees in Meteorology and Communications and a Masters in Meteorology.” So there, Mr. Drake.

“I’m very impressed. What got you interested in forecasting?”

If she hadn’t overheard his plans, she would have relaxed and enjoyed this talk with him right about now. She tried to keep herself calm. “My father was the meteorologist for KWAC for over thirty years. I come by it naturally and I started young.”

He nodded in approval and actually cracked a smile. “So you knew what you wanted to do from a young age and then achieved it. Again, I’m impressed with your credentials.”

A slight pause.

But…?

“Gabe tells me you have impeccable credentials and you come highly recommended.” He leaned forward and rested the tips of his fingers on the edge of the desk. He paused, then leaned back again. “Were you aware I ran one of our stations in LA?”

“Now I’m impressed.”

He studied her, crinkles in his brow. Hadn’t she sounded sincere enough? Imagine that.

Adrenaline shock fueled her smile. Could she really lose her job? She hadn’t expected any of this.

He tilted his head and then shook it a little. “I enjoy raising ratings and I have a big vision of where this station can be in the next twelve months. I want you to know that we definitely want to keep you on staff.”

That was a relief. But why did she feel another but coming?

“We’re looking to slick things up a bit. So a former colleague has been asked to do the broadcasts. But I definitely want you to stay on as Pamela’s assistant. The weather producer to work on the graphics.”

Weather producer. Fiona’s job.

Her heart racing, she swallowed. “I don’t understand. I'm being demoted? May I ask why? My ratings are the best in the state. I've won awards.”

“You’re doing an excellent job with your forecasting. That’s why we want to keep you on staff. You will even receive a pay raise. A small one.” He almost looked surprised at his own words.

She forced herself to stay in the seat, to speak politely. “May I ask who Pamela is?”

He smiled as if he was glad she hadn’t thrown a temper tantrum on his desk, her being so freakishly young and all. “Pamela Gladstone. From our station in LA. Have you heard of her?”

Oh, yeah, she’d heard of Pamela Gladstone. A woman with a figure like Pamela Anderson, who revealed way too much of her figure on-air and who went through men like most women toss back M&Ms.

Now their comments made sense. They wanted cleavage and collagen, not perky and Pollyanna.

Uncharacteristic anger rose within Breezy.

Pamela was a mere weathercaster, not a meteorologist, so she would pull her forecasts off the weather services reports. When they had a perfectly good, award-winning meteorologist on staff. What kind of backward thinking was that?

“I will do whatever I can to make the transition to your new position easier on you.”

“The transition to my old job, you mean.”

To his credit, he looked uncomfortable. “Yes. But with a raise. And as soon as the ratings go up, Pamela will move on to another position.”

“Our ratings are already the best in the state.”

“This is not up for discussion. It’s already been decided.”

What was he saying? That after Pamela moved on, he would want her back, modestly dressed as she was? The jerk. They would just get some other scantily clad weathercaster. He hadn’t even bumped her to weekends, so that meant he didn’t want her on-air, at all.

Her career had just been wiped away as if by a tsunami.

Breezy ought to move on to another position. An actual meteorologist position. Unfortunately, that would mean moving out of Aspen Grove, and she didn’t want to leave her family and friends. She was in the same boat as Paul, now. She was a hometown girl and always had been. She had roots here. So for now, she would try to make the best of this new situation. And hopefully Pamela Gladstone would move on and Breezy would get her old job back. Because after the ratings started dropping—and they would because KWAC’s viewers were also hometown people and she didn’t think they’d like Pamela’s scantily clad look or sexy presentation—Noah would change his mind about having her on-air.

Or did he really know what he was doing? He’d turned other stations around. Maybe these changes would actually improve ratings. And she’d be washed away permanently.

Noah turned his head and coughed lightly.

“Catching a cold?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Fighting a cold.”

Good. Served him right. He wasn’t getting any soup from her. “That’s too bad.”

He raised the other eyebrow. “So will you accept the position?”

“What happens to Fiona?”

“Fiona?”

“My current weather producer. The person whose job I just took.”

“Oh.” He looked flustered, though she couldn’t imagine why. The Firing Squad must be used to doing this sort of thing. “She can be your assistant.”

Assistant to the assistant. Fiona would be so proud. “And does she get a raise, too?”

He paused, surprise flickering across his face. “A very small one.”

She nodded. “Good. Then I accept.”

She stood. This talk was officially over.

He followed suit and put out his hand.

She hesitated, then took his. At his touch, attraction tingled its way up her arm. No, not attraction. Probably cold germs. But his gaze looked as startled as she felt at the contact.

Quickly, they released hands.

She wasn’t about to feel attraction to this guy.

“It was very enlightening to speak with you, Mr. Drake. Now I have a broadcast to prepare for. When exactly will Ms. Gladstone start announcing my weather forecasts?”

“April 17th.”

“Next Wednesday. Okay.” She strode from his office.

Breezy didn’t know if he knew what he was doing or not.

But she did know that the new guy wasn’t her type, after all.

Noah Drake. Ha. More like Drake the Snake.

* * *

As she left his office, Noah Drake sat back, surprised.

Who knew cute little Breezy Jones had an edge to her? It made her seem almost old enough to hold down a job. How could someone so young-looking have three degrees, anyway? She must have started college when she was twelve.

The door cracked open and Gabe peered in. “Did you break her heart yet?”

Noah pointed to the chair Breezy had just vacated. The ache in his head was beginning to seep down into his legs and he stretched them under his desk. “You are chicken.”

“You are absolutely right. I don’t happen to like demoralizing the sweethearts of entire towns,” Gabe said as he sat. “I located Breezy’s file.”

He set it on the desk and Noah opened it and searched for her age. Found it. Surprised. She was twenty-eight? No way.

“So how’d she take it?”

“Not delighted, but she’s staying on.”

“Imagine that, her not being delighted.”

“She stayed upbeat.” Change was hard and Noah didn’t like disappointing people, but he was doing what his boss felt needed to be done to raise ratings. He agreed with more glamour in the broadcast, but he would probably have called in someone other than Pamela.

Gabe set some papers on Noah’s desk. “Breezy’s a regular ray of sunshine, isn’t she? And kind of cute, don’t you think?”

Noah closed his eyes and rubbed his aching temples. “She is, but Pollyanna is not my type, so get that smug look off your face.”

“And I know Pamela Gladstone isn’t your type. Speaking of stormy weather, when is Hurricane Pamela expected to touch down?”

Noah opened his eyes and glared at his friend. “Do not call her that here.”

“Oh, I bet everyone here already knows, just like they knew about you. News is a pretty tightknit community.”

Noah’s head began to pound in earnest. “I gave her a raise.”

“Pamela?”

“No. Breezy.” He still couldn’t believe he’d done it.

“What?” Gabe lifted an eyebrow. “You gave someone an increase in pay? To step down from a job? Are you feeling ill?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. I’m fighting off a cold.” And it was beginning to win the fight. Aching all over, Noah groaned. “What is wrong with me? I must be sicker than I thought.”

“Are you okay?” Gabe sounded concerned.

“No. I am not okay. I gave her assistant a raise, too. Somebody named Fiona.”

“You gave them both raises?” Gabe snorted a laugh. “You are under the power of pure sunshine. It’s like the Borg. Resistance is futile.”

Noah sighed deeply. “Don’t you have work to do? Somewhere else?”

“I do. And you’re not looking well. Maybe you should take off early. Before you give everyone a raise. Or maybe wait until after you raise my salary before you leave.”

“Maybe I will. Go home, that is. Not raise your salary.”

“Now I know you’re really sick. The Noah Drake I know would never go home early unless he was sick enough to start infecting others. Go home. Everyone in the building will appreciate it.”

* * *

Under the overhang of her parents’ home, Breezy shook the rain off her umbrella, stepped inside, set it in the umbrella tree, and headed for the kitchen.

Her mother, standing at the stove in her cheery Kiss the Cook apron, waved. “Hi, Honey. Why are you off so early?”

“I’ve just been demoted.” She tried to keep it casual but it was hard because her emotions were definitely engaged.

“What? How can they do that to you?” Her mother put her hand to her chest, then frowned and narrowed her eyes. “Wait just a minute. I’m on to you, Breanne Jones. April Fool’s Day was almost two weeks ago. Nice try.”

Her father walked into the room, adjusting the lightweight sweater he always wore on rainy days. When he caught sight of his daughter, he smiled. “Way to call the rain showers. You rock, Weather Woman.”

“Not any more.” Breezy sighed and repeated, “I’ve been demoted.”

“Oh, Baby, I’m sorry.” He pulled her into his arms for a brief hug, then held her out and studied her face. “But why?”

Her mother, realizing it was for real, said, “Oh, Honey, what happened?”

Breezy sighed. “Have a seat. This may take a minute.”

Settling themselves in at the square breakfast nook table, she proceeded to tell them everything. Well, everything except her initial misguided attraction to Drake the Snake. But she told them about all the changes, the drop in morale, and Paul taking early retirement, though she didn’t say he’d been forced to take that action.

Her father nodded. “I’m not surprised.”

Breezy stopped and stared at him. “What?”

Dad said, “Paul’s getting up there in years. It happens. They want young and perky. Like you.”

“Have you ever got that wrong, Dad. At least for the weather, they do not want young and perky.” Perky, half-exposed cleavage maybe. But she was so not going there.

Mom’s eyes widened. “What happened? Did you get fired?”

“No, Mom. But you won’t be seeing my face on the six o’clock news any more. You’ll be seeing the face—and cleavage—of Pamela Gladstone.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“It’s okay, Mom. Really. Karma’s already begun. Mr. Drake is catching a cold.” Breezy picked up a frosted, star-shaped sugar cookie from the plate in the center of the table. “This is cute.”

“Don’t change the subject. What are you going to do? You’re not going to move away, are you? How are you ever going to find a good man if you move away?”

That made Breezy laugh. “I think there might be a few good men outside of Aspen Grove, Mom.”

“In the Marines, maybe,” Dad teased, and then grew serious again. “To what position were you demoted? You’re still in weather, aren’t you?”

She nodded. “Fiona’s spot, and she was bumped down to my assistant.”

Dad put a hand on her arm. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to take the position. He did give me a raise, at least. And he gave one to Fiona, too. So maybe it’ll be fine. Maybe this Pamela person will get tired of being in a small town and move on and I’ll get my job back.”

She hoped. Or more likely they’d just hire another scantily clad Pamela type.

Dad nodded. “That’s my girl. Always looking on the bright side of life.”

Yeah. Like in that Monty Python movie. It was funnier in the movie.

“I know what you can do to feel better,” Mom said as she pushed back her chair and headed around the counter.

“What?” Breezy asked suspiciously.

“Go do something nice for someone.” At the stove, her mother nodded in approval of her own idea. “That always makes you feel better.”

“She’s right. It does. Couldn’t hurt.” Dad squeezed Breezy’s hand and then reached for a cookie.

Breezy slumped back in her chair. “If they don’t mind being helped by a Pollyanna.”

Her mother looked surprised. “Who wouldn’t like a cheerful Pollyanna to help them?”

“You might be surprised.”

“And I know just the person who can use some of my homemade chicken noodle soup and rolls and cookies,” Mom said as she stirred said soup.

Breezy looked at her father, who just shrugged, so she asked, “Who’s sick?”

Her mother looked at her, surprised. “Why, you just said your new boss is coming down with a cold.”

Incredulous, Breezy repeated, “Noah Drake?”

“Yes, that nice Noah Drake.”

Breezy narrowed her eyes. “That nice boss who just demoted me?”

Her father frowned. “I thought that soup was for our dinner. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

“Now, Arthur, there’s plenty for us and Mr. Drake, too. And if you’re still hungry, I’ll whip up something else for you.”

He huffed. “Peanut butter sandwiches.”

Her mother patted his arm. “I’ll heat up some of those jalapeño poppers you like.”

With chicken noodle soup? She wasn’t surprised when her father sighed and muttered, “I might be coming down with something, too.”

Her mother ignored him and turned her attention back to Breezy. “Maybe if you’re nice to him, he’ll see that he needs to get rid of that Pamela person. Maybe he just needs to see what a good cook you are.”

Breezy laughed. “But I didn’t cook this.”

“Well, he doesn’t need to know that.” She got up and pulled out some containers from the cupboard.

“Mom, I am not taking soup to Noah Drake. I’m not even going to be nice to him. I hope he catches pneumonia and dies.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, actually, I do. No, wait. Maybe I will take him soup.” Breezy smiled at her father, sweetly, innocently. “Dad, do we have any arsenic in the shed?”

Her father raised an eyebrow. “Maybe it’s not a good idea for Breezy to deliver the soup today.”

Her mother turned and held out a grocery sack filled with a container of soup, homemade rolls, and cookies. “I thought I raised you better than that, Breann. Now go and take it to your new boss. It’s the right thing to do. And you’ll feel better. Being resentful only hurts you, Sweetheart.”

She hesitated and, when her mother added, “It’s the way to a man’s heart, after all,” Breezy rolled her eyes and took the bag. “Oh, goodie. Do you have a Pollyanna cape to go with this?”

“That was Little Red Riding Hood, Dear. Now go along while the soup is still hot.”

“I don’t know where he lives.”

Her mother gave her The Look. “Then find out, Dear.”

Breezy sighed. Mother guilt got her every time.

Chapter Five

May the rain fall softly on your fields. —Irish Blessing

Twenty minutes later, Breezy rang the doorbell of Noah’s upscale condo, still amazed to find herself there, delivering soup to Drake the Snake. Her mother had guilt powers akin to The Force: This is not the evil boss you think he is.

But she was going to just drop off the food and leave. She didn’t have to even interact with him. Five minutes and sayonara.

She paused, debating whether to ring the doorbell a second time. After another minute, she smiled, decided that, nope, she’d done her part and now she’d head to her cozy little house and enjoy a delicious dinner of, coincidentally enough, homemade chicken noodle soup and rolls. Maybe she’d invite Dad over.

She’d turned and taken the first step down when she heard the door open. Disappointed, she turned back to find Noah Drake bundled in a thick, dark blue, terry cloth bathrobe and looking horrible. His red-tipped nose looked like he’d wiped it with too many tissues, his bleary eyes were at half-mast, and his cheeks were fever flushed. He hardly looked like Drake the Snake at the moment.

In fact, she actually felt sorry for him, for just an instant—but she squashed that feeling immediately.

He held open the screen. “Ms. Jones?” His voice had a questioning, nasal tone that hadn’t been there earlier in the day.

“My mother thought you could use some homemade chicken noodle soup and rolls. Since you were fighting a cold and all.”

He smiled. It didn’t make him look better, poor guy. “That’s very nice of your mother. And of you. Please come in. I promise not to cough on you.”

He stepped back.

The condo was beautiful, the entryway and great room spacious and furnished with manly solid oak furniture, but with feminine touches in the frilly cushions and curtains. “Nice place. And I see you’ve decorated already.” She pointed toward a pink stuffed bunny on the entry table.

He closed the doors. “Thanks. I rented it fully decorated, including all of the pink bunnies. This is just the tip of the bunny iceberg.” He pointed toward the dining room table which she could see from where she stood.

“Do you have a permanent home somewhere?”

“No. I always rent. I never know how long any job will last.”

“Run out of town on a rail often?” she offered up lightly, with a smile. She supposed it wasn’t fair, teasing a sick man. But he deserved it.

He took it well, actually chuckling. “Very funny, Ms. Jones.”

She set the sack on the dining room table. “Point me to your dishes and silverware and I’ll get this ready for you.”

“That’s not necessary. I can do it.”

She looked at him and frowned. Why didn’t she just leave now? Because he looked ill, that’s why, and she was too nice to not try to help him. Because she was a sap. “What part of this-is-your-chance-to-be-waited-on-hand-and-foot don’t you get?”

He laughed, and that started a cough that lasted thirty seconds. When he finally stopped, he pointed to the kitchen and said, “Trying to kill me, are you?”

“Now why would I want to do that to a nice boss like you?” She headed to the kitchen cupboards.

He followed her into the kitchen. “Right there,” he said, pointing.

She pulled out a plate, bowl, and silverware, filled a glass with ice and water from his fridge door, then carried everything back to the table. She took a few moments making it look nice, grabbed a couple of napkins from the holder on the table and set them under the silverware, then stepped back.

Soup in the bowl. Rolls on the plate. “Oops. I forgot butter.”

“In the fridge.”

When she brought it to the table, he was still standing, studying her. “Thank you very much, Ms. Jones. This is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time.”

Now why did he have to go and be nice? She could handle stinky boss who’d demoted her. She could even handle the Pollyanna comment.

But when he was appreciative, like a normal, nice person, it made him seem vulnerable and attractive. And she was not about to fall for that delusion again.

“My mother insisted I bring it over,” she said, not wanting to take any of the credit.

He waved her comment aside. “Thank you, Ms. Jones, for bringing it over.”

Breezy paused for a second. “You’re welcome, Mr. Drake.”

“Noah. Please.”

First names? Why now? Earlier she would have said Ms. Jones, please. But now? She sighed. “You’re welcome, Noah.”

“Thank you, Ms. Jones.”

She sighed again. “Breezy.”

“Breezy. I like that.”

“You’re really not feeling well, are you?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m really not.”

“Do you need to see a doctor?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Did I ever tell you that I volunteered time in the Neonatal Nursery at an LA hospital?”

“No,” Breezy said.

“The first thing they taught the volunteers was to not instinctively kiss the preemies. Touch is vital to a preemie’s healthy growth. I loved that time I spent holding and rocking those fragile babies.”

He was sicker than she’d thought originally to be babbling on. And his words conjured up an image of a big man, sitting in a rocking chair, holding teeny babies and trying not to kiss their heads. Shaking her head to get rid of that cozy image, she put out her hands and touched his shoulders, turning him around to face the dining room. “Go. Sit. Eat. You’ll feel better.”

His “Thanks” was nasal-sounding as he did what she said.

“I’ll see you on Monday.” Teasing, him, she added, “Unless you don’t make it through the weekend.”

“You can only hope, right? If I go, I bequeath my pen to Gabe and you can have my...” He paused, apparently trying to think of something.

“Your job?” she asked, sweetly. “I’ve always wanted to run the station.”

When he smiled, she waved. “See you on Monday. Hope you’re feeling better soon.”

As he sat, she let herself out and stood on the porch for a moment, breathing in deeply. She loved the smell of spring air after a good rain shower, clean and fresh.

And her parents were right. She did feel better for having done something nice.

But she still had this funny urge to let the air out of his tires, like he’d let the air out of her dreams. And she needed to remember that Noah was not to be trusted. He might be sick and cuddly and appreciative today, but on Monday she had no doubt he’d be back in Drake the Snake mode.

Without touching his tires, she unlocked Sadie, her sunshine yellow VW bug, and climbed in.

She looked over at the plate of cookies on the passenger seat. She’d saved those for Paul Nelson. He could probably use some cheering up right about now.

* * *

“Thank you, Breezy. You are so thoughtful. These look delicious.” Paul’s wife, Jill Nelson, took the plate of cookies Breezy held out and set it on the coffee table. “Come on in. Paul’s in the back yard. I’ll go get him. He’ll want one of these.”

“My mother made them, so they’re even safe to eat.”

Jill smiled. “I’ve eaten your cookies before, you big faker.”

Paul came in the back door. “Hi, Breezy. I thought that was you I saw pulling up. How are things at the station?”

“Not so good,” she admitted.

The couple exchanged glances, and Paul said, “Coming from you, that’s got to mean a total disaster.”

Paul motioned for Breezy to take a seat. The living room, fireplace along the far wall, comfy chocolate brown leather couch across from two cushioned wicker chairs, coffee table in the middle, invited cozy gatherings.

The Nelsons settled on the couch and Breezy took a chair.

“Tell us about it, Honey,” Jill said.

So Breezy did. Everything that had happened since Paul left. The lowering of morale, in general. Her being demoted, as well as Fiona. Even taking soup to a sick Noah. “But I brought the dessert over to you, despite what my mother said.”

Paul laughed. “I’ll never tell her. Your mother is far more saintly than I am.”

Jill rose and headed toward the kitchen. “I’m going to get some milk for us to drink with these cookies.”

Breezy looked at Paul. “I’d like to arrange a retirement party, if that’s all right with you.”

A half smile tickled his lips. “I’d like that very much. Be sure and invite your father, too.”

“I dare you to keep him away. Or the Quinns, either.” The Quinns were the family who used to own the station.

“That’s really kind of you, Breezy. Thanks.”

“You and my dad were my heroes growing up. I wanted to be just like you both. Be on TV and report and have people watch and listen to what I have to say.”

“And you’ve done it.” He chuckled unhappily. “Well, you did, until your demotion.”

“Exactly. These changes are not as good as I was hoping they’d be.”

“I’ve been thinking, it may be a good time for you to look for another station, Breezy. You could get a job almost anywhere.”

“But I don’t want to move away from Aspen Grove.”

Jill returned, carefully setting down a colorful tray holding three glasses of milk. Breezy took one gratefully. “Thanks.”

Paul sipped his. “I was just telling Breezy she ought to do what we’re doing.”

Breezy looked at him in surprise. “You’re moving out of Aspen Grove? To another station?”

Jill sat down beside her husband and glanced at him, as if to encourage him to speak.

“We’re thinking it’s time for me to work on some of my other interests,” he said. “Last year, I started writing a book on how to be a newscaster. Now I’ll actually have the time to finish it.”

Relieved, Breezy said, “Oh, good. You’ll still live here, then.”

“We’re considering a move to Sacramento just to be closer to the grandkids. But that’s less than an hour away. If we move, you would always have a place to stay. That’s why I was suggesting you send out resumes. I heard the Sacramento station may be in need of a meteorologist soon. You could stay with us until you get your feet on the ground.”

The thought overwhelmed her. Things were spinning out of control, way too fast. “This is really sudden.”

Jill nodded. “Tell us about it.”

Breezy laughed. “Oh, yeah. I guess you know all about sudden changes. But could it really come to this? Me needing another job?”

Paul nodded. “You’ve already been downgraded. And I can guarantee you don’t want to work for Pamela Gladstone.”

She didn’t? More bad news? “What’s wrong with Pamela Gladstone?”

“She’s called Hurricane Pamela because she leaves so much damage in her wake.”

Breezy tried to smile but it probably came out more of a grimace as she said, “That bad, huh?”

Paul nodded. “Get out while the getting’s still good. Get a letter of recommendation from Mr. Quinn and the new general manager.”

“Drake the Snake?”

He snorted with laughter. “Exactly.”

Jill started laughing and couldn’t seem to stop. They both looked at her, but she could only wave her hand, laughing even harder.

“Want to let us in on the joke, woman?” Paul said, smiling at his wife fondly.

“Sorry. It’s not funny. Just me getting semi-hysterical over the whole situation,” she managed to get out. “I’m just surprised that in just a few days the world has totally changed on us. We’re talking about moving and Breezy won’t be on the weather any more.” She sobered and sucked in a shuddering breath.

Paul studied Breezy. “You would be an asset to any station. Think on it.”

“I will,” Breezy said. Unfortunately, she was afraid that now it would all she could think about.

* * *

Monday, April 15

Lucky for Noah, the soup—and some cold medication—had worked miracles. By Monday, he was back at work and only a bit tired by mid afternoon. He was looking forward to getting home and crashing early, though.

It was tax day, April 15th, and Noah was very glad he’d gotten his done a month earlier.

Breezy, who stood in his office dressed in a demure schoolgirl-modest blouse and suit, didn’t look too delighted to see him, though, and she didn’t sound at all pleased at his newest request. He really needed her to agree to this.

“So let’s see if I understand this correctly,” Breezy said. “Pamela Gladstone will be here in two days. You’ve already asked me to step aside and let her go into the studio in my place and film my weather segments, and now you expect me to do the actual work of forecasting for her? Did I get that straight?”

She said it sweetly enough, but Noah sensed something underneath the words and sweet tone. Something totally understandable, of course, given the circumstances. “I admit Pamela doesn’t have the academic training you do. That’s why I need you to make sure she sounds good. And accurate.”

“So I’m going to make the new weathercaster sound good.”

“Exactly. Thank you for being so cooperative.” He enjoyed talking with her. He wasn’t sure why, exactly, but she made him smile, at some deep level.

“Oh, I am definitely cooperative. A real team player. Rah, rah, rah, KWAC, and all that jazz.”

She certainly seemed cooperative enough on the surface. And it was a nice surface, too. Petite, but shapely, even though hidden behind her demure suit. Not that he was looking because she definitely was not his type. He didn’t go for women who looked that young.

But there was something in her gaze that promised more. And it actually shook him up. He looked away, feeling like he’d just gotten sent to the principal’s office. But he was the boss, and he wasn’t going to let her get to him, so he looked back up and met her gaze.

“Is there anything else I can do for you? Or for Ms. Gladstone?” she asked oh-so-sweetly. But her eyes locked on his again.

He forced himself to ignore the challenge. He’d taken her job away, after all. He pretended to be dense enough to take her words at surface value. “Just be nice to her. Welcome her to the station. That sort of thing.”

“I wouldn’t be anything but nice to the new weathercaster.”

“I know she doesn’t have your credentials,” Noah repeated, “but she does have screen presence.”

“Ah, screen presence. As opposed to, say, chopped liver presence.”

“I am not saying that you don’t have screen presence.”

“You aren’t?” She looked so innocent, he could almost believe she wasn’t doing what he was pretty sure she was doing.

“No, I’m not. You just have a different screen presence. We’re looking for a little more—”

“Cleavage?”

“Exactly. Wait, no. No. No cleavage.”

“I saw a few of her broadcasts online. They got put on YouTube because guys liked her scantily clad state. That’s the only way I can explain the popularity.”

“It’s true. Guys do like that. Maybe just a few buttons undone.”

“Oh, guys like undone buttons, do they?” She reached up to the top of her demure white blouse and undid the top button.

His eyes widened and he swallowed. What was she doing?

“How many buttons would I have to undo to gain this coveted screen presence?” She undid a second one.

His mouth went dry as he shook his head and motioned with his hands to stop her. “You don’t need to do this, Ms. Jones.”

“Breezy. Please.”

“Breezy. Really. Stop. Please.”

“I’ll do anything to keep this job.” Her voice lowered huskily.

He froze in place. What? What had she just said?

She undid a third button, which took her blouse down to where it still didn’t reveal anything, but the next one would begin to make a difference in the view.

He stared at her. He had definitely not expected this. “Five buttons, if you must have a number. And if you undo even one more of yours, you are fired.”

She smiled and started buttoning back up. “Yes, sir, Mr. Drake.”

“Noah.”

Her smile broadened. “I will be delighted to continue to create my award-winning forecasts and pass them on to the new weathercaster, Ms. Pamela Gladstone of five undone buttons.”

He tried to speak and had to clear his throat before words would come out. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

“You are so very welcome. Anything else I can do for you?”

“No! No. I’m good.”

“I’ll get back to work then.”

As she closed the door behind her, Noah sank down into his chair.

What in the world had just happened?

Breezy had come in with her innocent look and unleased some kind of unexpected all-grown-up sensual power.

Where on earth had Pollyanna learned that?

* * *

Breezy almost laughed as she went back to the Cave. The look on Noah’s face had been priceless. She had actually scared him. Not that she would have actually undone five buttons for him. But it was nice, for a change, to surprise the man who thought she wasn’t glamorous enough. It was small salve to her ego that had been hurt by being replaced by someone like Pamela Gladstone.

She almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

Chapter Six

It’s so cold that folks are going to church just to hear about the fires of hell. —Black Dog on http://www.shannondale.org

Wednesday, April 17

“Warning. I predict stormy weather.” Chad lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “I just heard that Hurricane Pamela has touched down and is headed your direction.”

Standing just outside the Cave looking over some of Fiona’s graphics, Breezy lightly elbowed him. “She’s not going to be that bad. No one is that bad.”

“You hope.” Chad adjusted his fedora. “Good luck, Breezy. I’m really sorry they’ve put you in this position. If you need me for anything, you know where I sleep. Right at my desk.”

“Thanks, Chad.” He was going to get an extra nice Christmas gift from her this year for all his support.

“The only thing I can’t do is get rid of Pamela for you. Wish I could.” He winked. “Got to run. I’m afraid of hurricanes.”

As Breezy entered the Cave, she met Fiona’s eyes.

Today’s tie-dyed shirt had a purple theme, matched by her large, dangling purple bead earrings. Fiona sighed. “I’m afraid, too.”

“I’m more than a little nervous, myself,” Breezy admitted. Taking her seat at her computer to prepare the forecast, she could feel her heart rate increase. Pamela Gladstone was finally here and, according to both Paul and Chad, that meant it was time to batten down the hatches. Breezy drew in a deep breath and tried to summon up her usual cheerful mood. All she was able to pull up was a fake-it-til-you-make-it comment aimed at Fiona. “We can do this. How bad can she be, anyway?”

Fiona sighed again, dramatically. “I fear the worst.”

That made Breezy chuckle. “You know I love you, Fiona.”

“I know. And if we survive this storm, we’re going to Hawaii. Next spring.”

“If we survive, I’ll be there.” Breezy forced her attention back to her forecasts and tried not to dislike Pamela Gladstone simply for taking her job. She was going to give the woman a fair chance. Besides, she could get along with pretty much anyone. So this was going to be fine. Not ideal, of course—ideal would mean she was back in the studio—but okay. For now.

From the lobby, tinkling laughter filled the air, and Breezy glanced up to see that Gabe was the lucky man assigned to give Pamela the official tour. From that one glance alone, Breezy figured Noah had grossly underestimated her attractions. Pamela looked more like a seven-buttons-undone type of gal to her. Full red lips, long red fingernails, and red toenails peeking out from four-inch spiked red sandals. Skirt up to here and blouse down to there. Teased, shoulder-length blonde hair framed a beautiful face with a hard edge Breezy could see from where she sat.

Seeing her in person made Breezy feel very inadequate, but she would not resent Pamela Gladstone just because she’d flirted her way into Breezy’s job.

Gabe led Pamela up the aisle, away from the Cave. Good. By the time they looped back around, Breezy would have time to regain her composure.

Turning back to her monitor, she tried to lose herself in air patterns and cold fronts, all the delicious parts of weather that she loved, but it wasn’t working today. Breezy was painfully conscious of their progress around the newsroom.

When she heard their voices growing nearer, Breezy felt herself tense up.

Fiona whispered, “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” she whispered back.

And, then, it was their turn to meet the new weather screen presence. Breezy stood just inside the Cave opening, and Fiona joined her.

Gabe smiled warmly, but touched his soul patch nervously. “Pamela, this is your talented weather producer, Breanne Jones, known around here as Breezy, and Fiona Hughes, who is a wizard at graphics. Ladies, this is Pamela Gladstone, the new addition to the weather team.”

Gabe seemed more than a little awkward introducing Breezy to her replacement.

Pamela showed no such awkwardness. She nodded briskly. “Good to meet you. I understand you’ll be preparing my forecasts.”

Was it Breezy’s imagination, or was there a not-so-nice glint in the woman’s eyes? She forced a smile. “That’s right.”

“That’s great. Hey, would you bring me a coffee? And be sure not to bring me decaf. I need a jolt of caffeine, Babe.”

Babe? Pamela was staring right at Breezy, so there was no question that she was talking to her. It just took a second for the words to make it past that babe.

Breezy glanced at Gabe, who looked uncomfortable. Fiona coughed and turned back to her monitor.

“I’d love to,” Breezy lied. “Part of the job description. Forecast accurate weather and fetch coffee.”

Without further comment, Pamela turned back to Gabe, who was looking more uncomfortable by the minute.

As Breezy walked to the break room, she thought that perhaps she might end up resenting Pamela, after all—because of her abrasive personality. By the time Breezy returned with a mug of steaming caffeine-rich coffee, she had her own personal storm front brewing. And seeing the admiring crowd of editing guys gathered around Pamela didn’t improve her mood.

Yup, Noah was right. Guys definitely liked the scantily clad and unbuttoned look. And Breezy was pretty sure cleavage had a great deal to do with that.

Breezy held out the cup of very hot coffee to the new weathercaster. Burn, Baby, burn.

Pamela flicked a glance at her and motioned for her to set it on the counter. “Thanks, Babe.”

Two of the five guys looked at Breezy in surprise, the other three apparently unable to pull their gaze off that seven-button gap. Breezy smiled at the two who did look up and raised her eyebrows as she set the mug down, as directed. One of the guys frowned, locked gazes with Breezy, patted her arm, and told the crowd, “I’ve got to get back to work.” He nodded at Breezy in silent support.

She nodded back. “Thanks.”

He shot a disapproving glance back at Pamela, shook his head, and headed back to his work space.

This lovely man was also going to receive an extra nice gift at Christmas. Maybe even earlier.

She turned back just in time to have Pamela glance her way and say, “Now go do the forecast. I want to look good going out there for my debut today. Make sure it’s accurate.”

“Accurate. Right.” Gee, why hadn’t she thought of that? This witch put new meaning into the phrase blown away. Breezy’s smile set on permafrost, she said, “I’ll get to work on that right away.”

“You do that. And go ask Noah to set up an appointment for me. I want to talk to him in fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll arrange that, Pamela.” Gabe glanced at Breezy and looked like he really regretted this whole thing. Which she knew he did because she’d overheard him defending her. Extra nice gift for him, too. “In fact, why don’t I take you up there right now? Noah wanted to speak with you after the tour.”

As he led her back toward the elevators, Breezy found her normal cheerful attitude slipping badly. Hurricane Pamela would no doubt receive coal in her stocking. Breezy let out a ragged breath.

So this was going to be her work life from now on. Glorified assistant to Hurricane Pamela. Breezy could see the writing on the cumulonimbus clouds: She was going to be the damage left in Pamela’s wake.

Paul was right. It was going to be hell working for this woman. Nothing like when she’d been in this position before as an aspiring meteorologist. Maybe Paul was also right about sending out a few resumes.

But she wasn’t quite ready to do that yet. She didn’t want to work for Pamela, but did she really have a choice? She had bills and family traditions to uphold.

She could continue to hope that Pamela would get tired of working at a smaller station and move on to bigger and better things. Soon. Because that was the only way Breezy could escape the hell she could easily see from where she sat. Even if she didn’t get her old job back, at least she’d have a chance of working for someone decent.

But Paul really had been right. Breezy could get a job somewhere else. Unfortunately, she wanted to stay in Aspen Grove enough that she was going to try to stick it out in hopes of eventually getting her job back. Or until she just couldn’t do it any more.

Hurricane or no hurricane.

Batten down the hatches, indeed.

For just one second, Breezy rebelled against Pamela’s command and was tempted to toss just a little inaccuracy into today’s forecast, but her professionalism wouldn’t allow it. She’d won awards for her accuracy and she would continue to do so.

Fiona rolled her chair over next to Breezy’s. “When a house lands on her, I’m going to grab her red shoes and run.”

Breezy laughed. “We’ll follow the yellow brick road together.”

“Hey,” Fiona said teasingly. “We can finally get Chad those brains he’s been wanting.”

“I like Chad. But I’m thinking we can get Mr. Drake that heart he’s been missing.”

* * *

Friday, April 19

“Pamela’s been at work three days. What’s the response so far?” Noah took a bite of his Chinese takeout and looked at Gabe.

At eleven on Friday night, nearly everyone else had gone home. He could hear a few voices down the hall, but they pretty much had the station—and the break room—to themselves.

The break room had five tables and two fridges along the far wall for people to stash their sack lunches. Noah never brought a lunch; he ordered takeout. Ditto for dinner. In fact, Noah had been living on Kung Pao Chicken and breaded shrimp from The Great Wall Chinese restaurant for the last week.

He’d been so busy stepping into the previous general manager’s large shoes that he needed to work through his mealtimes for now. And he was grateful to have Gabe helping him with the employees. Noah’s forte was negotiating, mediating, and hobnobbing with officials—like Aspen Grove’s mayor, who had approached him to become a sponsor for the upcoming Mayor’s Gala. Noah had promised the station’s monetary support.

Gabe’s ability to mingle and assess was his strength and one of Noah’s secret weapons. People always seemed willing to reveal personal information to Gabe that they would never confide in anyone else, including Noah. Especially Noah.

He hoped Gabe had good news for him.

His friend swallowed a bite of sweet and sour pork and patted his mouth with his napkin. “Morale is down throughout most of the station. Except for the guys in sales and editing, who for some reason seem to love Pamela.”

“How are the ratings? Up or down?”

“The good news is that the ratings haven’t gone down and have maybe inched up a notch. Not much, but hopefully the start of a good trend.”

Noah nodded. “And the bad news?”

“We’ve received some negative emails in record time. Pretty opinionated, too.”

“Not so good.” Noah grimaced and took a sip of water.

“Here, let me read you one.” Gabe pulled out his Blackberry. “I don’t know who this Pamela person is, but I want Breezy back. There’s been a Jones doing the weather in Aspen Grove for over thirty years. And why isn’t Paul Nelson doing the news any more? I don’t like the changes you’re making.” He looked up. “Need I go on? There are three other emails casting aspersions on your family tree.”

“Ouch.”

“This is a small-town region. Close knit. Pamela might be too over-the-top for them.”

Noah sighed. “Go ahead. Read the others.”

Gabe did so. Different writers, same theme: Change is bad.

But these complaints didn’t make a difference at this point. Noah couldn’t change Bentley’s plan because a few townspeople were pouting. He’d need more than that. But he wasn’t pleased at all that people were responding so vehemently, so soon. He needed a little time to get the ratings moving up. “They’ll get used to Pamela’s style.”

“I hope so.” Gabe set his phone down beside his container of food and took another bite.

Noah hoped so, too. He dipped his large breaded shrimp into the red and yellow sauce. When his sinuses whomped open, he knew he’d gotten too much yellow. Again. “Whoa.”

Gabe laughed. “You do that every time.”

“I know. You’d think I’d learn.” Noah wiped his fingers on his napkin. “How’s the weather girl doing?”

“Did we just time warp? Because I thought we were just discussing her.”

“No. The other one. The cute one.” He waved his hand as if he didn’t care about the answer. “You know. Breezy.”

“The ray of sunshine? She’s very good at meteorology. I’ve been checking up on her. Her work is great. She gets awards for accuracy. She could get a job anywhere else in an instant. You may lose her if you’re not careful.”

“I hope she’ll settle in.” Noah looked at his friend. “I gave her a raise.”

“While that is an amazing personal accomplishment for you, money isn’t everything, Noah. Not to people as passionate about their work as Breezy.”

“I know. I know. But it can help. She’s got to want her job back. What else can you give her that will give her the sense of satisfaction the weather gives her? Figure that out.”

Noah nodded. “Good idea.”

“I am full of good ideas.”

“You’re full of something. Hand the shrimp container back over here.”

“You’re the boss.”

“Oh, sure, now you remember.” After eating the last shrimp, this time without yellow sauce, Noah pushed back the two empty containers and sighed deeply. “I should marry the chef from The Great Wall.”

“Are you sure? Because the chef is an old Chinese dude. I think you need to get a life. Maybe even date a nice girl. I know that’s a radical thought. Not someone like Pamela.”

“Definitely not Pamela.”

“I said nice.” Gabe laughed. “Afraid?”

“Oh, yeah. I need someone less threatening to my manhood.”

“Then ask Breezy out. She’s cute and very nice. Everyone likes her. Even you. Admit it.”

“Okay. Yes. Breezy is nice. And I do like her. But not like that. Little girls are not my style.”

Though he remembered how she’d made him feel the last time she’d been in his office and he wasn’t being entirely truthful. He’d caught a glimpse of the grown-up woman inside Breezy Jones and he’d been surprised. And definitely intrigued.

* * *

A few minutes later, Noah heard a familiar voice in the hallway calling out, “See you guys tomorrow.” He locked gazes with Gabe, who grinned. “Karma. I’m sure of it. You must have been very naughty in your previous lifetime.”

Pamela poked her head around the door. “Ahh, there you guys are. I’ve been looking for you.”

Noah repressed a groan. He wasn’t in the mood for more drama, and, after the last few days, he could unequivocally state that Pamela was the Queen of Drama.

“What’s up?” asked Gabe, his usual welcoming self.

Pamela smiled at them warmly. “My car’s giving me problems. The garage people here in town, Ethan somebody’s company, towed it to their garage earlier, so I need a ride home.”

Gabe said, “I’m heading out. I can drop you off.”

Relieved, Noah smiled at Gabe. Thanks.

Pamela walked behind Gabe and rubbed his shoulders for a moment. “That’s sweet of you, Sugar, but I have a few station items I’d like to discuss with Noah. This will give us a few moments to talk.”

Gabe grinned at Noah and mouthed, I tried.

When Pamela patted Gabe’s shoulders and moved toward Noah, Gabe stood and tossed his food containers in the trash can. “Guess I’m out of here then. See you both Monday.”

Noah stood, too, and reached for his Styrofoam container.

Pamela leaned over and put a hand on Noah’s forearm. “So what do you say, Sugar? Drive me home?”

Her motion put her cleavage on fine display. He looked into her eyes and forced a smile. “Sure. Let me throw this away and grab my briefcase.”

“Okay. I’ll be out talking with the peasants.” Pamela waved and left the break room.

The peasants? Was she serious? He’d known she was a diva, but she seemed to have grown worse since he’d worked with her two years before.

As he tossed his trash away, he shook his head, finding himself hesitant to leave the room.

Okay, man up. How bad could a drive home with Pamela be, anyway? Just because the last time he’d given her a ride, two years ago, she’d tried to seduce him. He’d escaped, but wasn’t looking forward to fending her off again. Sweet young things might not be his style, but neither were man-eating sharks.

He reached the foyer and found Pamela flirting with the security guard. When she spotted Noah, she patted the guard’s arm, said, “See you Monday, Sugar,” and took Noah’s arm. “Ready for some action?”

Noah waited until they’d gone out the automatic doors and were out of earshot outside before saying, “No action tonight, Pamela.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

She was still pouting when she climbed into his sleek, silver Corvette.

He placed his briefcase in the backseat. He hesitated for a fraction of a second and then bit the bullet, climbed in beside her, and started the engine. He wanted to get her out of his car as quickly as possible. “Where are you staying?”

“A quaint little bed and breakfast on Sapphire Street. They have great breakfasts, if you want to try some.”

Ignoring her innuendo, he gunned the car. He’d seen Sapphire Street before and could find his way there. Even in the dark, since the moon was hiding behind clouds.

“Whoa. What’s the hurry, Handsome?” Pamela scooted over closer. “Are you as excited to get to my place as I am?”

“Pamela—” he began to protest.

She placed her hand on his thigh, and he jumped and swerved. “Stop that.”

She ignored him and rubbed higher.

When he pulled over, parked, and lifted her hand off his thigh, she clutched his hand and leaned in closer. “Noah, you know I’ve wanted you for a long time.”

“Pamela, I don’t have workplace romances.”

She smiled up at him. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to my room? It gets really lonely here in Aspen Grove. I know you must be lonely, too.”

“You know my rules.” Safety in rules. Safety from man-hunting sharks.

She paused, sighed dramatically, and fell back into the passenger seat. “I hate your stupid rules.”

He would have smiled if he wasn’t so rattled by her. He pulled out and they were quiet for another block. He thought about Breezy, and figured he might just bend his rule in her case.

The steering wheel began to wobble. Badly. “What the...?” He pulled the car over. “Do we have a flat?”

He checked. Sure enough, there was a flat tire, rear driver side.

Pamela climbed out on her side. “You’ve got a flat, all right.” Only she was pointing to the passenger tire.

He went around to check it out. Incredulous, he said, “Two flat tires at the same time? What are the odds of that happening?”

“We’re stranded?” Pamela stepped closer to Noah and looked around nervously.

He worked hard to not roll his eyes at her act. “It’s a quiet residential street. I’m pretty sure we’re safe.”

“But what are we going to do? It’s nearly eleven and everyone on this street has their house lights off. They must all be asleep.”

“I might as well not bother changing the tire, because I only have one spare.” He looked over at her. “So while I’m figuring out who to call to come pick us up, did you have something about work you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Nothing that won’t wait until Monday. I’ll come to your office then. This isn’t the time.”

Figured. He pulled out his phone and dialed Gabe’s number.

No response.

Great. He was stuck here with Pamela the Shark. At ten-thirty at night. With no one else to call. Could things get any worse?

It started to rain.

* * *

“Candy, this pie is delicious.” Breezy’s favorite, cherry pie à la mode, was disappearing fast from her plate.

Behind the café counter, Candy put a hand on a hip. “It’s the least I can do for you ladies for helping me set up this new display case. Thanks again for staying late.”

Dani Davidson lifted a fork full of her favorite, chocolate silk pie. in salute. “Thanks for staying open late and giving us scrumptious pie.”

Candy laughed. “I got the best of this deal. It’s barely past ten-thirty. I’d have been up until two putting this thing together by myself.”

The café normally closed at ten. They’d started building the display at nine and had made quick work of it.

Breezy swallowed another bite. “Are you kidding? I needed something to do to keep my mind off work. And now I’m just going to go home and not even think about work any more.”

Candy filled their water glasses. “You coming to our next Chick Flick Clique night?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Dani said.

Breezy nodded her agreement, and then asked, “Have you heard how Beth’s father is doing?”

Candy shook her head as she put the pies back into the large refrigerated display behind the counter. “I haven’t. I need to give her a call.”

“Let us know what you find out.” Dani set down her fork. “I’ve been worried about her.”

“Me, too,” Breezy said. “I’ve been worried about Paul, too. I’m throwing a retirement party for him so I need to order some cakes from you.”

Candy pulled out her pad and they decided what kind and how many and when and where.

“And everyone in town is invited. Except the new boss.”

“Which one? Noah or Pamela?”

“Both!” Candy and Breezy said in unison, and then smiled at each other.

Dani turned to Breezy. “What are you going to do about her, anyway? How are you going to work with such a witch?”

“Get a bucket of water to put by my desk, I guess.” Breezy pushed her empty pie plate forward and wiped her lips with her napkin. “She’s driving me crazy. The only reason I’m not in total despair is because Gabe and Noah aren’t fawning over her like some of the other guys. Noah even seems to be avoiding her. That’s got to be a good sign. I hope. Or I’m grasping at straws. They’re not going to give me my job back.”

Dani glanced at her watch. “Hey, I’ve got to get out of here. My parents need me to let their dog out again.”

“Where’d they go?” Candy wiped the few last crumbs off the counter and put their two dishes and forks in the sink, rinsing them off.

“They’ve been gone all day to a donut conference in Sacramento.”

“There are conferences for donuts?” That struck Breezy as really funny. “Who knew.”

Dani stood and stretched. “Yeah, well, donuts are big business. Even in little Aspen Grove.”

“You ought to know.” Breezy grabbed her purse and turned to Candy. “I’ve got to go. Dani drove me over.”

Candy came around the counter and hugged them both. “Thank you again, ladies. You’re awesome.”

“You go home now, too, so we know you’re safe,” Dani said.

“All right. Give me a minute to lock up.”

Outside, the moon was hidden behind the clouds and a light rain drizzled as Candy locked up, and they climbed into their vehicles, Candy into her red Jeep and Breezy into Dani’s dark blue Toyota Camry.

Dani flipped her lights on and off. Candy answered in the same way, and pulled out.

“It will be good to get home and sit in front of my fireplace. Want to come in for a few minutes?” Dani put on her seat belt. “I’ll even fix you hot chocolate.”

“That would be nice. It’s late, but I’m not done unwinding from my very stressful day. And I don’t have to get up early.”

“Me, either. I’m planning on a lazy Saturday morning.” Dani pulled off Main Street and headed toward her house. She tapped the brakes. “Uh, oh. There’s a car pulled off the road with its hazard lights blinking.”

Breezy looked, but she couldn’t see much in the rain, light as it was. But as they drew closer, she thought she recognized the car. “That looks like Noah Drake’s fancy sports car.”

“Oh, that would be the perfect end to this crummy day for you.”

“What are the odds we’d run into him here?”

“Pretty high, I’d say.” Dani slowed the car even more. “Speak of the devil.”

Dani pulled over behind the sports car, its flashers blinking. Breezy caught sight of the man standing at the curb in the drizzle, a hand up to wave.

“Drake the Snake,” she hissed.

Dani laughed. “And we’re going to help him.”

“Pull back out. Just keep driving. We don’t have to stop. He doesn’t know you.”

“It’s too late. He’s seen you. And you wouldn’t drive by and not help someone, even Noah. So play nice.”

With a groan, Breezy said, “I’ll get you, my pretty.”

Dani pushed the button to roll down Breezy’s window. As Noah approached, looking bedraggled, hair plastered to his head, Dani asked, “Problems?”

“Two flat tires.” He leaned down toward Breezy and raised a damp eyebrow. “You didn’t happen to put a nail in two of my tires, did you, Ms. Jones?”

Dani laughed.

Since he sounded like he was teasing, Breezy said, “Oh, if only I’d thought of it.”

Breezy introduced him to Dani.

“Glad to meet you, ma’am.” Noah tipped his head. “Would you be so kind as to give a stranded guy a ride?”

“Sure,” Dani said. “Kind is my middle name. Hop in.”

Why not? He couldn’t ruin her day any more than Pamela had.

“I have a passenger in the car. Mind giving her a ride, too?”

“Sure,” Dani repeated.

As he went back to his car and opened the passenger door, Breezy shot Dani a look. “Her? Who do you suppose is in there? And why wasn’t he sitting there with her, staying dry?”

She tried to identify the emotions that flooded her. Suspicion was one of them. Dread. And, interestingly enough, jealousy. She didn’t expect that one. After all, she didn’t care who Drake the Snake had in his car.

As they watched the woman climb out of his car, Breezy groaned and realized that, yes, she did care. “Now we’re speaking of the devil, herself. Pamela Gladstone.”

“Why, it’ll just be pure heaven to meet her, I’m sure, Breezy.”

“Whatever.”

Noah opened the back passenger door and helped Pamela in.

As he walked around the car, Pamela said, “Thanks.”

Noah climbed in behind Dani and introduced Pamela, then, “Thanks, ladies. You are lifesavers. Pamela is staying at a bed and breakfast on Sapphire.”

“That would be the Rise and Dine, I suppose,” said Dani.

“Yes,” Pamela said, and grew quiet.

“It’s just a few minutes away.” Dani pulled out, turning her wipers up to handle the increasing rain.

“Thank you.” Noah sank back in his seat. “I was getting a little wet. Perhaps you planned this light shower, Breezy?”

“I just call it as I see it coming. I don’t actually control the weather.”

“I’ve been getting emails from the community that make it sound like you do.”

That got her attention. She turned her head around and caught his gaze. It seemed to pull her in and her breath caught. “You have?”

He nodded. “Everyone in town seems to like both you and your forecasts.”

Dani said, “Well, she is very likeable.”

In the silence that followed, Breezy managed to free her gaze and turn back around, her heart thudding.

Even Pamela was uncharacteristically silent. Perhaps she was going over her grocery list for ingredients to create a potion to turn someone into a frog. Frog Grog, or some other evil recipe. If Breezy started to ribbit tomorrow, she’d know why.

Noah didn’t say anything else about the emails, but she was glad he’d told her that much. It was nice to know she had support in the community.

In the ensuing silence, she thought she might survive this short drive, after all.

And then Pamela started talking.

Chapter Seven

Never allow anyone to rain on your parade. —Og Mandino

Friday, April 26

After another grueling week of work under the new regime, Breezy found herself back in the Cave, pulling weather data from the internet and creating yet another forecast that would not be noticed as much as the cleavage of Pamela Gladstone when she presented it.

Breezy found herself doing more work now than ever. She prepared the forecasts and, since Pamela showed up when she felt like it, Breezy still presented what would be covered in the weather broadcasts in the morning meetings. And she fetched coffee and whatever else Pamela demanded. She could refuse, but she planned on sticking around long enough to either get her job back or move on to a better one. But weathering the storm was getting harder to do.

She was struggling to keep any semblance of her usual cheerful outlook, to not show her displeasure, to make it through the day without throwing Pamela’s morning cup of coffee at her. After it cooled down, of course.

She enjoyed these hours at the beginning of her shift best, before Pamela made her grand entrance. While waiting for the Horrid One to appear, Breezy listened to her iPod music softly in one ear. The smooth tones of Michael Bublé always calmed her. And she definitely needed calming.

“I am so glad Pamela is not in yet.” Fiona brought over some papers and echoed Breezy’s sentiment. “Hey, maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll be hit by a truck.”

Breezy shot her a glance, but couldn’t help smiling. “That’s not very nice.”

Fiona smiled broadly. “A very nice truck, I meant. Eighteen wheels. Hot tub in the cab.”

Breezy laughed and admitted, “Maybe if she was just hit by a pink slip.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to happen.” Fiona shook her head. “I can’t keep working so late every night. Jimmy doesn’t like it.”

Pamela had asked them to work late the last two nights, giving them extra work that didn’t really need to be done, while she left as early as possible. And their shifts were normally late anyway.

“And,” Fiona went on, “is it my imagination or is she flirting with the entire male population here?”

“It is not just your imagination. She gets around.”

“She’s getting the credit for your forecasts, which really torques me.” Fiona leaned in closer in order to dish. “And she dresses like a hooker while she’s doing it.”

“That is so not what weather is about.” Breezy looked up, finally voicing her indignation to her friend. “What happened to dressing for the weather? Nice long-sleeved sweaters when it’s cool outside. Sundresses in the summer. A warm coat in the infrequent snow.”

“Yeah, exactly. Sundresses. Not hooker wannabe outfits.” Fiona glanced up and groaned. “Oh, no. Gale winds blowing our way.”

Breezy sighed. “Better look busy.”

“Are you kidding? It will take her twenty minutes to work her way through the men in the station and reach the Cave.”

It didn’t take quite that long, but Breezy did have time to make the weather report in the morning meeting and get settled back at her desk.

Dressed in a deep rich purple minidress that revealed just enough cleavage to draw all eyes downward, some in desire and others in shock, she laughed and joked, her rich laughter like a cold front blowing over Breezy.

Finally, Hurricane Pamela touched down.

“Okay, Babe, here’s what I need.” Pamela didn’t even bother to greet her. “After you make sure the forecast is accurate today, I want you to personally prepare the Teleprompter for me.”

Shocked, Breezy frowned. That wasn’t even her job. Or Fiona’s. “The Teleprompter is prepared by Stacy.”

Pamela frowned. “Only today you will let her know you’re taking over the job for her. I want you to do it. Got it?”

Breezy didn’t trust herself to not totally lose it so, instead of the retort she’d like to give, she simply said, “Got it.”

Oh. My. Gosh. She couldn’t put it off any longer. She needed to talk with Noah and ask for help with Pamela. Things weren’t getting better; they were getting worse. Much worse. Stacy wasn’t going to step aside and let Breezy just do her job.

Breezy wasn’t going to do it. Even Pollyanna had a breaking point.

When she stepped outside the Cave, Pamela said, “Where are you going?”

“I need to speak with Mr. Drake.” Breezy had to talk with him now because she wasn’t sure she’d last until Pamela left for another job. If she ever did.

“Ahh. Mr. Drake.” When Pamela smiled—not nicely—and fluffed her hair, her voice grew husky. “Women do tend to want to talk with him. I dated him, myself, back in LA.”

Dismayed, Breezy looked at Pamela.

“Surprised? Don’t be. He dates everyone.” Pamela glanced toward the elevators. “I’m considering going out with him again. But don’t tell him. I’m going to make him earn it, let him ask me out a few more times before I finally give in.”

Speechless, Breezy just stared.

Pamela frowned. “Now where were we? Oh, yes, the forecast. Make sure it’s accurate today, please. I don’t want my reputation ruined.”

“Perhaps if you’ll read it as I prepare it.”

Pamela’s eyes widened. “You’d better watch what you say, Ms. Jones.”

She’d been watching what she said. She’d bitten her tongue so many times that there wasn’t much left.

As Pamela crossed the newsroom, Breezy stood unmoving, Fiona at her side, both of them staring after the hurricane.

Pamela and Noah? Noah and Pamela? Really? She couldn’t see it.

But it didn’t matter if she saw it or not.

If what Pamela had said was true, and Breezy wasn’t sure she believed her, then Breezy didn’t have any recourse. It wouldn’t do any good to speak with Noah. He would just side with his former girlfriend. The woman he wanted to be his current girlfriend.

She wondered if Gabe might be more approachable—or if he’d dated Pamela, too.

Things were looking more and more hopeless. She was going home tonight to finish updating her resume, and she would start sending it out. She couldn’t be nice to this witch any more. She would speak up and probably lose her job soon.

Maybe if she gave herself a goal, something else to think about. Like how good the retirement party for Paul was going to be tomorrow night.

Yes. She’d focus on the party—where Pamela would not be.

Wonderful.

Chapter Eight

It never rains but it pours. —English Proverb

Saturday, April 27

“What are they doing here?” Chad asked, glaring at the entrance of the Aspen Grove Marriott Hotel’s Ballroom A.

Breezy turned to see Noah Drake slide into the room, with Pamela Gladstone one step behind. What were they doing here? And how was Breezy supposed to host a retirement party when the man responsible for the ‘retirement’ showed up? “I don’t know. They didn’t receive invitations.”

“I’m telling you, Breezy, we ought to just find work at another station. KWAC is going downhill fast.”

“I’m about ready to,” Breezy admitted, her anxiety level having increased exponentially.

“Really?” Chad looked surprised. “Let’s do some research together then.”

“All right.” Breezy wasn’t sure, but it wouldn’t hurt to look at her options.

“Good.” He motioned toward the front. “Want me to grab you some food?”

“No, I’m good for now.” She was too agitated to eat.

As Chad headed off toward the food tables, she turned back to the entrance.

Had Noah and Pamela come together? Jealousy hit her, but it shouldn’t. It meant nothing to her. They’d already dated, if Pamela could be trusted with the truth. Trouble was, Breezy suspected Pamela would say anything to get what she wanted.

Breezy sighed. Everything had been perfect right up until the moment they ruined it just by walking in.

Breezy had rented the ballroom for the party and sent a sign-up sheet around the station asking for people to bring salads. Her parents had covered the cost of the BBQ beef and rolls.

All the food was set up buffet-style on several long tables at the back of the large room, and a long line wound around the table as people filled their plates, laughing and enjoying themselves.

A number of round tables were scattered about the room, a simple vase of flowers on each, one table at the front near the microphone.

She guessed there were nearly a hundred people milling around, station employees and retirees, including her father, and a few others from the town. Nearly everyone from the station had come, including the old owner and general manager, Frank Quinn, who Breezy had asked to say a few words.

But now the new general manager had shown up. Would that cause problems?

No. It wouldn’t. Because Noah wasn’t going to speak. Period.

If Noah tried, he was stupider than he looked.

Trouble was, he didn’t look stupid at all. He looked freaking fantastic.

Just inside the door, Pamela took his arm and he looked down, almost in surprise. Or maybe Breezy was just imagining surprise because she was tired of Pamela getting everything she wanted.

Breezy pulled her eyes away from the disturbing sight. She was in charge of this party, so she’d better get on with it. Making her way to the microphone at the front of the room, she waited for the crowd to quiet, then said, “Thanks for coming, everyone. As you know, tonight we’re honoring Paul Nelson, KWAC’s news anchorman for many, many years.”

The crowd applauded. Just moving away from the food tables, holding a plate, Paul waved his other hand to everyone.

“Bring your plate up here, Paul,” said Breezy, “and sit at the head table with your wife.”

They did, joining Breezy’s parents and three other retirees and their spouses, the former owner and his wife, all greeting each other warmly.

And now for the moment of truth. Would Noah be ticked off? It didn’t matter. This wasn’t his night. “Frank Quinn, owner and general manager of KWAC for those same many, many years, has graciously agreed to come up and say some nice words about Paul.”

A former football player who had added fifty pounds on top of his muscle, Frank made his way up and hugged Breezy. He whispered, “Thanks for doing this, Sweetie.” He pulled back and she smiled as she made her way toward the head table.

Frank had been bald for as long as she’d known him, and his shaved head shone in the overhead lights as he stepped up to the microphone. “Well, now, I don’t rightly recall having agreed to say nice things about Paul.”

The crowd laughed.

Breezy leaned over to her father and Paul. “I’m going to grab a glass of punch. Would you like one?”

He nodded. Paul lifted a cup and said, “Already got one. Thanks.”

Breezy walked around the outside edge of the conference room toward the food tables, where people still milled around while they listened to Frank reminisce about how Paul was first hired and KWAC’s early years.

She reached the table with the punch when a hand touched her arm. Startled, she looked up to see Noah, standing there. His smile was surprisingly tentative. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Why did he have to be so handsome? It was hard to even think around the man. And his touch was positively electric.

“It’s good to see you again.” He sounded nervous. Which seemed weird.

She’s seen him just yesterday for the Friday six o’clock news. She smiled a little. Whatever he needed to say, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “Yes?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked toward Frank. “Paul was a good anchor.”

“Yes,” she repeated, biting off the then why did you make him retire early? She looked around. “Where did your date go?”

His eyes narrowed and he sighed. “Didn’t come with a date. If you’re referring to Pamela, I think she’s sitting with the guys from Sales.”

So Pamela hadn’t come with Noah. Breezy was going to ignore the blatant relief she felt. But she wondered what Noah wanted from her.

“Paul invited me. I hope it’s okay that I came.” He held out a wrapped gift. “Would you make sure he gets this?”

“Sure.” She looked at him in surprise. “Paul invited you?”

“I ran into him at the grocery store.”

Frank’s words faded though she still heard him speaking. Noah’s eyes were extra blue tonight, maybe catching the tint of his casual shirt. “I was wondering if you could tell me about some of the nicer restaurants in town.”

Ah, that explained it. He just needed an Aspen Grove native. Any native would do. Relaxing into her role as town hostess, she tugged him farther to the side of the room so they wouldn’t disturb those listening to Frank. “Candy’s Café is great for almost any time, but it’s more casual. If you’re in the mood for BBQ, Sam’s Pink Pig down on Houston Street is tasty, and the sauce is to die for. If you want fancy, Miguel’s Mexican or seafood at Steam Me Up.”

He nodded. “I knew you’d have a grasp on things.”

“I usually do.”

“And that culinary forecast is accurate, I assume, because that’s just the way you work.”

The warmth of his smile melted a tiny bit of the chill around her heart. Finally, she couldn’t resist smiling back. “Always accurate.”

“Which of those restaurants would you recommend most highly? For a nice dinner?”

She pondered that for a moment. “Depends on whether I’m craving crab or enchiladas or a visit with Candy at the time.”

“Okay, let me rephrase. If you were going to dinner this week, which would you prefer?”

“Probably Steam Me Up. I haven’t had any crab for a month, and sometimes they call out to me: Breezy, Breezy, here I am. Come get me.”

He chuckled and the sound did things to her insides.

Noah leaned toward her and her breath caught. Surely he wasn’t going to try and kiss her? Not with all these people around? Shivers raced up her spine and spilled over and down her arms.

His blue eyes were warm and inviting and she remembered why she’d originally thought she’d like to give him a chance. She struggled to remember why she’d changed her mind.

“Ms. Jones—” he began, almost formally.

“Breezy,” she whispered.

“Breezy, would you like to go to a nice crab dinner with me at Steam Me Up next weekend?”

Noah Drake was asking her out? To dinner? Like on a date?

He was far too close for her to catch her breath. The warmth from his body and the scent of his aftershave combined to make her pause. He looked good. He smelled good. He sounded good.

While he stood before her, as tempting as a second helping of Candy’s cherry pie à la mode, waiting for her answer, thoughts zinged her brain. Why hadn’t she wanted to give him a try? He was handsome and nice at times. She enjoyed talking with him most of the time. And they had incredible physical chemistry.

Had Pamela been telling the truth? Had Noah been asking Pamela out? Did he really ask every woman out on dates? Or was Pamela just being catty?

She wanted to say yes and, if she could just catch her breath, she would say it. But finally, just in time, she remembered: He thought she was beneath him, not slick enough, not exposed enough, not five buttons down.

Breezy looked into Noah’s warm, blue eyes. He looked sincere, but how could she know? She’d already heard him talking to Gabe. She was too Pollyanna for him.

She tried to keep the mood light. “My father always told me it was wisest not to date anyone on the job.”

He almost looked disappointed for a moment. Was he genuinely wanting to date her? Or had she just ruined his dating average? Finally, he nodded. “Your father was a wise man.”

“He still is. Would you like to meet him?”

Noah nodded. “I would, actually, like to meet the man who brought up such an unconventional daughter.”

Was that a compliment? Breezy wasn’t sure from the words, alone, but his voice sounded like he approved. “He’s right over here. Next to the punch bowl. I guess he got tired of waiting for me to bring him a drink.”

Why did she feel sad about turning down Noah? It was wisest not to date at work. Especially when the one who wanted to date you thought of you as Pollyanna and was possibly chasing Pamela Gladstone.

But, darn it, he still looked as delicious as cherry pie à la mode.

Shaking her head to rid it of the image, she led the way, careful to avoid even brushing up against him.

* * *

After chatting with Breezy and her father, Noah watched them return to the head table for the rest of the festivities. He stood for a few minutes after that, knowing he wasn’t exactly welcome at a party for a man whom he’d given no choice but to retire. He made his way to the exit, realizing that for him, it was time to leave the party.

He’d come because Paul had invited him, and he wanted to show support for an excellent anchorman who had served the station well for many years.

And, if he was totally honest with himself, he’d come to see Breezy in a social setting.

He’d been surprised when Breezy had turned him down for dinner, and more so at how disappointed he’d felt when she did so. He rarely asked a woman out, but when he did, they usually said yes.

How had she gotten under his skin so badly? When had he started even wanting to date her? What would she do if he kept asking?

Shaking his head, he pushed through the revolving glass hotel doors and stepped into the evening air. Drawing in a deep breath of after-rain freshness, he nodded to a woman standing there, and walked around the corner toward the parking lot and his Corvette.

The night was dark and cool, the parking lot lights reflecting off the wet pavement from the earlier sprinkling of rain.

“Noah!” a woman called out.

Glad Breezy had changed her mind, he turned, a smile on his lips.

The smile faded as Pamela minced across the pavement in her high heels and short dress. “Wait up. What’s your hurry?”

Noah wasn’t in the mood for Pamela and her games tonight. She might look like eye candy, but she was really a sweet treat that left you with an upset stomach. He’d had enough of her chasing him. “I have some things I need to look over tonight.”

“Anything I can help you with?” As she leaned in close—always too close—her flowery perfume hit his senses.

He took a step back. “No. Some personal work.”

“Oh.” She looked down at the ground, almost demurely. Then back up with a bat of her eyelashes. “I have something I need to discuss with you. Work related. Do you have five minutes?”

Resisting the urge to look at his watch, he leaned against his car and crossed his arms. “Sure. What’s up?”

“I have a big problem with someone who is undermining my work. I think the only solution is for you to fire her.”

Pamela had a habit of causing problems and then complaining about them. Not for the first time since coming to Aspen Grove, he wished he hadn’t been forced to bring her here. “That’s pretty harsh, even for you.”

“Spoken by the man known as the Firing Squad, I find that almost amusing.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Who do you want fired?”

She grew serious. “Breezy Jones.”

He tipped his head, unsure he’d heard correctly. “Breezy Jones,” he repeated dumbly.

“I know you like her personally, Noah, but you really can’t let your personal feelings interfere with your work. Mr. Bentley wouldn’t like that.”

At her blatant threat, her clumsy attempt at intimidation, Noah bristled. Bentley may have insisted on Pamela taking Breezy’s place, but he wouldn’t agree with firing Breezy. Noah was sure of it. “Breezy is creating all of your forecasts. And doing an award-winning job. She’s doing the work so you can just go on screen and look not only pretty but accurate.”

“You think I’m pretty?” She sidled closer.

“You also need to be accurate.”

She sighed. “I can’t take Breezy’s attitude any more. It’s affecting my work.”

Attitude? Breezy? Those two words in the same sentence just didn’t fit. “Give me an example.”

She stared at him hard and put a hand on his forearm, moving in too close again. “Noah, we’ve known each other a long time. I think you know I want to make this station as good as it can be. And Breezy is detracting from that. She’s undermining me. Everyone is rooting for her to get back in the saddle, as it were. If she were gone, they’d have to accept me.”

“She’s creating the forecasts,” he repeated.

“Most weathercasters get forecasts from the usual sources. I’ve done it before. Look, I left a job I really liked in LA to help you—and Mr. Bentley—out here in Aspen Grove. Now I need your support in doing the job you asked me to do.”

Noah paused. He wasn’t going to fire Breezy. It had been bad enough when he’d had to demote her from meteorologist to basically being Pamela’s assistant. No, he wouldn’t fire her. He couldn’t. She’d done nothing but do her job and do it excellently. And, even after he’d demoted her, she’d done nothing but still do her job, even though it must have killed her.

He actually felt guilty. She was a hard worker and everyone liked her, colleagues as well as viewers. No. He refused to fire her.

Perhaps there was another solution. He bet Breezy was even more tired of working with Pamela than Pamela was working with Breezy. He knew Pamela was no picnic to work for. So what if he moved Breezy somewhere else? Had her report to someone else? Gave her another raise? People might talk, but he was going to do it.

He shook his head. “I won’t fire her.”

“Oh, come on, Noah.”

He put up a hand to stop her from talking. “But I will move Fiona back into her weather producer job so you don’t have to work with Breezy directly.”

Pamela narrowed her eyes. “What will Breezy be doing?”

“You let me worry about that.”

“You’re letting your emotions play too large a part here, Noah. You never used to be this soft-hearted.”

“You let me worry about my soft heart. And you’d better start worrying about improving the accuracy of your forecasts from other sources.”

She inhaled sharply, and must have realized he was dismissing her, for she said, even more coldly, “I’ll see you around.”

“Yes.” Noah lowered his arms and reached for his car keys.

* * *

Thursday, May 2

It had been five days since Paul’s retirement party, and Breezy hadn’t even caught sight of Noah, who’d been holed up in his office. She shouldn’t feel so disappointed. After all, she was the one who had turned down his social invitation, and surely he could see that it was for the best.

Still, she felt almost regretful. She’d watched him leave the party, and seen Pamela scrambling to catch up with him. She was beginning to think that Pamela’s version of who was chasing whom was as accurate as her forecasts would be if she was making them herself.

Chad handed her a sheaf of printouts. “Hey, Babe, would you mind taking these up to Mr. Drake’s office.”

“Babe?” She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve killed men for less than that.”

He grinned mischievously. “I thought that was your new title around here. I’m so sorry for making that mistake. Ms. Gladstone seems to think you’re a babe.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are.” Breezy sighed. “Chad, I’d love to take them up, but I have statistics I’m compiling for a special report and there’s a deadline.”

“Isn’t there always in this business? Actually,” Chad came around the counter, said hi to Fiona, and pulled a computer chair over next to Breezy. “I was just up in Mr. Drake’s office and he personally asked me to come down and ask you to come to his office. He also asked me to send these papers back up to him. So I got thinking that maybe, you know, two birds with one stone and all. You’ll be going up there, anyway.”

She rolled her shoulders to loosen the knot that had settled there. “Why does he want to talk with me?”

Chad held up his hands in question. “Who knows what the big fish want with the little fish.”

“Usually to eat them. That’s why I’m a little nervous. And your gossip is usually more informed than this.” She tapped the papers. “Fine. I’ll take your papers up to the big fish.”

He squeezed her shoulder and stood. “You are such a nice little fish.”

“Whatever. More like I’m a guppy,” she said affectionately. “Go find some real work to do, will you?”

“For you, anything.” He lifted his arm as if wielding a sword, and rode off a few steps on his charger before settling back into his usual amble.

Shaking her head, Breezy turned to Fiona. “You catch all that?”

Fiona lowered the fingernail she’d been nibbling, a habit she had only taken up again since the buyout. “What bad thing is going to happen now?”

“Why can’t it be good news?”

“You just keep thinking that.” Fiona looked skeptical. “We work for Hurricane Pamela, remember.”

“Okay. And when Pamela blows through, tell her where I am, okay? I wouldn’t want to get in trouble.”

Fiona snorted and rolled her eyes as she turned back to her monitor, lifting her finger back toward her lips.

Breezy grabbed Chad’s papers, slipped them in a manila folder to keep them neat, then proceeded up the stairs to the third floor. She needed the walk, and the extra time, to control her own worries. She might not be chewing her fingernails—yet—but she was definitely nervous about what new, unpleasant change might be coming. Was this work-related? Or was it date-related? Was he going to ask her out again? There was some exhilaration mixed with her anxiety.

She stopped in the hallway and drew in some deliberate long, deep breaths. Okay. She was as calm as she was going to be, which wasn’t calm enough.

She knocked on Noah’s office door, he called out to come in, and she did.

He was frowning. That probably wasn’t a good sign.

Disappointed, she reminded herself that he only smiled at social events. “Chad said you wanted to see me. And he asked me to bring up some papers.” She handed him the folder.

He set it on his desk, motioned toward the chair, and almost smiled. “Have a seat. Please.”

She did and put her hands demurely in her lap. She waited. Patiently. And then less patiently.

As if he couldn’t stand the tension, either, he opened the manila folder and flipped through the papers, taking his own sweet time getting to why she was there.

Finally, he closed the folder, looked up at her, and glanced away. “I have good news.”

Since he couldn’t even meet her gaze, she doubted that. “I can hardly wait to hear it.”

“I have a raise for you. You’ll be making ten percent more as of your next paycheck.”

“Another raise?” That wasn’t what she’d expected. “That’s very generous of you. But why? I’m not even doing the meteorologist’s job.”

“Well, actually, it’s generous of you.”

Confused, she said, “I don’t understand.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m giving you a new job assignment.”

“Meteorologist?” She brightened, joy bubbling up within her. She’d be back on-air, doing what she loved most in the whole world, sharing her love of weather with everyone who watched their station’s broadcasts.

He shook his head. “No. You will be the new assistant to the general manager.”

Her dream balloon popped and thudded her back into stark reality. “Is that even a real job position?”

“It is now.” He glanced at her again and this time held her gaze.

Quietly, she said, “But that’s not even in weather.”

“No, and I’m very sorry about that. I’m hoping the raise will help make up for that somewhat.”

So what exactly had just happened? She turned him down for dinner and he retaliated by taking away what she wanted most? She would have never thought him capable of that kind of vindictiveness. But how else to explain his actions?

He was offering her a job that wasn’t even in weather and thought that money could possibly make up for stealing her dream? Mere money? She already made more than nearly anyone else at the station, and he was giving her yet another raise? To bribe her to take another demotion? She struggled to untangle all of her conflicting emotions.

He looked at her again and smiled, but it seemed forced. “You’ll begin next Monday.”

“No,” she said simply.

“No?” He looked as surprised as she felt.

“No.” She leaned forward. “Do you know what my father always tells me about change?”

He seemed surprised. “Noooo,” he said hesitantly.

“My father always says If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. This station isn’t broken, Mr. Drake.”

He tilted his head, studying her.

She couldn’t work like this. She was a meteorologist, darn it. She’d trained and certified and gotten three degrees and she wanted to forecast and broadcast the weather. If she had to, she would move out of town in order to be able to do what she loved. Paul had been right. It was time for her to move on, even if it meant moving away from her family. It was time to reclaim her career goals and her life.

“I’ve watched you work and been very impressed with what I’ve seen. That’s why I requested you for the position. I know how hard you work and I know you’ll do an excellent job. You always do.”

“Thank you,” Breezy said.

“You’re welcome. I mean it. I admire your work.”

“Not for that.”

“Then what?”

“Thank you for making this decision so easy for me.” Now that Breezy had decided, she smiled. “I quit.”

He sputtered. “What? Why? You’re getting a raise.”

“I’m not even working in weather any more. I hope you’ll understand the reason why, though I would normally give as much notice as needed to find a replacement, I don’t feel you’ll need any time. Fiona is an excellent weather producer. And you have a meteorologist. Oh, wait, you don’t, but you have someone who thinks she’s even better than a certified meteorologist.”

She gathered up her purse and stood. “Good day, Mr. Drake.”

He stood and called after her.

“I’ll finish compiling the statistics from home and email them in before the deadline, but that’s my last work-related task.”

As she walked out his office door, for the first time in weeks, her heart was light.

Chapter Nine

There will be a rain dance Friday night, weather permitting. —George Carlin

“Breezy, wait!” Noah called out as she disappeared out the office door. He followed her into the hallway, but she was booking it. “Breezy!”

She turned, waved, and smiled. “Good luck with everything, Noah.”

She looked happy as she stepped into the elevator. Why? She didn’t even have a job any more. He started to follow her down the hall, but caught himself. What was he doing? She was making a stupid choice, but it was hers to make.

As he went back into his office, he wondered what her problem was. He’d offered her a raise. Two raises. He’d never done that before. He hadn’t fired her. Maybe that was his mistake. He should have told her that he wasn’t going to fire her, but instead he was giving her a promotion and a raise.

Gabe poked his head in. “Busy?”

“Trying to figure out women.” Noah shook his head.

“Good luck with that impossible task. Anyone in particular?”

“Breezy just walked out of here, smiling.”

“Smiling? Breezy? How surprising.” Gabe closed the door behind him. “I take it she was happy with whatever you told her.”

“She quit.”

Gabe stopped and tipped his head in surprise. “Really? What did you tell her?”

“I said I’d give her another raise. Ten percent.”

Gabe laughed.

Noah glared at him. “This is not funny. I just lost a top-notch meteorologist.”

Gabe collapsed into the chair just vacated by Breezy. “You’re barely utilizing her talents as it is.”

“Pamela threatened to leave and talk with Mr. Bentley if I didn’t fire her, but I didn’t want to lose Breezy. She’s a hard worker. So I made her my official assistant.”

“So let me get this straight. You gave a meteorologist—someone obsessed with all things weather—a position not in weather. And you’re surprised she quit.” Gabe chuckled and shook his head again. “I told you that you were going to lose her.”

Noah frowned at him. “Maybe I’ll fire you today. Pamela would probably like that.”

Gabe chuckled again. “Oh, yes, well, we wouldn’t want to do anything that Pamela might not like, would we?” He stood. “Noah, may I share one word of advice?”

Noah raised a warning eyebrow. “One.”

“Go after Breezy. She’s one in a million.”

Noah watched Gabe leave his office.

Breezy didn’t know how good she had it, apparently. It wasn’t easy to get a new job in this economy. He hoped she’d realize that and be back. He’d give her some time to realize what a good offer he’d made her.

And when she came back, if he still needed an assistant, he might just hire her back. But without the raise.

* * *

Breezy knocked on Dani’s door.

On the drive over from the station, her anger had faded somewhat and now tears were so close to the surface that she’d almost kept driving. But she needed a friend to talk to. Even if she cried. Though she hoped she didn’t because once the floodgates opened, she might not get them closed for days.

Dani opened the door, took one look, and concern flooded her face. She pulled Breezy into a hug, then released her and asked, “Are you okay?”

Breezy’s lip quivered. Not quite trusting her voice, she shook her head no.

“Stephanie’s here. Is that okay?”

Still too choked up to speak, Breezy nodded.

Stephanie Winkleheimer was another close friend, a writer who had just finished her first novel. She was in the process of sending out query emails to agents and editors on a list of possibilities she’d spent weeks researching in an attempt to find the perfect fit.

Dani put an arm around Breezy’s shoulder and led her through the cheery living room, full of brightly colored pillows on a comfy sprawling couch, and into the dining room where Stephanie sat at the tall, square, black table, a tray of donuts centered in perfect reaching distance from all four sides.

The donuts made Breezy smile and her lip stopped quivering enough that she managed to get out, “Don’t your parents mind you eating all of their inventory?”

Dani grabbed some napkins and a donut, and set them down in front of the chair she then pulled out for Breezy. “They love that I use donut therapy. I’m going to patent it and go into business. I’ll make millions.”

“You will make millions.” Sitting, Breezy contemplated the donut before her, raspberry filling peeking out of a small hole in the side. One of her favorites. She sighed deeply, still reeling from the career blow she’d received that had triggered her rash action. Or not-so-rash, according to Chad and Paul. “I can definitely use some donut therapy right about now.”

“Me, too,” said Stephanie, taking a big bite. After swallowing and taking a sip of milk, a faint trace of powdered sugar still on her lips, she said, “I got my fifth rejection today on my book. And also my sixth, seventh, and eighth. So it seems four rejections in one day is my new personal best. I wonder if I can top that.”

“Oh, no! That’s awful,” Breezy said, reaching out a hand to touch Stephanie’s arm. “I read your manuscript. It’s great. Why wouldn’t they want to represent it?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know because most of them send back form-letter emails that don’t give you any personalized information at all. One agent said it just didn’t fit the direction she was going right now, even though her website said it should fit exactly.” Stephanie blinked, tears glistening in her eyes. “This is the most demoralizing business in the world.”

Breezy could argue that point with her, but she wasn’t quite ready to tell them her woes. Not until after her donut.

As Dani sat down, Breezy motioned toward her. “And what do you need therapy for?”

“Life in general.” Dani took a bite out of a helpless maple bar.

Stephanie explained. “Colt told Dani that Dixie is mad at him.”

Colt Ross had brought his wife Dixie and baby boy here from Texas when he’d become Aspen Grove’s Chief of Police. They’d left family and the Texas Rangers behind, and Dixie still struggled with the transition.

“I’ve suspected they’ve been having problems for awhile now,” Dani said. “I just hate to hear a couple is fighting. Especially a couple with a child.”

Breezy thought about the Holier Than Thou Donuts clientele she’d seen each time she’d gone in the place. “The local police force sure seems to approve of donut therapy.”

Dani put down her maple bar. “And what, exactly, do you need donut therapy for today, Breezy? What brought you, crying, to my door?”

“I wasn’t crying.”

“You’re just allergic to whatever happened to you, right?”

“Well, I wasn’t crying until after you hugged me.” Breezy sighed. “Okay. But it’s a good thing you’re sitting down.”

“Just tell us already!” Dani said, laughing.

Breezy shook her head, still not believing it, herself. “I quit my job today.”

Staring at her in amazement, the two women said, in unison, “What?”

“You heard me. I told Noah Drake, to his face, that I was quitting, and then I left the station and came directly to your house. I did not pass GO. I will not receive two hundred dollars.”

“You told Drake the Snake you quit?” Dani asked, sounding stunned at the news.

“Yes.” Breezy nodded, at least satisfied that she hadn’t put up with any more demotions. “I told Drake the Snake to keep his stupid non-weather promotion and raise and I quit. And I didn’t give him any two-week notice, either. He doesn’t need it because Pamela is doing my job and Fiona can just take back her job.”

“Wow.” Dani laughed. “Breezy, I am shocked. And very impressed.”

Stephanie looked concerned. “What will you do now?”

“I’ll find another job. Somewhere. Even if I have to move away.”

“Oh, no, Honey,” Stephanie said. “You can’t move. Not an option. What would we do without you? No, no, no.”

“I may have to if I want a meteorologist job,” Breezy said. “And that’s what I’ve always wanted.”

Dani frowned. “What if you took a job around town first?”

“Something not in weather?” Breezy shook her head. “Not interested.”

“No, hear me out. Just for a little while. Hurricane Pamela will blow herself out and move on soon. There’s not enough excitement in a little town for someone like her. Once she’s run through all the men, she’ll leave, and you can move right back into your old job here.”

“But what if Noah won’t hire me back? He didn’t want me doing it when he hired Pamela.”

“You’re the best there is.” A large smile flowered on Dani’s face. “Plus I just had a scathingly brilliant idea.”

At the sound of their favorite line from one of their favorite old-time movies, The Trouble With Angels, the other two leaned forward in anticipation.

Looking smug, Dani said, “I’m going to talk to some people and we’re going to start a write-in campaign. Drake the Snake is going to beg you to take your job back.”

“As if. Don’t do it. It will just cause problem. Besides, they bring in weathercasters for more permanent positions. Except for me, of course.” Breezy laughed. “I guess you can tell I’m feeling pretty sorry for myself right now.”

“Join the party, Honey,” Dani said. “We’re all kind of down tonight.”

“Wait!” Stephanie said. “I know exactly what we need to do. Goes right along with donut therapy.”

Breezy and Dani looked at her expectantly.

“I’m really feeling discouraged today but I don’t want to stay depressed forever.” Having finished her first, Stephanie reached out for a second powdered sugar donut, and raised it in a toast. “Let’s make this the official start of a full-out, seventy-two-hour, hand-to-forehead pity party. It will officially end Sunday night at midnight.”

Breezy and Dani raised their donuts. “Here, here.”

Dani said, “That’s a great idea. Then on Monday we’ll pull up our big girl panties. Breezy, you’ll start job hunting. Stephanie, you’ll send out twenty more query letters. And I’ll...well, I’ll tell Colt to pull up his big boy shorts and go remind Dixie why she’s glad to be his wife.”

Stephanie snorted. “Won’t you need to tell him to take off his big boy shorts?”

“Mind out of the gutter, my friend.” Dani smiled. “Official salute?”

Breezy put her hand to her forehead in official pity party stance. “Woe is me, I have no job.”

The others laughed.

Dani followed suit and said, “Woe are Colt and Dixie, who fight worse than Lindsey and Ethan. And woe is me, for having to listen to both sides of the argument.”

Stephanie melodramatically said, “Woe is me, too. Nobody wants to publish my book.”

Dani laughed. Stephanie joined in. Even Breezy laughed, feeling a little better already.

Reaching out for their hands, Breezy squeezed lightly. “I may have lost my job, but I have the best friends ever.”

Breezy thought the seventy-two hour pity party was truly a scathingly brilliant idea. Inspired, even. She planned to make good hand-to-forehead use of the seventy-one hours and fifty-nine minutes she had left before she took any positive action at all.

That decided, she settled back in for a good session of donut therapy.

* * *

Monday, May 6

Breezy hitched up her purse and walked out of yet another business on Aspen Grove’s Main Street. Without a job offer.

Jake Taylor, the young mayor and owner of Taylor Tech, a wildly successful business that created apps for Apple and sold all things technology related, said he’d definitely like to hire her, but he would need a commitment of three months to cover the training to bring her up to speed. Since all the computing she could do was weather related and because she was only hoping to work until she found work elsewhere, she’d regretfully had to thank him but not take the job. She couldn’t lie to get a job, even a temporary one.

A dull ache settled into both her feet and her head. Her heart was another matter. What did you do when your dream job was ripped away from you?

She sighed. You spent the weekend typing up resumes and sending them out.

Then you looked for something else, something not nearly as satisfying. She just needed something not too horrible that would pay her bills. That’s all. How hard could it be to get a menial, boring job? But so far every local business she’d called or walked into wasn’t hiring at the moment or, like Jake, needed a longer commitment than she could give. They all said they’d love to hire her. If. But. When.

If she couldn’t even get hired on at one of these types of businesses, what did that say about her?

Okay, snap out of it, she told herself. The pity party was officially over at midnight last night. Pull up your big girl panties. You can handle a job that just pays the bills. It’s not like you didn’t have them when you worked your way through school.

Looking in the plate glass storefront of Taylor Tech, she tucked an errant strand of wildly curly hair, that had worked loose from the braid, behind her ear, then adjusted her purse on her shoulder again.

A full day of job hunting and she’d found nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero.

Yet, she reminded herself. She’d find something.

But for now, she’d had enough disappointment for the day. It was time for an early dinner and some girl talk. She turned toward Candy’s Café, just a short walk away.

“Breezy! Wait up!”

That voice was too darn familiar. The voice of a man who had sworn he’d never come back to this town again. About the same time he’d broken her heart.

She spun around. What on earth was Andrew North still doing in Aspen Grove? He should have left by now. Her heart sputtered in indignation.

Still as handsome as ever, he looked like one of the young Beach Boys, blonde and beautiful, tanned and smiling, athletic and addicted to surfing.

Laughing, he crossed the street and swept her up in a big hug. “It is so good to see you, Babe.”

Struggling to catch her breath and regain her emotional equilibrium, she pulled out of his embrace—before she could change her mind and lean into it. “What a surprise to see you, Andrew.”

“I know. I know. I thought I wanted to be out in the big wide world, but I’ve decided big cities are not the place for me. Can you believe it? I actually like small towns. And so I’m back in town and starting a business.”

Still a little breathless, Breezy laughed. “Long swim from surfboards to boardrooms.”

“My business isn’t exactly boardroom material.” He brushed his long blonde bangs out of his eyes. “But the fact that I’m starting a business is amazing, I know. But I’ve done some growing up.” He laughed again. “I hope.”

She hoped so, too. Andrew was loads of fun, but in the way of a little kid who laughs and everyone else can’t help but laugh along. But she couldn’t get involved with a little kid again. “You, a businessman. I can’t get over that.”

He took her arm. “May I buy you an early dinner? I’ll tell you all about the new direction my life is taking. And the new path I’m on.”

He smiled fondly down at her, as if he wanted her to join him on that path.

Time with Andrew was the last thing she needed. She had liked him too much and it would be better if she stayed away from him. “I’m kind of busy right now.”

“Oh. What are you up to?” Friendly as always.

She remembered those puppy dog eyes, and their effect on her. Smiling self-consciously, she admitted, “I’m looking for a job.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “But I heard you were doing the weather for our illustrious local station. What happened?”

“The new owners want more exposure. As in unbuttoned blouse exposure.” She shrugged. “I’m looking for something to tide me over until I either get that job back or find another one out of town.”

“Why, that’s perfect.” A beautiful smile lit his gorgeous, tanned, surfer boy face.

“What?” she asked suspiciously.

“Me needing someone temporary to get my store set up, and you needing something temporary to tide you over. Perfect combination.”

“Except I can’t work with you, Andrew.” She patted his arm to take the sting out of her words. There was no way she could. If she did, she’d fall under his charismatic spell again. And she’d learned already in her short life not to fall under his spell again.

He released her arm and took hold of her shoulders, gently, and looked into her eyes. “Breezy, I won’t pressure you. Really. But think about it, okay? Don’t just say no reflexively. I’d pay you top dollar. Not as much as meteorologists get, but a good wage.”

Under his gaze, she sighed. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

“Great. Now that that’s settled, let me take you to dinner.”

His happy smile was catching. She returned a smile. “I was headed toward Candy’s.”

“Why, what a coincidence. I was just thinking how I’ve missed Candy’s cooking.”

They started walked toward the café. “Was that what you were just thinking?”

“Scout’s honor.”

“I seem to remember that you dropped out of Scouts.”

“Oh, yes, I did, didn’t I? Well, surfer’s honor, then.”

She laughed. “I know what that’s worth.”

“Play nice,” he said. “I have high hopes for charming you tonight.”

And at that moment, Breezy realized she’d best drive herself straight home afterward. Dinner was one thing. But this had better be the last time she spent with her old boyfriend.

She’d already learned her lesson with Andrew. No matter how charming he was, she wouldn’t lose her heart to him again.

* * *

Wednesday, May 8

What a difference two days could make. It was only two nights before that she’d eaten dinner with Andrew here at Candy’s Café, and what a surreal experience that had been. And now, after another full, fruitless, and frustrating day of job hunting, it was a relief to spend time again with her Chick Flick Clique friends. They always made everything seem better. Maybe they would have ideas of a job she could get that didn’t involve an ex-boyfriend.

In the back room, Breezy dropped her five-dollar bill into the wide-mouthed vase.

On the couch closest to the door, Dani patted the empty spot between her and the governor’s daughter Sonnet. Miss America’s mother Iris and her regal daughter’s friend April sat on the other couch. Lindsey, school teacher Beth Lawrence, and Candy sat on the armchairs between.

With a sigh of relief, Breezy settled on the couch. “What are we watching tonight?”

“Candy won’t tell us,” Dani groused. “She’s being mean.”

“Poor babies. I just thought we might want to choose something after everyone arrived. And it’s eight o’clock, so it looks like we’re all here.” Candy laughed. “At least those who are going to get a vote are here.”

“How are the kids, April?”

April had two little ones. “Jordan is home watching them tonight. Do him good to be reminded of all I do keeping track of them.”

Sonnet juggled her plate, set her cup on the end table, and turned to Breezy. “Dani said you’re looking for a job. Have you found one yet?”

Breezy blew out a noisy breath. “Three days of walking the mean streets of Aspen Grove and I’ve found absolutely nothing.”

“The mean streets of Aspen Grove?” Candy snorted. “That’s pretty funny.”

“It would be funnier if I’d gotten more than just a temporary job offer from an old boyfriend.”

Instantly, every woman in the room focused her attention on Breezy.

“Andrew?” Beth asked in a tone of voice that suggested she found this very romantic.

Breezy nodded. “None other than Andrew North.”

“Wow.” Sonnet raised an eyebrow. “Did you agree to work for him?”

“Are you kidding? There’s no way I can ever work with him now. Not after all that’s happened between us.”

Iris tipped her head in question. “Why not? Didn’t you date for years, starting in high school?”

“Yes, and thank you for remembering that particular painful memory.” Breezy lightened her words with a smile. “That is precisely why I can never, ever work with him. He’s got way too much surfer charisma going on.”

“The man is gorgeous.” Candy pretended to swoon. “And I think he may have actually matured a little.”

Dani lifted a brownie halfway to her lips. “That’s a good thing because he was pretty immature before.” She took a bite.

Beth looked vulnerable. “Did he leave you for someone else?”

“Not for another woman,” Breezy said, her heart remembering the pain of his leaving. “But it didn’t feel much better to get left behind for a bigger city.”

“Maybe you could work things out,” Beth said. “Sometimes all someone needs is a second chance.”

The women were silent for a moment, all aware Beth wished she could have had a second chance with James Jackson, the man she’d been mourning the loss of since she’d returned to Aspen Grove. The man who had been ready to propose to her when another woman moved into the college town in the Rocky Mountains, where Beth had lived with her aunt, and had stolen him away.

Dixie crossed her legs, bouncing her red-booted foot. “And sometimes you just need to know when things are over. Just saying, y’all.”

Dani locked eyes with Breezy. From what Colt had told Dani, Dixie and he were experiencing problems, and what Dixie had just said didn’t sound too promising for Colt.

“I agree.” Lindsey straightened in her chair. “Sometimes you do need to know and admit when things are over.”

Sonnet chuckled. “Don’t even try to tell me it’s over with you and Ethan.”

“Oh, yeah. Over with a capital OVER. I will never make that mistake again.” Lindsey nodded emphatically. “It’s over for good this time.”

Disappointed, Breezy said, “But, Lindsey, you love Ethan.”

Some of the other ladies laughed because they knew it was true, too.

“It’s true,” Breezy insisted. “She does.”

“I used to love him.” Lindsey shook her head. “But not any more.”

Breezy sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Breezy, maybe you should date Ethan,” teased Candy. “I hear he’s available.”

Lindsey glared at her. “I said I don’t want him. I didn’t say he was free for the taking.”

Breezy caught Dani’s eye and they smiled. Oh, yeah, Lindsey and Ethan would be a couple again in the next few weeks. No doubt.

“And you, Lindsey, can date Andrew. I hear he’s available, too.”

“Very funny,” Breezy and Lindsey said in unison.

“You looked very cozy at dinner Monday night.” Candy smiled wickedly as she revealed Breezy’s secret.

The women turned to stare at Breezy again.

Iris said, “Really? How fun.” Extra emphasis on fun.

“Thanks for nothing, Candy.” Breezy sighed. “Yes, ladies, I had dinner with Andrew. That was all. And after dinner, I drove straight home. Alone. There will be no more dinners. I am not taking the job. And there is no romance. Period.”

After a pause, Candy told Breezy, “You could work for me as a waitress.”

“Thanks, Candy, but I think I would make a horrible waitress.” Besides, she didn’t think Candy really needed another waitress; her friend was just being nice.

“Well, if you want to try, come on by. I can keep you busy.”

“Seriously, Breezy,” said Sonnet. “Why not work for Andrew? It’s just temporary anyway, right? Until you get something better?”

The other ladies echoed the sentiment.

She looked around the semicircle of friends. She felt so blessed by their support, misguided as it may be tonight. “I’m not sure what other options I have. But three days of job hunting in town haven’t brought me even one other offer.”

When Candy sputtered in protest, Breezy smiled. “No other offer not caused by pity. Thank you, Candy. I appreciate you and your generous offer more than you know. And I appreciate you all, but what if I regret going to work for Andrew? So many things could go wrong.”

“And so many things could go right, too.” Dani put up her hand and started counting off on her fingers. “First of all, Andrew is easy on the eyes.”

Candy said, “That’s for sure.”

“Second,” Dani continued. “He has always liked you and treated you great.”

“He did.” Breezy agreed. “Right up until the very moment he dumped me for LA.”

“Third,” Dani went on, “you need a job. And Andrew would make a great boss. You were always able to wrap him around your little finger.” She held up her little finger. “Big time.”

Breezy laughed. “Okay, okay, I’ll consider working with Andrew as a last resort. But I’m giving myself another week first to find something else. For right now, I just need to watch a really good romance movie. And it sounds like nearly everyone needs that tonight, too, since you’re far too involved in setting me up with my former boyfriend.”

Lindsey nodded. “And setting me up, too, with my former boyfriend.”

Iris said, “Then we’d better watch the most romantic movie of them all. How about Pride and Prejudice?”

Breezy sighed deeply. “Colin Firth?”

Candy rose to grab her oversized DVD case. “I’ve got that one.”

“Bring on the romance,” Breezy said, settling back into the cushions.

Sonnet picked up her glass and took a sip. “I wonder if Colin Firth needs an assistant.”

Chapter Ten

Save something for a rainy day. —American Saying

Tuesday, May 14

The sign on Andrew’s new store read Grand Opening on June 23rd. He’d chosen the day before the Mayor’s Gala, hoping for extra exposure. He wasn’t selling surfboards yet, but Breezy could see through the window that the store interior was taking shape.

The good news? She’d found a meteorologist job. The bad news? In addition to being out of California, it didn’t start for sixty days. So she still needed an interim job.

She was here today to see if Andrew was serious about the job offer—and if he was, to gratefully accept. She’d spent the last week pounding the pavement, making calls, and going online. There was nothing in Aspen Grove unless she knew how to rebuild an engine for Ethan’s garage or wanted to wait for a month. Everybody was pretty much fully staffed already. She was going to accept the Utah job. She didn’t have any other choice at this point.

Breezy sucked in a big breath for courage, and pushed open the door of Andrew’s new store. “Hi.”

Andrew stood with a group of construction workers, apparently in a serious conversation. But the instant he caught sight of her, he told them, “Be back shortly,” and headed her way with a grin. Motioning around the store, he said, “What do you think of the new respectable me?”

She shook her head. “I should have known you’d be selling surfboards.”

“What else? I’m an expert on the subject.” He motioned her toward the closest counter. “Let me show you around.”

In addition to the many different brands of surfboards hanging on two walls, Andrew showed her wetsuits and traction pads, surf booties and sandals, swimsuits and surf shorts, amid the still-unpacked boxes. “We’re not opening for a few weeks, but I think the store is coming together nicely.”

“It’s all really nice, Andrew. I’m impressed. Really.”

He studied her. “I’m still filling positions.”

She sighed again. “Wanna hire an old friend?”

“Are you kidding? I’d love to work with you. You know that.” His face lit up even more and she couldn’t help smiling. His cheerfulness was catching. “And you will look so cute in the little outfits my cashiers will be wearing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Tie-dye?”

He laughed. “Actually, only the vests.”

“You should get Fiona to work for you, then. She loves tie-dye.” She shook her head. “Are you sure you’ve changed?”

“Oh, I’ve changed all right. You are looking at the new and improved Andrew North.” He winked. “What do you think?”

“I think I hope you pay better than you schmooze.”

“For you, Babe, extra pay.”

She crossed her arms and leaned against a glass counter holding expensive sunglasses. “Hazard duty?”

He grinned. “It is going to be fantastic spending time with you again, Breezy.”

“Working together,” she clarified.

His grin faded to a more serious half-smile. “I’ve missed you, Babe.”

Oh, no. That was exactly what she was afraid of. He was really cute, and she was definitely drawn to his happy attitude, but she wasn’t about to be burned by Andrew again. She wasn’t sure this would work, but, unless she found another job in town, and there weren’t any right now, she needed to make her car payment.

She smiled, as brightly as she could. “I’ll take the job, Andrew. Thanks.”

“That’s awesome.” He took her hand and held it up to his lips. “Like old times.”

Oh, criminy. She was in trouble now. She tugged her hand loose. “Perhaps not exactly like.”

He smiled a slow seductive smile. “Who knows where destiny will lead us.”

She’d better remind herself she needed the money before her job in Utah started. “I can start next Monday. Does that work?”

“May 20th?” When she nodded, Andrew said, “That would be great, Babe. And what are you doing this Friday evening?”

She grabbed the first thought that shot past. “Got to wash the dog.”

He laughed and chucked her under the chin. “You are so cute when you’re flustered.”

As she stumbled through a goodbye and made her escape from his store, she shook her head. When had life gotten so hard?

Oh, yes, she remembered. It was the moment the Firing Squad had entered it.

When her phone rang and Lindsey invited her to come to dinner with Dani at Candy’s Café, Breezy was glad for some female moral support. She was going to need all she could get.

If only she could keep her friends from trying to fan the matchmaking flames.

* * *

Noah stared at the young lady sitting in a chair on the far side of his desk. “So what do you want to see happen here at KWAC?”

Dressed in an orange tie-dyed shirt, Fiona frowned and looked hesitant. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t seem to find the words.

Noah tried to look encouraging, nodding and smiling.

Fiona sighed. “I just know that I’m hearing a lot of coworkers talk about finding other jobs. I’ve never seen people so down about working here. I don’t really know what to do, except hire Breezy back. People really like Breezy.”

What she left unsaid was that people really didn’t like Pamela Gladstone, but she didn’t have to. He knew Pamela was hard to get along with. But Pamela was here at Bentley’s insistence.

“So you think I need to raise morale here at the station?”

She nodded. “It would help. A lot.”

“Do you have any ideas for raising morale?”

“Other than Breezy, I don’t really know.”

“If you think of something, please do let me know. I value your suggestions. You’ve been here a lot longer than I have.”

“Okay.” She stood.

“Thanks for coming in.” He rose and opened the door for her. She skittered out, more nervous than he’d ever seen her.

He closed the door and crossed back to his desk. She hadn’t told him anything that the last ten people hadn’t said.

Work at the station was suffering.

Morale was down.

Ratings were dropping.

And falling ratings made him very, very nervous.

A knock on the door startled him. He sighed and called out, “Come in.”

Gabe stuck his head around the door. “Ready for the daily hate mail?”

Exasperated, Noah said, “What do these people want, anyway? Can’t they give me a chance to get things working right?”

“Most of them seem to want Breezy Jones back on the weather.” Gabe handed a stack of printed emails to Noah and took a seat.

As Noah glanced through them, Breezy’s name popped up again and again. “This person hopes I get run out of town on a rail. And soon.”

“That’s not the worst one,” Gabe said, rubbing his soul patch. “One woman wants to, well, I don’t want to ruin the surprise. But it’s not very nice. Most people around here don’t like Pamela.”

After reading through them all, Noah looked up. “What is it about Breezy Jones that makes people so loyal to her?”

“What makes you so interested in her? It’s probably the same thing.”

“She’s cute. I’ll give her that. And funny. But that’s not enough to be such a popular weather woman.”

“The people want Breezy. Why not give them what they want?”

“You want to repeat that for Mr. Bentley, do you?” Noah sighed again. “I just hope they get used to her soon.”.

He wasn’t sure, though. Pamela was great on screen, but Aspen Grove wasn’t falling in love with her. They were apparently already in love with Breezy. “I’ve got to stick with Pamela and hope for the best. I’ve got to raise the ratings.” He tapped his pen on the desk. “What do you think I should do?”

“Get some dinner. Let’s go to Candy’s Café.”

“You’re no help.”

“Dinner will help. Trust me.”

* * *

Friday, May 17

The station was receiving more hate mail every day. Three days later, as Noah sat perusing the latest batch, his secretary rang through. “Ms. Jones is here to see you.”

“Breezy?” He brightened immediately. She’d come back! Why it should make him this happy was a mystery, but he’d hoped she’d come to her senses and return for her job.

“No. This Ms. Jones is Breezy’s mother.”

What on earth was Breezy’s mother doing here at KWAC? Was this a good development or a bad one? She couldn’t be happy that her daughter had quit and perhaps blamed him. Was she delivering her hate mail in person? “Show her in.”

He stood and adjusted his tie, inexplicably nervous.

A moment later, the door opened. A woman, probably in her fifties, entered.

Noah could see at a glance that Breezy took after her petite yet shapely mother. This woman had streaks of gray in her curly short hair, but still looked… cute. As the proverbial button.

“Hello, Mr. Drake. It’s good to meet you at last.” She put out her hand and smiled. “I have heard sooo much about you.”

He just bet she had. Shaking her hand, he said, “I am delighted to meet you, as well, Ms. Jones. Please, have a seat. And I want to thank you for the delicious soup you sent over to me when I was sick.”

“I’m so glad you liked it. And you’re welcome.” As she settled her small frame into one of his large chairs, she said, “I’d also like to welcome you into the community. My husband would come but he had other obligations this week.”

Obligations, huh? Like defending his daughter’s career honor? Perhaps he was at home right now, sharpening his sword? Despite the ridiculous thought, he smiled and nodded encouragingly.

“You have a lovely smile.” Breezy’s mother smiled back at him and it lit up her face. “You wouldn’t believe how much the ladies in town are talking about that smile of yours.”

Surprised, he tipped his head. “They are?”

“Oh, yes. Your smile is well known already.” She leaned forward. “Mr. Drake, I would love to have you join my family for Sunday dinner in two days. I know you’re all alone in town and it’s a shame that you should have to spend Sunday dinner alone, too.”

Surprised at the unexpected invitation, Noah said, “That’s very generous of you. Thank you.”

“People say my roast beef and mashed potatoes are the best they’ve ever had. And my pumpkin pie.” Growing serious, she asked, “Do you like pumpkin pie, Mr. Drake?”

He couldn’t help smiling again. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“With real whipped cream?”

“Definitely.”

“Good.” She nodded. “About six then?”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” He smiled at her again. “I met your husband at Paul Nelson’s retirement party. I understand Mr. Jones did a fantastic job as meteorologist here for many years.”

“Thirty.” Her eyes narrowed just a bit. “My daughter will be at dinner, too.”

“Really.” Why did his mouth go dry at the thought?

“I believe you’ve already met her.”

“Breezy?” he asked hesitantly. Or did they have another daughter?

She nodded happily. “Breanne. Yes.”

Thinking Breezy wouldn’t want him there, he began, “Are you sure—”

She motioned away his question. “She will love to have you there, as will my husband.”

He wasn’t so sure about Breezy being delighted. Or her father, for that matter. She had been most definitely not delighted the last time he’d spoken with her. Could this possibly end well? But it would give him a chance to learn why everyone in Aspen Grove thought Breezy was so great. More importantly, it would give him a chance to see her again. And, all of a sudden, he had a great urge to see her.

Mrs. Jones reached into her purse and pulled out a small notebook, tore out a sheet, and handed it to him. “Our address.”

She’d come prepared.

“Thank you. I’ll be there. Six o’clock. What would you like me to bring?”

“Absolutely nothing but your charming self and your famous smile.” She stood. “It was very good to meet you, Mr. Drake. I’ll see you next Sunday.”

He stood to let her out, but she was already halfway to the door. Once there, she turned and gave a cute little wave, then she let herself out.

Noah almost laughed. Breezy may look like her petite mother and be just as sunny, but he suspected his little weather wizard had gotten her steadier personality from her father.

He went back to work in a strangely happier mood.

* * *

Sunday, May 19

Breezy’s mother handed her another plate. “We’ll need four set today, Dear.”

“Oh, I didn’t know Kendra was coming for Sunday dinner.” It had been a few weeks since Breezy had seen her sister, who was working on her latest art project. Kendra was fine at a family dinner, but tended to embarrass Breezy when they went out in public. While their mother may be an amateur flibbertigibbet at times, Kendra was a pro. Still, Breezy enjoyed spending time with her.

As Breezy walked past her father, who sat at the head of the table, she patted his shoulder. He looked up over his newspaper and smiled at her.

“Your sister couldn’t get away this weekend,” her mother said as she bustled between the kitchen and dining room.

Setting the fourth place at the table, Breezy asked, “Who’s coming to dinner, then?”

“Oh, Breezy, you are going to be so surprised.”

As Breezy placed the silverware around the fourth plate, now a little worried, she asked, “What have you done now, Mom?”

“Don’t use that tone with me. All I have done is to invite a nice young man to Sunday dinner with us.”

“Oh, Mom, you promised. No more blind dates.”

“I’m sure he’s not blind,” her father said over his newspaper.

“Very funny, Dad. You know what I mean.”

“Breezy, you just need to give certain people a second chance.” Her mother frowned at her. “Really. You are so unforgiving.”

“Oh, no. Mom, you didn’t. Please tell me you did not invite Andrew North to dinner.”

“Of course not, Dear.”

Breezy let out a shaky breath. “Thank goodness for that.”

“Not this week. Though Andrew is a delightful man and I hope you do accept his dinner invitation.”

Surprised, Breezy said, “How did you know he invited me to dinner?”

Her mother waved her hand. “Everyone knows he still has feelings for you, so why wouldn’t he invite you to dinner? He was never one to wait around long.”

Or stick around long, either. Breezy was beginning to feel a little dizzy, something that happened regularly when she was around her mother, who was apparently going to invite Andrew for dinner sometime soon. So today’s surprise guest should be a good thing, right? Then why did she have such a bad feeling about it? “Just who did you invite?”

“Whom, Dear. And I do expect you to sit here and visit with him and be civilized, Breanne.”

“Whom did you invite?”

“I can’t believe you never mentioned how handsome he is.”

“Mom!”

Her father lowered his newspaper, an exasperated look on his face. “Please do get to the point, Emily.”

Her mother smiled dreamily. “That very nice Noah Drake.”

Breezy rolled her eyes. “You mean the very nice man who fired me?”

“He didn’t fire you, Dear. You quit.” She motioned toward Breezy. “And when he sees how wonderful you really are, he’ll realize what a mistake he’s made and hire you back. Or maybe he’ll want to date you. You are a lovely young woman.”

Oh, no. She wasn’t going to be a party to this. “I’m getting a headache. I think I’d better go home now.” And she was getting a headache. Another regular occurrence when she spent too much time around her mother.

“No, Dear. Take two aspirins and then finish setting the table. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes. And you will sit down to dinner and talk to him nicely.”

Dad said, “Of course Breezy will be nice. She’s always nice.”

Why did she let her mother do these things to her?

“Yes, be kind, too.” Dad lowered his voice. “Kill him with kindness, Sweetie.”

Slowly she smiled back. “Thanks, Dad. I will.”

* * *

“Mr. Drake, would you like some mashed potatoes?”

Noah smiled at Mrs. Jones. “Please, call me Noah.”

Breezy’s mother batted her eyes demurely. “Oh, please, then call us Emily and Arthur.” She motioned across the table from him. “And Breanne.”

“It would be an honor.” He caught Breezy’s eye. She wasn’t as welcoming as she’d been when he’d first seen her just a few weeks ago. He realized how much he’d missed that warmth and he hoped that, by the end of the meal, she might have warmed to him again. He could turn on the charm when needed. He nodded at her mother. “And, yes, I would love more of your delicious mashed potatoes.”

Emily passed the bowl to him. “How do you enjoy our town so far?”

“Do you find it provincial?” Breezy asked in a sweet voice as she spooned some spicy green beans onto her plate.

Emily looked at her daughter disapprovingly. “I’m sure he thinks no such thing.”

Amused as always by Breezy, Noah said, “I think Aspen Grove is a delightful town.”

“Dad,” Breezy said as she passed the bowl of beans to Noah, “Would you call Pollyanna provincial?”

Noah nearly dropped the bowl of beans, fumbling it with both hands before setting it down on the table. All eyes on him. He smiled awkwardly. “Butter fingers, I guess.”

Pollyanna? Oh, crap. Had she heard him refer to her as Pollyanna?

Arthur, who seemed content to let the conversation swirl around him, taking it all in and saying little, quirked an eyebrow. “Why do you ask that, Breezy?”

“No reason in particular. Just wondering.” Breezy looked at Noah. “What do you think, Mr. Drake?”

She had heard him call her Pollyanna! She must have. His heart sinking, he said, “I think Pollyanna had many redeeming characteristics.”

“Personally, I’ve heard Pollyanna wasn’t glamorous enough.”

“Breezy, would you please pass the roast beef?” Arthur turned to their guest. “Noah, how are things at the station? Are people settling in yet?”

Relieved to change the subject, Noah said, “They’re starting to, I think. Change isn’t easy for some people.”

Breezy made a small snorting sound, but didn’t look up as she passed the platter of roast beef.

“It certainly isn’t.” Arthur chuckled.

Noah wasn’t sure where to go from here. If he’d known she could hear him, he’d never have said what he did.

But at least, now that she’d reminded him, he realized why people loved her. Because she was like Pollyanna. Warm as sunshine and happy to be alive. He felt drawn to her, as well.

He just wished she hadn’t turned off the Pollyanna warmth toward him. He missed it.

He looked at her with new eyes. Pollyanna. He’d never thought of the positive attributes of the happy little girl. Everyone liked Pollyanna. Everyone liked Breezy. Even him, a jaded television news general manager. He was probably only a few years older than she was, but he’d gotten cynical where she’d stayed sweet.

He liked sweet. He liked Pollyanna. Who knew?

Breezy’s mother took a sip of water and then asked, “Breezy, don’t you start your new job tomorrow?”

Noah felt an unwelcome stab of emotion. Jealousy. That was weird.

A rosy flush lit Breezy’s cheeks. “Yes. I do.”

Emily looked at her daughter. “I’m so glad you’ll be working with Andrew at his new store. He always did value you. Plus I know he’s hoping to rekindle your old romance.”

Breezy flicked a glance at Noah. “Yes. He should be enjoyable to work with.”

Another jab of jealousy. What on earth was wrong with him? And who was Andrew? “What type of business does he have?”

Breezy played with her dessert spoon. “He’s starting a surfboard store called Surf’s Up. It’s going to be pretty amazing, actually.”

Emily looked at Noah. “Andrew has been a surfer his entire life. He loves to surf, so this is a natural extension of his passion.”

Noah studied Breezy, who was apparently another one of Andrew’s passions. “So you’re willing to support his dream?” Emphasis on his.

She smiled broadly. “Might as well. Someone stole mine from me for the moment.”

Emily’s eyes widened and her, “Breezy!” sounded shocked.

“It’s true. I love weather.” Breezy smiled, first at her mother and then at Noah. “At least surfers love to know what the weather forecasts are going to be before they go out.”

His breath caught for a second.

Her dream was the weather? That’s why she had quit? She loved the weather so much that she’d quit her job when he’d moved her out of it into something else. He’d stolen her dream.

He hadn’t looked at it like that. He’d thought he was taking care of her by not firing her, by giving her raises, but he hadn’t realized how much she really loved weather.

Of course she did. She was a meteorologist. And he was an idiot.

Breezy caught his gaze and he saw the pain in her eyes.

He was relieved when she looked away. He’d never stolen away someone’s dream before, not even as the Firing Squad.

And not just anybody’s—he’d stolen Pollyanna’s dream. No wonder he was getting hate mail from the community, people who’d grown up watching this bubbly young woman share her passion with them.

With Pamela, the passion was strictly monetary. But Breezy put her heart and soul into her forecasts, into telling her friends what weather was coming and how to prepare for it. And he’d offered her a job as his assistant. He was an idiot.

He had to make this right. He would call Mr. Bentley, CEO of the parent corporation and occasional fishing buddy, as soon as Bentley returned from a long vacation in the Bahamas. He would help Breezy get back her dream—if not at his station, at least at one of Bentley’s other stations.

Chapter Eleven

When all is said and done, the weather and love are the two elements about which one can never be sure. —Alice Hoffman

Monday, May 20

“So how’s your first day of work?” Stephanie asked from the other side of Surf’s Up counter.

Breezy slid the counter door closed. “We’re pretty busy getting ready for the grand opening. It’s fun seeing Andrew’s dream come to life here.”

“Nice store.” Stephanie checked out Andrew and leaned over to whisper, “Cute boss.”

Breezy smiled as she looked at Andrew’s handsome-as-sin face and heart-melting smile. He winked at her. “There’s no denying that.”

“So are you going to date him again?”

Breezy laughed as she turned back to her friend. “I’ve been wondering that myself. He keeps asking.”

“You’d have adorable babies.” Stephanie ran a finger along the dragon on a highly polished surfboard. “This one’s pretty.”

“He’s got more inventory coming in every day.” Breezy pulled up another shipping box and sliced through the tape to see what new merchandise was inside. Surfboard leashes. They would go on the empty rack sitting on the next counter. She picked up the box and motioned to Stephanie. “Over here.”

Stephanie followed her. “Would you like to go to lunch with me Wednesday?”

“Sure. Where?”

“Candy’s.”

Breezy nodded. “Hey, did you get more queries sent out on your book?”

Stephanie nodded and followed her around the curve of the room. “Twenty more with another twenty going out this week. I’ve got all my fingers crossed.”

“Must make it hard to type.”

Stephanie picked up one of the leashes and hung it on the other side of the rack. “So have you heard the news about the emails?”

Breezy paused. “What emails?”

“My evil plan. Remember?” Stephanie twirled an imaginary villain’s moustache. “The emails to KWAC.”

Breezy frowned. “People are actually sending them? I’m not sure I feel good about doing this.”

“No, what’s funny is these are not all from the Chick Flick Clique. The whole town has been asking for you back. Without any prompting from us.”

Andrew passed by and must have heard because he put his arm around Breezy’s shoulder. “They can’t have her back. She’s mine now.”

Breezy rolled her eyes. “See what I have to put up with in a boss?”

“Ha. That’s a good one. At least he’s not Pamela.”

No, he wasn’t Pamela. Now Breezy had a whole new set of problems. Better tempered boss. Dangerously handsome. With a smile that had always melted her resolve in the past.

As Andrew moved into the back room and Stephanie gave her a hug and said her goodbyes, Breezy wondered just how long she could keep herself from melting. Because she wasn’t sure that Andrew would stay in town. How long before his wanderlust set in again? She didn’t want to get close enough to him to be hurt again.

She turned back to see him flash his smile at her again as he came out of the back room with two more boxes. “Glad you’re working here?”

“Of course I am. Otherwise, I’d be unemployed,” she teased. Surprisingly, while she was looking at the heart-stopping smile of Andrew North, Noah Drake’s face popped into her mind. How interesting.

Andrew smiled and carried the boxes across the store to where he was setting up another large display rack.

He was one good-looking man and this store was a step in the right direction for him, showing he was maturing, but she wasn’t sure he could stay settled down for long.

When he left town again, she didn’t plan on being on the receiving end of hurt a second time. She’d dated other men since Andrew, but he’d been the first man to really break her heart.

So, no. Next time anyone asked, she’d have the correct answer ready. No, she was not going to date Andrew North again. Now to figure out a way to make him accept that.

* * *

Wednesday, May 22

Three days later, Noah pulled his thoughts away from cute little Breezy Jones.

Breezy with unexpected depth of intellect. A master’s degree in Atmospheric Science? Who’d have believed it?

With a sigh, he pushed aside the thought. He wouldn’t be able to reach Mr. Bentley until Monday to see if he could get her a job in weather at any other of the parent corporation’s stations, and Noah needed to focus on work today, to talk to some disgruntled employees, to speak with the mayor, and to answer some more irate emails.

He pulled up the latest one.

Dear Mr. Drake and Station KWAC, I have been a long-time viewer of your news station and have enjoyed the wonderful experience of having the great tradition of Mr. Arthur Jones carried on by his delightful daughter, Breezy. I find the new weather person to be abrasive and scantily clad. Unless you bring back Breezy, I will be gone with the wind. Cindy A.

He clicked Reply. Dear Cindy, I agree. Breezy is delightful. He stopped and deleted what he’d typed. He did think Breezy was delightful, but he still hoped the community would get used to seeing Pamela on the news. Their acceptance just wasn’t happening as quickly as he’d hoped. It had worked at the last two stations, so why not here? Bentley had guessed wrong this time.

Noah’s cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and saw the call was his boss, Mr. Bentley, who must have returned from his vacation early. “Hello, Mr. Bentley.”

“How are you doing, Noah?” The boss’s voice was gravelly but he sounded jovial enough.

“I’m doing well, sir. How were the Bahamas?”

“Good. And excellent. Hey, listen, son, I’ve just had a teleconference with some shareholders and those annoying bean-counters, and people are saying the ratings at KWAC are dropping. You want to tell me what you did there to lower ratings?”

Suddenly Noah was not doing so well. His throat went dry. “The folks around here have traditions they object to changing.”

“Then why change them?”

“I was hoping to raise ratings,” Noah admitted.

Bentley chuckled. “Didn’t work.”

“No, sir. It hasn’t. Yet.”

“Ever heard the expression, ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’?”

“I have.” He had, indeed, heard it, from Breezy Jones.

His boss continued. “Tell you what. Whatever you did to their traditions, undo it.”

“All right,” he said, and this was definitely a case of easier said than done.

“What’s the main complaint of these tradition-loving folks?”

“They don’t like Pamela. They want their original meteorologist back.” Noah didn’t mention that Bentley had insisted on the original change. “Liven things up.”

“It’s sure livened up our phone lines. They’re ringing off the hook with folks asking for someone named Breezy Jones back. I’m assuming that’s your not-so-glitzy former meteorologist.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Put her back on-air.”

“She quit. And I’m not sure she’ll come back.”

“Sweeten the pot and get her back.” It was an order. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. I will get her back.”

“Good man. Have her cut her hair short, though. More like Pamela’s. An edgier look.”

His heart sank at that. “Are you sure, sir?”

“I’m sure.” Bentley’s voice was inflexible. He’d decided again.

Noah sighed. “Do you have another spot for Pamela at another station? Or do you want me to move her into another job here?”

“You keep her there for now.” Noah heard a woman’s voice in the background. Bentley laughed. “Gotta go. The wife’s calling me back to the beach. I’ll talk to you next week when I’m stateside again.”

After their goodbyes, Noah tossed his phone back on the desk.

Bentley had called during his vacation to chastise Noah? For something he had insisted Noah do? Well, he knew life wasn’t fair and this just proved it.

Okay, he had his marching orders. Find Pamela a job other than weathercaster.

And then do whatever it took to get Breezy Jones back to work.

Humble himself, if need be.

Beg.

Grovel.

He didn’t like groveling, but the thought of Breezy being back at the station where he could talk with her more often actually brought a smile to his face. He’d wanted to get her back into weather. That’s why he’d been waiting for Bentley to get back from his vacation. He just hadn’t expected to put her back on KWAC.

Okay, this could work. He would hire Breezy back with just a few image changes. Maybe change her hairstyle or get her some additional makeup. But no more than two buttons undone. Pamela may be abrasive, but she definitely aced the Weather Bimbo look. He’d have to get Breezy to agree to some changes. And he’d give her a hefty raise. That ought to entice her back.

Then, remembering that she had quit the last time he’d offered her a raise, he knew the weather job was what would bring her back. Her dream job.

A slow grin formed. He felt pretty good about this move, about giving Breezy back her dream job.

* * *

The same day, Breezy settled into the café booth across from Stephanie. “I’m so glad you’ve sent off more queries.”

“I’m already getting rejections from the new queries.” Stephanie sighed dramatically. “Three just yesterday.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. How disappointing.” Breezy stashed her small purse on the floor at her feet. “That means you’re a real writer, though, right?”

“Some people say that.” Stephanie fiddled with the salt shaker. “I think it just means I’m not successful as a writer.”

“I’ve read your manuscript and I think you’re awesome. Just keep going. You’re going to be successful.”

“I just get tired of waiting for my dream to come true.”

Breezy chuckled. “Boy, do I identify with that one. I had my dream come true. And then the bubble burst.”

“Oh, yeah. Hey, I sent an email to the station objecting to your bursting bubble.” Stephanie grinned. “It was very well written.”

Breezy laughed. “I’m sure it was.”

“Hi, ladies.” Candy handed them menus. “What would you like to drink today?”

When they both said, “Water,” Candy nodded and headed off toward the counter.

Candy’s Café was uncharacteristically empty today, with three tables of people. One guy had punched in a few Elvis songs on the retro CD jukebox.

The door opened, and Lindsey came in. Breezy and Stephanie waved her over. After the greetings, Breezy scooted over so Lindsey could slide into the booth next to her.

Candy brought three glasses of water. “Hi, Lindsey.”

“Hi. Thanks.”

“How’s the romance with Ethan going?” Stephanie asked, shooting a glance at Breezy.

“It’s not. I told you. It’s over.” Lindsey pulled a face and picked up a menu. “For. Ev. Er.”

Candy said, “Then you’re going to be real disappointed in about one minute.”

Stephanie looked out the window. “Uh, oh.”

“What?” Breezy and Lindsey asked.

Stephanie motioned with her menu toward the door. “Forever is about to follow you in the door.”

“He’d better keep away.” Lindsey frowned.

Candy chuckled. “I’ll be back for your orders, ladies.”

Stephanie laughed. “And look who’s following Ethan inside. What an interesting lunch this is proving to be.”

Breezy turned and lifted herself up so she could see over the back of the booth. Noah and Gabe walked in, and Ethan held the door for them. Noah caught her eye and nodded to her. He didn’t come over, but he and Gabe seated themselves at the counter. Thank goodness, because she wanted absolutely nothing to do with Noah Drake, stealer of dreams, burster of bubbles, giver of crummy jobs and bribe raises.

Ethan stood by the door and scanned the café. When he caught sight of Lindsey, he smiled grimly and marched straight over to their booth.

Lindsey hid her face with her hands. “Tell me he is not coming over here.”

Ethan was not only coming over, but when he reached the booth, he lowered himself onto one knee.

“Lindsey,” he said. “I need to talk with you.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Ethan,” Lindsey said, uncovering her face and making shooing motions. “Get up and go sit at a table. A different table.”

But he didn’t. Instead, he held out a beautiful red rose to Lindsey.

Lindsey took the rose, her face flushing, and set it on the table.

Then Ethan began to sing. The only way the serenade could have been better is if he could actually hold a tune in a bucket, but it was obviously a song he’d written just for Lindsey in which he declared his undying love for her. And he belted it out at the top of his tuneless lungs.

Everyone in the café turned to watch, including Noah and Gabe at the counter.

When he finished his mangled song of undying love, still down on one knee, Ethan took Lindsey’s hand. “Lindsey Taylor, I love you with all my heart. Will you marry me?”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes!” Her eyes moist with emotion, Lindsey slipped out of the booth while he stood and gathered her into his arms for a passionate kiss.

The guys a few tables over whistled and catcalled.

Breezy and Stephanie sighed as he slipped an engagement ring on her finger. As Lindsey held out her hand to show it off, Breezy saw it was the same one that had been on and off her finger several times already.

“Ladies, I hope you will excuse us but we have some wedding plans to discuss.” Ethan took Lindsey’s hand and led her toward the door, as she looked back and giggled and flashed her ring finger.

As they left the café, Stephanie shook her head. “Here’s hoping that ring stays put this time.”

“How romantic,” Breezy said, sighing. “I would love for a man to make a fool out of himself for me.”

“You thought that was romantic?” Noah’s voice startled her.

She whirled on the bench seat and, as he seated himself at the next table, glared at him. “Yes, I thought it was very romantic.”

He grinned. “You will never find me making a fool of myself for a woman.”

“Just one of the many reasons you’re still single,” Breezy said, going for cool and detached.

Noah put a hand to his chest, as if in surprise, and chuckled. “Why, Breezy Jones, I do believe that is the first rude thing I’ve ever heard you say. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“You seem to bring out the worst in me.”

“Apparently so.” He shrugged. “And everybody seems to love you, so why are you still single?”

“That is not the first rude thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Probably not.” He smiled gently. “I have something important I need to discuss with you, too. Is there some place private we could go? My office, perhaps?”

Breezy looked at him through her eyelashes, the way her mother had insisted on showing her just last night, and smiled warmly. “No, thank you, Mr. Drake. My mother warned me about men like you.”

“Noah. Please. And your mother seemed to like me just fine when I came to dinner. Some other time?”

“Perhaps.”

“Would you allow me to buy you dinner?”

The guy actually looked nervous, and kind of cute in a vulnerable sort of way. And she had the strongest urge to touch his hand. Breezy’s natural friendliness took over. She couldn’t torture him any longer. “I suppose that would be okay.”

Ugh. Had she really said that?

He brightened. “Tonight?”

“Sorry, busy tonight.”

“Friday evening?”

“I’m really sorry, but that’s the night I wash my goldfish,” she teased.

He frowned at her. “It’s very important. I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

Breezy sighed. “I just remembered: I wash the goldfish on Thursday evenings so I can go to dinner with you on Friday, after all.”

He almost looked relieved. “I’ll pick you up at six o’clock?”

She nodded. “All right.”

“Thanks.” His obvious relief surprised her. “I’ll see you then.”

Stephanie raised an eyebrow. Breezy shrugged.

As he made his way back to the counter to rejoin Gabe, she wondered why she was so excited at the thought of talking seriously with him.

The last two serious talks she’d had with Noah, he’d stolen her dream job away from her, one step at a time.

What would he try to take from her on Friday?

* * *

Friday, May 24

Just two evenings later, Breezy studied Noah across the restaurant table from her. Apparently he’d remembered their talk from Paul’s retirement party because he’d brought her to Steam Me Up for crab. She loved the elegance of Steam Me Up, and the delectable crab wasn’t bad, either. That he remembered gave him some positive points, and heaven knows he needed them.

He’d been surprisingly charming, but she chalked that up to his having an agenda for the evening. He was trying to soften her up.

The waiter set their desserts on the table and refilled their waters.

The ambience of Steam Me Up was elegant in whites and emerald greens, heavy candlesticks on each table, and attentive waitpersons, dressed in white slacks with emerald green shirts emblazoned with Steam Me Up’s logo. Just being here made her sigh.

And their turtle cheesecake was simply to die for. He was definitely trying to soften her up, and it was working. She would have to stay on her guard when he made his move because, in her previous experience with Noah, his moves never worked out well for her.

He still hadn’t gotten to the purpose of his talk. But he had entertained her with stories from his various jobs at different stations, and the problems encountered at each, along with tales of his hobbies of skydiving and driving fast cars. He shared a little more about his volunteer work with preemies at the hospital.

She was having trouble not softening at that reminder, picturing him sitting in a hospital nursery, rocking an infant.

He’d asked her about her new job and her family and had gotten her to share some information she hadn’t intended to, especially about her previous relationship with Andrew.

When the waiter moved on, Noah pulled his dessert plate closer, and took a bite. She did the same.

She took another bite of turtle cheesecake. Mmmm.

She looked over at him teasingly. “Anything else you want to discuss tonight in this important talk of yours?”

He nodded and set down his fork. “I was going to wait until after dessert, but yes.”

She waited quietly, smiling encouragingly.

He sat back into his chair. “Breezy, I had it brought to my attention that I’ve made a big mistake and I need your help in fixing it.”

Interesting. What did he expect her to do? Freelance for the station to prop up the Weather Bimbo? “Do you need help setting up a cafeteria? Because I’m not a very good cook.”

“I’d hire your mother in an instant. I’ve tasted her food.” He smiled. “No, we’re good with the break room. But I am in serious need of a meteorologist and I’m hoping you will take pity on me and accept your job back.”

“As Pamela’s assistant?” She shuddered. “Sorry. Job from hell. No can do.”

“No, no. The job you originally held at KWAC.”

She wasn’t sure where he was really going with this, and she wasn’t going to make it easy on him. “Intern?”

He leaned forward. “The job you had right before I was hired.”

Her heart hitched a little. “Meteorologist? On-screen and everything?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Especially on-screen. For the whole world to see.”

Suspicious, she narrowed her eyes. “I thought I was too Pollyanna for on-screen.”

“I can’t tell you how very sorry I am that I ever said that about you. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Wow. That admission caught her by surprise. “So you want me back exactly the way I was before?”

“Well, with just a few image changes. I have a makeover artist who is an expensive consultant in Sacramento waiting to give you the benefit of her expertise. She’ll see you tomorrow.”

Saturday. Still not trusting this situation, she asked, “Do I have to unfasten five buttons and wear miniskirts?”

“No. Nothing like that. Just some makeup tips. Hairstyle. That type of thing. And no more than two buttons, max, ever.”

Still unsure but wanting to believe, she asked, “You seem desperate. Was Pamela tossed off a cliff by coworkers?”

He laughed. “No. And she’s going to be spitting mad when I move her into another position.”

“Not my weather producer, I pray. No can do that direction, either.”

“No. It seems the two of you have a personality conflict.” He lifted his fork again. “Fiona will remain as your very competent weather producer. Pamela will be out of weather.”

Should she do it? She couldn’t see a catch. So she had to learn a few makeup and hair tips. How long could that take? “I suppose I could meet with your consultant and let her jazz me up. As long as she doesn’t make me look cheap.”

“No. I don’t want that, either. You have a very nice look.”

Flushing, she looked into his eyes and tried to judge if he was being sincere. He seemed to be. “I have a commitment to my new job at Surf’s Up.”

“If I understood you correctly, non-weather jobs mean giving up your dream.”

“Well, there is that.” She paused for a second. “You don’t have another position for Pamela yet?”

“No. I wanted to speak with you first.”

“Maybe she’d like to work for my friend Andrew for a couple of weeks until he finds a replacement for me.”

“I’m pretty sure that won’t fly.”

She laughed. “So if she’s not in weather, what will she be doing?”

He studied her intently. “So you’re accepting the job?”

“It’s my dream job in the hometown I love. What’s not to accept?”

“Breezy, you are such a Pollyanna,” he teased.

Her eyes widened, wondering where he was going now.

“You didn’t even let me mention the raise. You could have held out for a raise.”

“I get another raise?”

“Oh, you do drive such a hard bargain.”

Her dream job? Another raise? And Noah smiling at her with warmth and even what looked like admiration.

Wow. Unexpected, but wonderful.

He put his hand across the table. Hesitantly, she put hers in his.

It began as a handshake, but morphed into something else when he didn’t release her hand, but took it between both of his, sending shivers up her arm. “Welcome back to the Weather Cave.”

* * *

The rest of the evening had been amazing. And, when Noah walked her to her door and kissed her lightly on the forehead, she thought her life was perfect just the way it was right this moment.

He handed her a card. “This has the consultant’s number. She’s expecting your call tonight to set up a time for tomorrow. Here’s my debit card to cover the cost and pay for your time tomorrow. It’ll be two hundred dollars for the first visit. Bring in the receipt so I can bill the station.”

“Do I have that much to fix?”

“No. She just charges that much per hour. And you’ll have two hours with her tomorrow.”

He stayed close enough that, for just a moment, she wondered if he was going to lean in and kiss her lips, but then he pulled back. “I’ll see you on Monday. Regular time. Drop by my office when you get there.”

“Okay,” she said, her head still reeling a bit from all that had happened tonight.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” She nodded. “Thanks for dinner. I enjoyed it.”

“Now I suppose your father’s rule comes back into play.”

“My father’s rule?”

“About not dating coworkers. But maybe I can convince you to bend that rule a little.” He smiled. “See you Monday, Breezy. Glad to have you back on board.”

Back on board.

It was hard to tell with Noah Drake if what had happened tonight indicated he cared about her at all, or if it had all been about getting her back on board, his original agenda for the evening.

She wondered if he was thinking about that almost kiss, too.

* * *

Breezy watched Noah’s sports car lights disappear, then went inside her small house.

She loved all eight-hundred-and-fifty square feet of her older home because it had lots of personality. Brick, with an oval-topped front door, a beautiful brick fireplace in the living room, a large bay window and built-in shelves in the dining room, and a kitchen with a hidden, built-in ironing board. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small room that doubled as her home office.

In her office, she turned on her laptop. She might as well check out the consultant.

While it booted up, she took off her dress and heels and slipped into bunny slippers and Tinkerbell pajamas. Still on a high, she decided to wait until after she’d spoken with the consultant before letting Dani, Stephanie, and Lindsey know about her good news.

An elegant website popped up for Lucienne’s Salon & Consulting. She checked the phone number against the one handwritten on the card Noah had given her. It wasn’t the same, so she had been given the woman’s private number. It was only nine o’clock, and Noah had said she was expecting Breezy’s call, so she called.

A whispery woman’s voice answered. “This is Lucienne. Is this Breezy Jones?”

“Yes. Hello. Noah Drake said you were going to work me in tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes. Definitely. I am anxious to work with you. I’ve seen a tape of your show and feel I can help.”

“What exactly will you do?”

“The art of makeup in the first hour.”

She’d expected that and could always use more tips and tricks. “Okay.”

“And the haircut in the second.”

“Haircut?” Breezy stumbled over the word, not sure she’d heard correctly. “A trim?”

“Your hair is going to look absolutely fabulous, and much more than a trim.”

“Wait a minute. Noah said you would help me restyle my hair. Nothing was said about cutting it.”

“Oh, yes, he wants it cut. In a beautiful short style.”

Short? He was trying to force her to cut her hair? Who did he think he was, anyway? Had he attended Atilla the Hun leadership training? And did he actually think she would go along with cutting her hair under duress?

She might have been considering that very thing on her own, but she would be darned if he was going to force her to cut her hair. He wasn’t the boss of her. Well, not about her hair, he wasn’t. “How about we make an appointment for the first hour only.”

“But Mr. Drake requested me to do the hair, as well. He even chose the style. Let me send you a picture. You’ll love it. I’ve superimposed the haircut in your hair color, on your picture.”

“All right,” she said reluctantly. After giving Lucienne her email address, she waited, while the stylist rattled on about colors and streaks and geometric cuts and makeup and nails.

When the email came through, Breezy told Lucienne, “It arrived,” and clicked on the picture.

“Tell me you absolutely love what it does for your eyes.”

Love it? She hated it. She looked like a fresher faced Pamela.

Noah had given her Pamela’s haircut!

It was all Breezy could do to speak civilly with the anger flooding her. “I’ll tell you what. I’m going to speak with Mr. Drake and I’ll call you back.”

“He will insist on the haircut. It is very flattering.”

For a weather bimbo, a man-eating sex goddess, a force of nature, perhaps.

But not for Breezy Jones, professional meteorologist.

“I’ll call you back,” she repeated, and hung up. She sat, stunned and fuming.

How dare he indeed. The jerk.

She lifted her phone and called Lindsey. When her friend answered, she said, “How would you like to earn one hundred dollars for trimming the ends off my hair tomorrow?”

“Wow. My Saturday morning is full, but at that price I’ll work you in. Who’s paying that ridiculous amount?”

“My boss.”

“Andrew?”

“No. Noah Drake just hired me back to do the weather. He wants me to get a haircut and he’s paying one hundred dollars.”

“Is he insane?”

“Certifiable if he thinks he can tell me to cut my hair short.” And she’d been certifiable for even considering letting him kiss her earlier.

“Wow,” Lindsey repeated. “He’s an idiot.”

“I’ll need an official receipt.”

“I’ll scrounge one up.”

“Good. Add a fifty-dollar tip. He’s feeling generous.”

Chapter Twelve

Criticism, like rain, should be gentle enough to nourish a man's growth without destroying his roots. —Frank Howard Clark

Monday, May 27

Breezy had wondered how long it would be before Noah wanted to talk about her one-inch haircut versus the drastic mutilation he’d wanted. Apparently, not long at all.

She had made a point of not going to his office when she first arrived on Monday, and a hostage situation in a Sacramento bank had created increased activity in the news hive so he had been busy doing other things.

She’d made it onto the news and done the weather segment, reveling in every minute of her beloved job. As she chatted with the anchors, she caught sight of Noah as he walked into the studio and talked for a moment with Stacy as she ran the teleprompter. Then he turned toward Breezy with a disapproving glare.

She smiled more brightly as she chatted and tossed the ball back to the anchors.

Maybe she could just stay here on the set. Forever.

He raised a hand and motioned her over, then walked out of the room.

With the camera no longer on her, she gave a silent sigh and stepped away from the anchor desk, making her way around the back of the cameras and following him out of the room.

He met her in the lobby outside of the short hallway. “Ms. Jones, would you be so kind as to step into my office, please.”

So it had come to formal last names. That meant he was really ticked off. Well, so was she. “Certainly, Mr. Drake.”

She followed him across the lobby, silent in the elevator ride up with several other occupants glancing back and forth between them, and down the hall to his office.

As soon as they entered and he closed the door, he faced her. “I thought you said you would call Lucienne.”

“I did call her.”

“But you didn’t visit her. Your hair is exactly the same. Your makeup, too.”

She put one hand on her hip. “You know, you have some kind of gall sending me to this so-called consultant, mentioning getting my hair styled, when what you asked her to do is cut it all off.”

“Not all of it. You would look sexy with a short cut.”

“Sexy, huh? Perhaps I don’t want to look sexy. Perhaps I just want to look like me.”

“I cannot believe you didn’t even get it cut.”

“I most certainly did.” She opened her purse. “And here is the receipt. And your slightly used VISA card.”

She handed over Lindsey’s receipt for a one-hundred-dollar haircut and fifty-dollar tip.

He studied it and glared at her. “Very generous with my money.”

“Your money? I assumed it was the station’s money.”

“It was up until this moment.”

“Mr. Drake,” she began.

“Noah,” he said.

She studied him. “I like my hair the way it is.”

“Let me clarify. You have a dream job. You want your dream job. If you want it bad enough, you’ll go to Lucienne and have her cut it up at least to your shoulders. I’m trying to give you your job here. You need to help me.” He put a hand on his desk. “So, do you want your dream job or not?”

There was a long pause while they stared angrily at each other.

Glared.

Finally, she looked away. “I want my dream job.”

“This time I will call and make the appointment and I will go with you to make sure you actually get the haircut.”

Breezy blinked twice to keep a tear from escaping. Her beautiful long hair was going to be gone. And Noah was the man who was going to force her to cut it.

She could take the job in Utah and keep her hair exactly as it was. But she wanted to stay in Aspen Grove. And apparently a drastic haircut was the only thing standing between her and what she wanted. Finally, she conceded. “All right.”

He nodded and pulled out his cell phone. After a moment, he said, “Lucienne, it’s Noah Drake. I would like to make another appointment for Ms. Jones.”

A pause, then, “Two weeks? You’re kidding.”

Another pause. “I’ll pay you double your going rate.”

Relieved, Breezy hoped something good happened in between to change his mind. But she didn’t think it would. If she wanted this job as meteorologist in the hometown she loved, the price was cutting her hair.

“All right. I’ll take it.” He hung up and turned to Breezy. “Your appointment is on Friday, June 7. I will drive you to Sacramento and back.”

“Yes, sir,” Breezy said, picked up her purse, and sailed out the door.

* * *

Friday, June 7

“Full-on French braids are pretty, though they are, unfortunately, not in the height of fashion right now, Lucienne said. “Much more glamorous and trendy to do side braids pulled back into a bun.”

Noah watched the woman begin to unpin Breezy’s shiny brunette hair.

Sitting in the chair, Breezy frowned, but didn’t say anything.

Uncomfortable in the midst of all the black and white geometric chrome and glass in this room, Noah shifted in his chair.

“I will give you a look that is all your own,” Lucienne assured her.

“I already had that,” Breezy finally said, shooting a glare his direction.

“A look,” Lucienne went on, “that will allow you to work on any television station anywhere in the country and stun people.”

Leaning against the wall, Noah glanced down at the printout Lucienne had done of Breezy’s face with the new proposed hairstyle. He liked it. Sleek. Professional. Sexy. Exactly the look he envisioned for the station. With her natural people-pleasing charm and her new sexier look, he suspected Breezy would be a huge hit.

Breezy had avoided him for nearly two weeks since he’d made the appointment. She’d done her work and he’d started receiving happy emails for a change. But she caught his gaze now, and he’d never seen that particular look of hurt in her eyes. He glanced away. Wishing Bentley hadn’t insisted.

This was for the best. For her best, too. She wanted success as a meteorologist? He was going to assure it for her. Pleasing Bentley was the way to succeed at the station. But maybe it would work out okay. Instead of looking like a young Pollyanna, she would look like the powerhouse atmospheric scientist she was.

But Breezy looked miserable as she watched Lucienne in the mirror as the stylist took down what was a surprisingly long braid and began to unwind it.

Breezy sighed. “Are you sure I have to do this?” she asked him, her eyes pleading.

Why did she have this strange ability to make him wish he could change his mind? “Your career is going to take off.”

She sighed. “I don’t want a Pamela haircut.”

“It’s not,” he said, looking at the picture again. Well, actually, it was.

Lucienne tsked. “You have beautiful thick hair, and naturally curly. It is almost a shame to cut it.”

Now both of them? Noah picked up the printed picture. It looked awesome. She looked awesome. Put some high heels on her, and a sexy skirt, and, well, she’d look great. Though he wouldn’t require any of that for the job.

Lucienne said, “There. All down. Now to begin the transformation.”

Noah looked up.

Stunned, he stared, his mouth hanging open.

Breezy’s long brunette hair flowed around her face and down around her like a waterfall of curls. It swirled and coiled and caressed her face and figure.

Lucienne picked up the scissors.

“Wait!” Noah said.

Lucienne paused and shot a glance at him. “Yes?”

“Breezy, stand up.”

She tipped her head in surprise. He motioned for her to stand, and she did.

“Stand over here.” He pointed to a spot closer to him.

When she walked away from the chair, he walked in a slow circle around her.

She looked fabulous. He was totally blown away.

He’d wanted sexy? Definitely.

He’d wanted fabulous? Wow.

He’d wanted stunning? Oh, yeah.

He reached out and touched a silky curl. Coming to stand in front of her, he looked deep into her beautiful warm brown eyes.

She looked up at him and asked, “What’s wrong with me now?”

He shook his head. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. I love the hair.” He didn’t care what Bentley said. He was not going to force Breezy to cut her hair. He couldn’t do it. He’d take the heat for it later, but he would, as his father used to say, cross that bridge when he got to it.

He looked at Lucienne. “Don’t cut it.”

Breezy said, “Don’t cut it?” The hope in her voice cut into his heart.

“Well, you can choose. Either cut it in this style,” he pointed to the printout of the style Bentley had chosen, “or wear your hair down, exactly like it is right now.”

“I wear it up because it’s so hard to control the curls.”

“I have excellent products for that,” Lucienne said.

“Down and straight would be fine, as well.” Noah smiled and nodded. “I guess we’ll move on to the makeup session now.”

Breezy’s face lit up. “I don’t have to cut my hair? And I can still do the weather?”

His heart squeezed. “You don’t have to cut your hair and you can still do the weather.”

He was pretty sure Lucienne tried to hide a roll of her eyes as she said, “Follow me. We will do the makeup in my other room, and I will prepare the products and show you how to use them correctly.”

Stunned, he watched Breezy. Her brown eyes now filled with joy, spilling over into his heart. Why hadn’t he seen this one coming? He felt suckerpunched.

He was an idiot.

He enjoyed being around Breezy. He liked the way she made him feel when he was around her. But he hadn’t seen her as a sexy woman before. Obviously he thought he liked a woman with a certain look. But as he watched her talking with Lucienne in an excited voice, her face glowing with that special Breezy glow, he realized he loved her look.

His gaze went to the printout again. It would be wrong to make her look anything like Pamela. Breezy’s girl-next-door glow was so much better.

He crumpled up the picture and tossed it in a nearby black-and-white waste basket.

Surprised at himself, he realized he wanted to date her. He wanted Breezy’s happy look to be just for him. But how on earth was he going to get her to date him at this point? He’d stolen her dream away. Then he’d given it back only to try to steal away her gorgeous hair.

He was so relieved he’d come today.

It would have been a tragedy if her hair had been cut. Their relationship would have been over in that moment. And in this moment when he had seen her for the sexy woman she really was for the very first time, he wanted a relationship.

After all that had happened between them, she probably wouldn’t agree to date him, so he was going to have to be creative. What would she agree to do?

Maybe if he presented her with what she thought was a more acceptable request.

What if he asked for her help in presenting a united front for the station she loved?

He would invite her to the Mayor’s Gala.

And he hoped with all his heart that she would accept.

* * *

After leaving Lucienne’s Salon, Noah had taken Breezy to brunch at a posh, elegant Sacramento Italian restaurant with great atmosphere. They’d both ordered lasagna and hadn’t been disappointed.

She was so happy about not having to cut her hair, which was still down but now tamed by the products Lucienne had used, that she had a warm feeling about Noah. She’d left it down because she’d be on the news shortly after they returned to Aspen Grove.

For a few minutes, when Noah had first seen her hair down, he’d seemed stunned, almost like a man who had finally realized she was a woman. Weird thought, but that’s what it had felt like.

She liked him looking at her like she was a woman. A sexy woman. Because she didn’t feel sexy most of the time. That had never been her priority.

He was looking at her that way again. She felt a flush begin and knew her face had probably just reddened. Tingles swept along her spine. Wow.

“I know we have to leave soon in order to get back in time for your broadcast, but I have a favor to ask of you.” He seemed almost nervous.

Feeling generous, she said, “Ask away.”

He drew in a deep breath. “The Mayor’s Gala is coming up, and I’m hoping you’ll be my guest.”

“You’re asking me out?” Breezy wasn’t sure she’d heard right. She liked the idea, though. Maybe he really did see her as a woman now, not just someone who needed to be made into a Pamela clone. But what would she do about her father’s rule?

“I think it would be good for the station if you and I present a united front right now. Plus it would be a good first step in you and I repairing our relationship.”

“Relationship?” she choked out.

“Working relationship,” he clarified.

O-kay, he had made that clear enough. He didn’t want to date her. He only wanted to up the ratings for the good of the station. Create goodwill for the station. Put up with her presence for the station.

The warm feelings from him saying she didn’t need to cut her hair were beginning to cool. She’d misread all the signals. She’d thought he was attracted to her back at Lucienne’s Salon.

Boy, had she forecasted that one wrong.

But she loved KWAC and she would do anything for the station that had been her second home for so many years. So, for a good working relationship with her boss, and for the station she loved, Breezy would go with Noah to the Mayor’s Gala. She nodded. “Yes. For the station.”

He looked relieved and something more. But surely she’d misread it again. She needed to stay away from him, because he threw her relationship forecasting skills out of whack. She would go to work, she would attend the Mayor’s Gala, but she would not fraternize with her boss except where unavoidable.

“Good,” he said. “Thanks.”

* * *

Monday, June 10

The next Monday, seated in the station’s break room across from Gabe, Noah worked on the Chinese food Gabe had brought back for them. “Believe it or not, I’m getting tired of Chinese food. I’m not going to marry that chef, after all.”

“About time. I’m starting to dream in Cantonese.” Gabe took another bite.

“What does the chef at the Mexican place look like?”

“Miguel?”

Noah laughed. “Yeah. Probably not.”

People milled about, entering, buying, eating, leaving, and voices rose and fell. But soon men’s voices drifted in from the hallway.

He didn’t pay much attention until a voice spoke that he recognized. It was that sales guy, Chad Ivans. The one who sold so many advertising slots that he was invaluable to the station.

From the hall, Chad’s voice carried to their table, just inside the lunch room. “I keep hoping she’ll let me take her out. She is gorgeous.”

Gabe looked over and said, in a low voice, “Pamela?”

Noah didn’t get the allure, personally. “Probably.”

A different man said, “I know. And now that her hair is down, she is drop-dead gorgeous. I never realized how sexy she is.”

“Hmmm.” Gabe rubbed his soul patch. “Not Pamela.”

Noah’s eyes widened in surprise and dismay. “Breezy?” It had to be.

Gabe nodded. “She is looking pretty hot now. Who knew that, under all that prim and proper hair, a sexy woman was hidden?”

In the hall, Chad said, “I’m going to ask her out to dinner.”

Another guy said, “She’s not going to go with you, loser. I’m taking her to the new Disney movie.”

“Ohhh, a Disney movie,” one of the other guys mocked.

“Make fun, moron. She happens to like Disney movies. I’m no dummy.”

The men’s voices moved away from the doorway and faded out.

Jealousy flooded Noah. Irrational, hurtful, and strong.

Determined not to show it, he turned to Gabe. “That was certainly a surprise.” His voice came out higher than he’d planned. He coughed and tried again. “I mean, she does look good, but...” He trailed off.

Gabe nodded knowingly. “She looks fabulous and our ratings are going up dramatically. Everybody loves Breezy. She makes people feel good. And she looks good while doing it.”

Noah looked at his half-full container of Chinese food and realized he was no longer hungry.

He’d never realized Breezy was so popular in that way. Sure, she was cute as a button, but he’d never seen any guys hanging around her desk. Except for Chad. But while Pamela might be the station’s sex goddess, apparently Breezy was the resident prom queen.

“I’m going to take care of some errands,” Noah said.

Gabe looked at him with curiosity lighting his eyes, but all he said was, “Okay.”

Noah trashed his Chinese food and headed toward the front doors of the building.

As he walked outside and began a brisk walk around the block, he hoped it would be enough to work through his feelings, which were pretty confused right now.

At the first corner, he turned and headed up Mulberry Street, an old residential street complete with trees lining each side.

What did he feel about Breezy, precisely?

After a few more steps, he had to admit that he liked Breezy. He liked her a lot.

And apparently so did all the other guys.

An old woman watering her roses in her front yard raised a hand in greeting. She waved him over and told him all about her prize-winning roses, and he chatted with her for a few minutes before continuing on.

This town was nothing if not friendly. Just like Breezy. Friendly, cheerful, welcoming. Sexy?

When he’d decided he wanted to date Breezy, he hadn’t realized other guys would have the same reaction he’d had to seeing her with her hair down. He hadn’t realized he would have all this competition. He hadn’t realized he was an idiot for creating his own competition by showing off Breezy’s natural sexiness that she’d always kept modestly hidden.

He was a very competitive man and he planned on winning the girl, but he was going to have to be noticed first.

He figured he had one chance to make this work. He was going to have to turn their date—their supposedly non-date—at the Mayor’s Gala into something spectacular.

Also he would see her every day between now and then. And since she was such a hard worker and he’d barely seen her since the day she didn’t get her hair cut short, he was going to start inviting her into his office for some consultations on the weather segment and how to improve it.

Maybe that would move them closer to a real date. And give him some ideas on what he needed to do in order to stand out from the crowd.

He pulled out his iPhone and started a note, listing the things he knew Breezy liked.

Crab.

Weather.

Disney movies.

He hesitated, then added, Me...?

* * *

Wednesday, June 12

After watching Return to Me two days later, Breezy had a romantic glow going. As the credits rolled, she looked around at the circle of her friends, a circle of friendship that had kept her going through all the hardest parts of her life. The time she’d thought she wasn’t going to get into the graduate program she’d wanted, but it turned out to be a clerical error. The heartbreak when Andrew had left Aspen Grove—and Breezy—behind. When she’d lost her weather job.

Candy sat in the huge bean bag chair in the center of the room, and now that the movie was over, she bounced her way around so she was facing the others. Iris and Lindsey sat on the far couch. Sonnet, Dani, and Stephanie sat on the other couch, and Beth and Breezy rested in the armchairs between the two couches.

She wished her romantic life had a romantic glow going for it. She’d almost thought it had, when Noah had stared at her when her hair was down, when he insisted she not cut it, and had taken her out to brunch afterward. But he just wanted to keep things professional.

She was so disappointed. She’d realized that she liked him much more than he liked her. She liked him enough to actually consider bending her rule about dating coworkers. But apparently she wouldn’t need to, because after their non-date at the Mayor’s Gala, things would go back to normal. She’d do the weather, and she still wouldn’t be dating anyone.

“Show me your ring again,” Candy said, and Lindsey happily flashed the ring Ethan had slipped back on her finger. Lindsey would apparently return to Ethan, over and over.

Andrew had left the door open when she’d told him she was going back to the station, but Breezy couldn’t return to Andrew, not to date, even though he kept asking. She didn’t trust him. And, if she admitted the truth to herself, Andrew didn’t have the appeal to her grown-up self that he’d had to her younger self.

“So what happened to that it’s-over-forever stuff, Lindsey?” teased Dani.

Lindsey sniffed. “Ethan is so cute when he’s singing I just can’t resist him.”

Candy laughed. “Cute to look at, but please tell him not to sing in my café again. It was driving customers out the door.”

“Oh, it was not, Candy,” Lindsey said, standing by her man.

The women laughed, not wanting the evening to end.

Stephanie said, “Tell the ladies about the hundred-and-fifty-dollar haircut, Lindsey.”

“What?” several of the women said in unison.

Breezy laughed, along with Stephanie. Lindsey smiled. “I got paid one hundred for a trim, and another fifty as a tip. If I charged that all the time, I could retire in three years.”

The women demanded details and soon they all were enjoying the story.

Candy studied Breezy and her long hair, which she’d done in the more trendy side braid pulled back into a bun, the way Lucienne had shown her. “And you say he drove you into Sacramento to get the job done right?”

Breezy laughed, and told that story, too.

The women oohed and aahed.

Iris said, “I think Mr. Drake may just have an interest in our little Breezy.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. He just has the station’s ratings in mind,” Breezy said, and turned to Sonnet to change the subject. “How is your new business going?”

Sonnet said, “I’m thinking about buying a van to store all my wedding photography supplies in.”

“What does your father, our bossy governor, say about that?” Candy asked.

“He still wants me to move into the Governor’s Mansion with him and Mom. Yeah. Right.” Sonnet shuddered. “No way. I’m an adult and I don’t need my Daddy telling me what to do. Especially when said Daddy is a control freak.”

Breezy asked, “Does anyone know why Dixie didn’t come tonight?”

Dani leaned forward. “I think she and Colt are having more problems than either is willing to admit.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Iris said “They make such a cute couple. And their Texas accents are adorable.”

Breezy said, “Anyone heard from April?”

Iris nodded. April was one of her daughter’s friends, too. “She’s getting ready to go on a long camping trip with her extended family. She’s in charge, apparently.”

“Is your daughter still dating Christopher Ellington?” Breezy asked Iris. Christopher was an Aspen Grove lawyer fresh out of law school but already making a splash of success.

“On and off.”

“Like Lindsey and Ethan?” Dani laughed.

“More like long distance,” Iris said. “She’s been working in LA. When she’s in town, they date.”

“How many times has he proposed to Jamie now?” Breezy asked.

Iris rolled her eyes. “At least twice that I know of. He’s an adorable boy and I hope she figures out what she’s doing soon.”

“Beth,” Dani asked gently, “how is your father doing?”

Beth blinked her eyes and her chin quivered. “He’s going into hospice care.”

All of the women murmured their sympathy. Breezy reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Beth.”

Beth’s chin quivered, and she nodded.

Candy said, “If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know, Beth.”

Breezy and the other women said variations on that same theme.

Once again, Breezy was so thankful for this group of women. They helped each other through heartbreaks, engagements, even deaths, and everyone was stronger because of their association.

No matter what life threw at them, these women lightened the load for each other.

And that’s what friendship was all about.

* * *

Monday, June 17

Returning to the Cave after the morning meeting the following Monday, Breezy found Fiona straightening books on the shelves, including the ever invaluable Extreme Weather for Idiots. Today, she wore a blue tie-dyed dress and had tied up her hair with a matching ribbon.

Fiona had an excited grin on her face. “Guess what Chad did. I told him it would be a good idea and he actually did it.”

“I couldn’t possibly guess what Chad is up to now. Better just tell me.”

Fiona whispered, “He and a couple of other guys made sure that Noah heard them talking about this gorgeous woman they want to date.”

“So?”

“That gorgeous woman is you.”

Breezy squinted. “Me? Gorgeous?”

Fiona nodded. “Yes. You.”

“Chad? Are you kidding? He and I are just buddies.”

“That’s the whole point. He thinks Noah likes you but is too stupid to act on it, so they’re trying to activate some jealousy and get things moving.”

Breezy shook her head in disbelief. “What were they thinking?”

“Guy thoughts are beyond my comprehension or anyone’s explanation.” Fiona smiled. “But guess what, after they did that, the big boss is now asking to see you.”

“Really.”

Fiona nodded significantly. “Yes. The man must be crazy with jealousy by now.”

“You are crazy with something. And so is Chad.”

“Maybe Noah wants to offer you another unheard-of raise.”

“Get serious. He’s probably going to demote me again.”

“He wants you in his office ASAP so you’d better get going.”

Her stomach fluttered with nerves all the way up to the third floor.

Noah’s door was open, so Breezy peeked around it into his office. He stood and moved around his desk, smiling and waving her toward one of the two chairs there. “Thanks for coming up, Breezy. I know how busy you are.”

He looked at her as though he thought she was gorgeous.

“Sure.” Unsure of what to expect, she sat.

“I’m asking key people for feedback of what they’d like to see improved around the station. Today I’d like you to act as my consultant. Give me any ideas you might have for improving the weather segments.”

She smiled happily. “I have lots of ideas.”

He smiled back. “I’m sure you do.”

She began to share the same ideas she’d planned to share the first time she’d come into his office, that time when he’d called her Pollyanna. As she shared her ideas, he watched her warmly, asking questions, and making her feel like the smartest woman on earth.

As they talked, Fiona’s words swirled through her brain, and she wondered...Was Noah jealous? Of Chad?

With a smile she couldn’t quite keep inside, she thought maybe he was.

What was she going to do about it?

Other than enjoy the moment, she wasn’t sure.

Chapter Thirteen

The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain. —Dolly Parton

Tuesday, June 18

“I’m thinking of using a pseudonym.” Stephanie frowned as she looked around the dress shop. “What do you guys think?”

Breezy shifted the cream-colored dress on the hanger over her arm. “Which name do you want to use?”

“I don’t know. Stephanie Something-Shorter-Than-Winkleheimer.”

“Winkleheimer will definitely stand out on the shelf.”

“By the time someone even says ‘read the latest Stephanie Winkleheimer book,’ the other person will have gone to sleep. Plus it’s at the end of the alphabet. But if you guys think of any good ones, let me know.”

“J. K. Rowling is a good one.” Dani smiled. “Just saying.”

“That would be. I wonder if I can get away with it.”

“I think you should use the last name of Myers as your pseudonym,” Lindsey said. “You know. Stephenie Myers but with an a in Stephanie.”

The others laughed. Dani said, “Yeah, and you should title it something to do with a moon. You know, New Moon, Old Moon, Moon Those Saxon Dogs, or something.”

Stephanie laughed. “Great idea. I’m sure her attorneys won’t mind writing me a nice little cease-and-desist letter.”

“Oh, wait!” Lindsey pulled out a red dress and said, almost reverently, “This is the dress!”

Breezy looked at the wisp of material on the hanger. “That’s pretty skimpy.”

Lindsey’s eyes sparkled with fashion excitement. “You will look fantastic in this dress.”

Breezy looked at it skeptically. “I like the little black dress I just tried on. I choose it.”

Stephanie reached out and touched the silky red material. “Well, just unchoose it. I agree with Lindsey. You have got to try this one on.”

Breezy looked at Dani for support. Dani just grinned and pointed toward the dressing room.

With a sigh, Breezy handed the black beauty to Dani.

Carrying the red dress like a trophy, Lindsey led the way into the dressing room. Her three friends were taking turns coming in with her to help zip and unzip, if needed.

Breezy slid out of her black capris and red tee-shirt. One last time. “Okay. There’s only one reason I’m going to put on this sexy little number.”

Lindsey tucked one of Breezy’s escaped curls back into the side braid.

“It’s so you guys can see how silly I look in it. Then I’m going to buy the black dress.”

“I’m going to come over Saturday afternoon and fix your hair.”

“I can braid it in my sleep.” Breezy slipped into the red dress and turned so Lindsey could zip her into it.

“No braid,” Lindsey said as she zipped up the red dress. “You will have curls everywhere.”

“No, I won’t. I hate curls everywhere.” Breezy turned. “I’m wearing it up.”

“Only partially up with tendrils and curls everywhere. Trust me on this.” Lindsey motioned toward the mirror. “So, what do you think of the dress?”

Breezy turned and stared, amazed, at the curvaceous woman who stared back at her from the mirror. The dress hugged curves she didn’t even know she had. She barely recognized herself. “Wow. I actually look kind of sexy.”

“You look like a goddess.”

“Look at me. Wow.”

From outside the dressing room, Dani called out, “We want to see.”

When Lindsey opened the door, Dani whistled in approval and Stephanie nodded and said, “You are going to knock his socks off. Guaranteed.”

Breezy turned back to the mirror and straightened her spine. “I think you’re right.”

* * *

Friday, June 23

Giving herself plenty of time before heading to the station for her shift, Breezy stepped into Surf’s Up. The store was crowded with people and she’d had to park a block and a half away. She was happy for Andrew.

He was an Aspen Grove native, and apparently the good town folk had turned out to wish his new business well.

She wandered around, looking at the displays she’d helped him set up, glad she’d been able to help with his dream, at least a little.

Andrew stood in the center of the store, doing what he did best—schmoozing with people, making them feel good, getting laughs, and being his generally charming self.

When he caught sight of her, he smiled. A few moments later, he worked his way over to her. “Well. What do you think?”

“I think your business is going to be a roaring success.” She took his arm and looked up at him. “And I couldn’t be happier for you.”

“I’ve been meaning to call you, but it’s been a little busy around here.”

“I wonder why.” She laughed.

“Would you go to the Gala with me, Breezy?”

She looked up at him. It was time to cut the ties to any remote romantic ties with this man she had loved so dearly at one time, but now just had an incredible fondness for. “Andrew, I can’t.”

“Can’t is such a cop-out.”

“I have a date already.” He didn’t need to know it was a non-date.

He paused. “Oh. I see.”

She decided against elaborating, and he didn’t ask. After the briefest of pauses, she squeezed his arm and smiled at him. “You’re one of my dearest friends, Andrew. I’m so glad you’ve come back to town.”

Looking a little sad, he patted her hand. “I truly do care for you, Breezy. I was hoping—”

“I care for you, too, Andrew. Let’s leave it at that.”

After another brief pause, he nodded. “All right, my friend.”

* * *

Saturday, June 22

Noah glanced at his car’s clock. He had plenty of time.

Relax, he ordered himself. He was just picking up Breezy for the Gala. No reason to be nervous. She didn’t bite.

His cell phone rang. Smiling at the thought of talking with Breezy, he answered.

“Hi, Noah.” Not Breezy. It was Pamela. “I was thinking it would be good for us to make a united showing for the station. Why don’t you drive me over to the Gala? We can make a grand entrance.”

No way was he driving Pamela. Especially not tonight. “I have a date tonight. Maybe you can still reach Gabe. I think he’s going alone.”

“A date?” Her voice cooled. “Who is the lucky lady?”

Noah didn’t want to put Breezy in the target position, but he could hardly hide the fact once Pamela arrived at the Gala. But he was tempted. With a sigh, though, he said, “Breezy Jones.”

“Oh, cute little Breezy.” Pamela lowered her voice seductively. “When you’re ready to play with the big girls, Honey, you just give me a call. That little girl routine gets old really quickly.”

She hung up.

Feeling a weight lifted off of him, he pulled onto Breezy’s street.

He was surprised at how excited he was to see her again. It was like he was getting addicted to sunshine or something. Sunshine that didn’t need the protection of sunscreen.

Parking his sports car, he glanced in the mirror one last time. His step was light as he bounced up the walk, straightened his tie, and rang the bell.

He felt silly, almost like he had in high school when he’d picked up his prom date. He laughed. Since he was picking up the station’s prom queen, perhaps that was appropriate.

Then Breezy opened the door.

Speechless for a moment, he just stared at the prom queen, all grown up. His jaw was somewhere around his ankles, he was sure.

Breezy looked stunning. She hadn’t tamed her silky brown hair tonight. It curled as it had the day in Lucienne’s Salon, wild and feminine. Why had he ever unleashed that power to attract every other male in sight? Tonight he wished it were back in its braid, hiding her sexuality from other men.

Finally, she quirked a corner of her lips up and prompted, “Well?”

His mouth was dry. “You look beautiful.”

When she smiled, her face lit up in that fabulous Breezy way. “Thanks. You look pretty good yourself.” She reached up and flicked the edge of his suit.

Resisting the urge to grab her hand, he cleared his throat and motioned toward his car. “Shall we?”

She placed her hand on his outstretched one and he closed his fingers around hers. They held hands until he reluctantly had to let go to open the car door and let her sink gracefully into the seat.

He’d never seen anyone so beautiful in his life.

She glowed. Every man at the Gala was going to look at her and want her.

Jealousy rose up so strongly within him that it nearly choked him.

He had to do something to keep her. But what?

* * *

Breezy was walking into the large Mayor’s Gala on Noah’s arm and enjoying it immensely. When she looked up at him, he smiled at her and patted her hand.

Sparks flew along her nerve endings. There were certainly physical sparks between them. And, for a moment at her door, she’d felt like he maybe wanted more than just to make the station look good. His hand on hers felt almost possessive. It felt good.

But she needed to remind herself that Noah Drake was there with her for one reason only—for the sake of the station. Remember that. Because she didn’t want to get hurt by Noah any more than she wanted to be hurt by Andrew again. And she was aware of Noah in a way she never had been of Andrew.

She needed to distract herself.

She looked around for Lindsey’s brother, Jake Taylor. He was probably nervous as this was his first Gala as the actual mayor. Breezy would have to be sure to give him some encouraging words tonight.

“Which way now?” Noah asked as they stepped inside the hotel where the retirement party had been, the only building in town large enough to host a party of this size.

“My folks came early to get good seats. They said they’d be in the northeast corner of the ballroom.”

Noah nodded agreeably. “To the northeast corner it is, then.”

As they walked into the ballroom, Noah stopped. “This looks a lot bigger than it did at Paul’s party.”

Breezy nodded. “For this party, they open the dividers and combine both ballrooms into one.”

“Oh, good. I thought I was going crazy for a minute,” he teased.

Crazy good looking, maybe. Stop it. Find another distraction. “I’d like to find the mayor first and give him a few encouraging words. But we can find him later as we dance around.”

“Oh, so you’re a dancer, too,” he teased, but there was a light in his eyes.

“I love to dance. I hope that you’re a dancer. Maybe even a dancer who leads,” Breezy teased back, though she was serious about the leading part. What was she thinking? It would be extremely foolish of her to ever dance with this man.

“You are looking at a former USC ballroom dancing champion.”

Despite herself, she was delighted to learn that. “Are you serious? That’s wonderful.”

“You always make me feel good, Breezy.”

“That’s the Pollyanna side of me, I’m sure,” she teased, glad she could joke with him now. And why not? He wasn’t seriously dating her, they were just there together for the sake of the station. She was just reading things into everything that weren’t really there.

Pulling her gaze from his with an effort, she looked around. “Do you see my parents?”

He spotted them first. “There they are.”

Following the direction of his hand, she caught sight of them, and waved. They motioned toward the table they sat at, one of the few that wasn’t already filled to capacity.

Breezy headed in their direction. When Noah took her hand, she didn’t pull away. It felt too good. He took the lead, forging a path through the crowded dance floor, then through the people carrying plates of refreshments.

When they reached the table, her parents stood and welcomed them both with a hug.

“You look beautiful, Breezy. What did you do to your hair?” Her mother touched a curl. “Don’t you think she looks beautiful, Arthur?”

Her father squeezed her shoulder. “Breezy always looks beautiful.”

“Lindsey helped me curl my hair, not that it needed any help curling, of course. And then she added the pretty stuff.” There were a few faux pearl-encrusted hair pins holding part of her hair back.

“Well, I think it looks very pretty.” Mom fingered another curl and nodded, looking into Breezy’s eyes. “Very pretty. You are the prettiest woman here.”

Her father motioned to them to sit.

Her mother turned to Noah. “And you are the most handsome man here.”

“Hey,” her father teased.

Her mother kissed the top of his head. “After Arthur, of course.”

Noah sat and scanned the crowd. “It looks like everyone in town must be here tonight.”

Her father nodded. “Pretty much. This is one of several large annual events around here. Some others are the July 4th parade and the Christmas Festival in December.”

“Iris didn’t make it. Did you hear, Breanne? She broke her leg and her daughter is coming to help.”

“Miss America?”

Her mother nodded. “Jamie is moving from LA to take care of her mother. How sweet of her.”

“It is,” Breezy said. “I’ll have to stop by. Is she home?”

“Still in the hospital, but getting out tomorrow. We stopped by earlier.”

“Wow.” Breezy was unnerved by the news. She’d have to stop by and visit Iris in the next day or two, offer to run some errands, say hi to Jamie while she was there.

When Noah’s gaze caught hers, again, she had a more difficult time trying to distract herself. “Oh, look, there’s Jake. I’ll be right back,” Breezy said and left her seat to find her friend. He had people converging on him, but for the moment, there was a break in the crowd. When she reached him, she gave him a hug. “Congratulations, Mayor. Nervous?”

Jake Taylor chuckled and hugged her back. “That is a major understatement, Breezy. Yes. I will admit that to you and only you.” He pulled back and smiled.

“Is your sister here yet?”

“Lindsey’s here somewhere.”

“With Ethan?”

“Yup. They’re still on. And one of these days they’re going to actually get married.”

“We can only hope,” Breezy said. “Hey, I’d better let you get back to your admiring fans.” She motioned around at all the people waiting to talk with him.

He tipped his head toward her table. “Looks like you have an admiring fan, too.”

She turned to find Noah watching, his eyes intent on her. As she started back to the table, Noah rose and met her more than halfway. Leaning close so she could hear him over the music, he asked, “So who is that gentleman you were talking with?”

Was she imagining the edge of jealousy in his voice? “That’s the mayor. He’s the brother of my friend Lindsey.”

“Lindsey as in the expensive hair-trimming Lindsey?”

She grinned. “The very same.”

Chad Ivans from the station worked his way over to them. “Hey, Mr. Drake. Breezy.”

“Hey, Chad. Where’s your date?”

He sighed dramatically. “She had to wash her fish or something tonight. I think maybe she was trying to avoid me.”

“Her loss,” Breezy said. “Hey, your fedora is looking good tonight.”

“Thanks. You look fabulous tonight.” He turned to Noah. “You are one lucky man, Mr. Drake.”

“I know.” Noah’s voice came out raspy and dry.

Chad must still be trying to make Noah jealous. It wasn’t going to work. Breezy said goodbye and turned to her non-date. Remember that. “Want to meet some other people?”

“I’d rather dance.”

“Dance?” That was not a good idea.

But before she could say anything, he took her hand and led the way to the dance floor, then pulled her closer.

Noah was acting really strangely. He did seem almost jealous.

She wished that were true, but she knew the truth: He wanted to make a good impression for the sake of KWAC. But maybe she could pretend that it was real. Just for tonight, she could pretend to be Cinderella, all dressed up for the ball, only minus the glass slippers. Only this prince wouldn’t search for her after tonight.

It had always seemed strange to Breezy that the prince couldn’t recognize Cinderella’s face, but had to rely on the glass slipper to find the right girl. Did he not look at her while they danced the night away leading up to midnight? Perhaps they had worn masks at the ball.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. Nine o’clock. She had three hours until her own private coach turned back into a pumpkin. She decided she would enjoy every minute, including any and all dances.

And, when this night was over, at least she’d have some awesome memories to treasure.

And it was in that moment, as she looked up and caught Noah looking at her in that possessive way, that she realized she cared for him deeply.

With dismay, she realized she might even be falling in love with him.

Chapter Fourteen

Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby. —Langston Hughes

Noah looked down into Breezy’s eyes as he twirled her around the ballroom. Graceful and light on her feet, she followed as if they’d taken classes together.

He’d been right. When they’d walked in, every man they’d passed had followed her with his eyes. Tonight there was no mistaking she was a desirable woman.

And now her silky red dress whirled around her, both hugging her subtle curves and hiding them by turns.

Her long curls swirled around her face and around her back and arms, tickling his hand.

She was beautiful and elegant. The girl next door all grown up.

He liked this girl next door. In fact, he cared deeply for her. When she’d gone to talk with the mayor, and when Chad had come up to her, he’d been amazed at the depth of the jealousy that hit him.

He wanted to protect her.

He wanted her to be his.

He was falling in love with her.

He nearly stumbled at the realization. She looked into his eyes and smiled.

He was in love with Breezy Jones. With Pollyanna.

Before he could take it in, someone tapped his shoulder. When he looked around, there was a man he didn’t recognize who smiled at him. “May I cut in?”

Breezy smiled at Noah. “Do you mind?”

Yes. Of course I do. “No. Go ahead.”

He stepped back as she was swept away in another man’s arms. He walked off the dance floor and looked back, trying not to scowl.

A few minutes later, Breezy’s friend, Candy, came by and welcomed him. Then she motioned to the dance floor. “She used to date Andrew in high school. Everyone thought they’d end up together.”

“That’s the guy who hired her? Her ex-boyfriend?”

She nodded and leaned in close. “I’ve been watching you tonight.”

“You have. Why?”

“Because Breezy is a close friend of mine. Andrew broke her heart. She needs to know a man is around to stay before she can give her heart again. If you’re interested in her, and I think you are, then you should let her know you’re serious. But if you’ll be leaving town and breaking her heart, move on right now. She doesn’t deserve that kind of hurt again.”

“She doesn’t have feelings for me.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious you have feelings for each other.” Candy patted his arm. “I’ve found that it’s always good to go for what you want. You want her. Go for her. Just be sure you mean it.”

Noah nodded. “That’s excellent advice. Thanks. Any other suggestions?”

She chuckled. “That’s about it.” She patted his arm again. “You’ll do the right thing. I have a feeling about you.”

“A good one, I hope.”

“The best. Now I’ve got to work my way over to the refreshment stand. There’s a Diet Pepsi calling my name.”

Noah turned back toward the dance floor. The twirling, whirling, swirling was going on without him. It just wasn’t right.

He was going to wait until he and Breezy were alone. When he took her home. He didn’t do private things in public. He did want to make at least a beginning commitment. He wanted to see where their relationship could go. He seriously did.

But Breezy had said she wanted a man to make a fool of himself for her.

No. That wasn’t going to happen.

Andrew said something to Breezy and she laughed, and the green monster of jealousy took a big chunk out of Noah.

That’s when he changed in mind.

No. He wouldn’t declare himself in private. He wanted everyone to see it. Ex-boyfriends. Current girlfriends; hers, that is. And anyone else who happened to look at them.

He would do anything for this woman. He laughed at himself as he realized he had done a one-eighty. Apparently he was going to make a fool of himself in front of everyone here tonight in order to win the right to date Breezy. Exclusively.

He wondered if Gabe was here to see it. Even if he was, he wouldn’t believe it.

He’d seen Pamela across the room. He’d like for her to witness this, too.

He took a deep breath as Breezy’s ex-boyfriend—who looked like he wanted to lose the ‘ex’ designation— brought her off the dance floor over by the refreshment table, on the opposite side of the room from where Noah stood.

Noah made his way toward Candy, who stood at the end of the refreshment tables. “Would you be interested in watching a public declaration of my intentions toward Breezy?”

Candy’s eyes flashed. “I’d pay for the privilege.”

“Then would you be so kind as to ask a certain surfer for a dance or for something and get him out of the picture for a few minutes.”

Candy hugged Noah. “Good luck. And I’ll be glad to take care of Andrew.” As she walked away, he heard her humming a song.

He didn’t want anyone else dancing with his girl.

His girl.

He watched Candy wander over to Andrew and Breezy, take Andrew by the arm, and a moment later they headed for the dance floor, Andrew looking back wistfully at Breezy and Candy winking at Noah.

He recognized three of Breezy’s good friends gathering around her. Lindsey. Dani. Stephanie.

It looked like Lindsey was showing off her engagement ring.

If he wanted to make a fool of himself, there was no better time or audience.

He took a step in Breezy’s direction, determined to do this right.

* * *

“That is more beautiful than any of the other rings, Lindsey,” Breezy said and her friends laughed. It was the same on-and-off ring Ethan always put back on Lindsey’s finger.

Breezy sighed. She wondered if she’d ever get a ring from someone who would stick around.

“Who will be next to get a ring?” Dani looked at Breezy. “Andrew looks like he’d be glad to be the next to give one, so I’m betting it’s Breezy.”

“I agree.” Stephanie shook her head. “But if the look on Drake the Snake’s face is any indication, I’d say he’ll get here first.”

“No,” Breezy said. “Noah brought me tonight for the station’s sake. That’s all.”

“You keep telling yourself that, my friend.” Stephanie took Breezy’s shoulders and turned her around to face an approaching Noah.

He looked very determined. And nervous.

When he reached the group of women, he stopped.

Her friends welcomed him and made excuses to head out, but he said, “No, wait, ladies. I’d like for you to hear what I have to say to Breezy.”

Now she was getting nervous. “You planning on firing me again?”

“I didn’t technically fire you. But, no.”

Breezy glanced around at her friends. Dani, Lindsey, Stephanie. Friends who had helped her through everything bad and celebrated with her through everything good. They smiled encouragingly at her, thrilled with what was happening.

Not so sure, Breezy turned back to Noah.

He reached out and took her hand. “Breezy Jones, I’m falling in love with you. Will you consider being my girl?”

Her friends all said, “Oh, how sweet,” and put their hands to their heart.

Breezy smiled shyly. “Your girl?”

He nodded. “My steady girl. Exclusive.”

“Really?” Wow. Her smile widened. “I think I’d like that.”

“And I will be your steady guy.”

“Your mother’s headed this way, Breezy,” whispered Dani. “Make this quick.”

Noah smiled at her. “What do you say?”

“Are you sure this is the best thing for the station?”

He chuckled. “Bringing you tonight was never about the station.”

“It wasn’t?”

He shook his head. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

That started another chorus of “Ohhh.”

Happiness filled Breezy as Noah leaned over and touched his lips to hers for the sweetest kiss she’d ever had.

Chapter Fifteen

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone. —Song by Johnny Nash

Thursday, July 4

“How long does this parade last, anyway?”

Breezy glanced over at Noah and smiled. “We’re almost to the end now. Just one more block to go. Why? Aren’t you enjoying being dressed up as a storm cloud?” She laughed. “It was your idea to do a float all about the weather.”

He kept a smile on his face for the people lined up along the parade route.” What’s not to love about barely being able to move?”

The crowd was sparser here toward the end.

A little boy called out. “Look, it’s a cloud. With candy!”

Noah’s smile widened and he lobbed a handful of wrapped taffy pieces into the crowd. The little boy scrambled after it. “Okay, maybe I’m enjoying it just a little. But only because you look even sillier.”

She looked down at her parade costume for the KWAC float. She was dressed in a bright yellow raincoat and held a yellow umbrella. “I look like the Morton salt girl.”

“Only much prettier.” His eyes softened.

“Hey, cut out the mush,” Chad said as he worked his way toward them in his lightning bolt costume. “This is hard enough to do without watching you guys being all lovey-dovey.”

The parade ended and, after the float was driven back to the starting point, Noah clambered down and reached up to help Breezy down. He set her on her feet and she leaned up and kissed him. “Thanks for doing this. It meant a lot to me.”

“And for some ridiculous, inexplicable reason, that seems to matter to me.”

She laughed. “You are a closet romantic, Noah Drake.”

“She used to call you Drake the Snake, you know,” Chad called out.

He smiled. “I’m sure she did.”

“That was about the time you were stealing my dream career away.” She looked at him. “You had a pet name for me, too, if I remember correctly.”

He nodded. “Then I learned that I love Pollyanna.”

He kissed her.

Laughter and then clapping around them had them pulling back.

Noah kept his arm around her as they turned to face the crowd. They were circled by her friends.

Lindsey and Ethan held hands. Not married yet, but still engaged and talking dates.

Dani held a pink cotton candy, and she and Stephanie each grabbed a piece and popped it into their mouths.

Dani said, “Come on, we have a picnic planned before the talent show and the fireworks. You don’t get to kiss all afternoon.”

Breezy smiled at Noah.

He shook his head. “That is a darn shame.”

She whispered, “Maybe later.”

He twirled her around and leaned her back as if they were dancing. “Maybe right now.” And he kissed her again.

When he let her up for air, she waved her hand in front of her face. “Wow.”

“You kiss pretty good.” He grinned. “For Pollyanna.”

“You kiss pretty good. For a general manager.”

“And you kiss pretty well. For a meteorologist.”

She laughed. “For a boy.”

He nodded. “For a girl.”

And then there was no talking for a long time, until her laughing friends pulled them apart.

~ THE Happily Ever After ENDing ~

Author’s Note

In case anyone thinks two flat tires at one time is ridiculous, you’re right—but it did actually happen to me when I was a teenage driver. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, it was also the first time I ever deliberately sluffed church—and my cousin and I had to walk into church to find her father to come help us. I go to church now, and I’ve never had two flat tires at once again. Coincidence? Hmmm.

Stephanie Winkleheimer’s personal record was four rejections from agents in one day? Before I landed my New York agent, my personal record was twelve rejections in one day. Glad those days are behind me.

I didn’t find KWAC as an actual station, but if it is, I hope it’s as cool as mine.

I realize meteorologists work much longer hours than I had Breezy working, and she probably wouldn’t have been able to go to the Chick Flick nights as often as I show, so I ask forgiveness for having played with her schedule. She’s so darn cute I just gave her a break, as it were.

Other Works by Heather Horrocks

Regally Blonde

Old Money

No Sudden Moves

Baby Mine

Snowed Inn

Inn the Doghouse

Murder is Misunderstood

Bah Humbug! (A Christmas Street Romantic Comedy Novella)

Kissing Santa (A Christmas Street Romantic Comedy Novella)

About Heather Horrocks

Raised by her shop-til-you-drop mother and pay-for-the-purchases oilman father, Heather Horrocks lived overseas for her first seventeen years, attending schools in Colombia, Venezuela, London, Kuwait, and Iran.

She has always wanted to be a writer and is thrilled that readers are now waiting for her next books. (She’s also writing faster now, knowing people are waiting.)

Pride and Precipitation is the 165-page novella leading into the Chick Flick Clique romantic comedy series of full-length novels. It is followed by Regally Blonde, My Spare Lady and While You Were Stranded.

She has also authored the funny Who-Dun-Him Inn and Bad Mothers Club mystery series, and the inspirational Women Who Knew the Mortal Messiah series.

She loves anyone who can make her laugh, which explains why she adores her witty husband Mark, Anne George mysteries and Diane Darcy romances, funny friends, and Bill Cosby. She loves movies (especially romantic comedies), music, books, sharing what she’s learned about life and writing, and cooking for friends and family, especially her children/stepchildren and their families. She resides in Utah with her husband and little dog Gus, who continues to make false claims on his blog that he is the actual author of her books.

She loves to hear from her readers at www.BooksByHeatherHorrocks.com.

Acknowledgments

A huge thanks to Jim Kosek (Meteorologist Extraordinaire at ABC4), who is the most-watched meteorologist on YouTube, gaining in popularity in the Salt Lake market, and warm and generous in person. The information you provided me for Breezy’s job was invaluable. Thank you so much for being so willing to let me come to the studio and for sharing your knowledge with me. Well, a tiny fraction of it, anyway, which was really all I needed to flavor my story.

My favorite moment at ABC4? There are so many, but I think my most incredulous moment was seeing the copy of The Idiot’s Guide to Extreme Weather on the shelf in the Weather Cave. And to learn that it wasn’t a gag gift, but actually came in handy when talking with groups of people who ask questions about obscure weather facts.

A big thank you to all the other ABC4 News people who also shared their expertise with me. Thanks, Leesa Dillon (Assistant News Director) and Rob Tompkins (Executive Producer) for the personal visit and the videos. The producers who let me crash their morning meeting. It was awesome to see the Anchors/Reporters—Brent Hunsaker, Don Hudson, and Kim Fischer—in action, live, in the studio. (And Don, I am truly sorry I wasn’t able to work that female vampire killer into this story. Perhaps she’ll find her way into my upcoming paranormal series.)

Thanks to my cousin, Sonnet Hullinger, who graciously lent me her name. I not only stole her personal name, but also her business name: Fresh Photography By Sonnet. (Check it out; she does beautiful work: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Fresh-Photography-by-Sonnet/136023220183)

Thanks to my long-time writing buddy, Diane Darcy, author of She’s Just Right, She Owns the Knight, Serendipity, and lots of other great books, for the awesome and invaluable help in figuring out who Noah and Breezy are and what they would do when tossed together. That writing retreat to Harrisburg was awesome.

Thanks to my other awesome writer friends and readers. Bruce Simpson (author of a really cool YA wand series), Kathleen Damp Wright (author of the popular S.A.V.E Squad series), my Wednesday group members (talented authors Abraham Allan, Dawniece van Duren, and Rangi Moleni) who helped me further refine my pages, and all those who read the completed book in full and suggested I wasn’t done quite yet (Marie Barnhurst, Nikki Fellows, Molly Ford, and Jeanne Kluse). Thanks to Anissa Wall for the professional edit that put the finishing touch on my book. You all make me look better and I appreciate it!

And last, Dad, thanks for sharing the story of when you went in as the new VP of the oil company overseas and earned the nickname of the Firing Squad. You and Noah are two good guys who have a lot in common.

My Own Mr. Darcy

by Karey White

For Mom,

Who raised eleven children,

Baked homemade bread,

Sewed most of our clothes,

Made cheese,
and still managed to find time
to read to us before bed.

You loved Darcy and Elizabeth

Long before I did.

Thank you for giving them to me.

Chapter One

The theater was nearly empty. It might have been because of the late hour but I suspected it was because this movie was going to be a snoozefest.

“Darn, they got the best seats,” Mom said, tilting her head toward a row of silver-haired women.

“Mom, there are plenty of seats,” I said.

“I know, I know. I just wanted to be right in the center.” Mom started up the dimly lit stairs. We lagged a few steps behind her.

“What have we gotten ourselves into?” I whispered to Janessa.

She gave me a stern, best-friend glare and an elbow jab. “Your mom’s excited. Don’t spoil it for her.” I rolled my eyes.

Janessa and I were the only teenagers in the room. Everyone else was even older than Mom. The five silver-haired women were talking loudly and giggling. They probably didn’t get out much. One of the women held a handbag the size of carryon luggage in her lap and another had a scarf with a jeweled pin that sparkled even in the near darkness.

There wasn’t a man in sight. No wonder Dad had refused to come.

“How about here?” Mom said, indicating seats two rows in front of the senior citizen contingency. I looked at Janessa and she shrugged her shoulders. We followed Mom into the row and I planted myself with a sigh into the plush seat. At least the theater was nice—new enough that my seat still had spring and my feet didn’t stick to the floor.

Mom linked her arm through mine. “Lizzie, you could at least pretend to be having fun. I’m letting you go to a late movie on a school night. Do you think you could muster up a teeny tiny smile?”

I gave my mom a cheesy, fake smile. She shook her head and laughed and I caved and smiled a real smile. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to come,” Mom said. “You know you were named after the main character.”

“I thought I was named after Dad’s aunt,” I said.

Mom waved me off. “Her, too. I wanted to name you Elizabeth after Elizabeth Bennet because she’s strong and smart and confident. All the things I wanted you to become. Dad thought it was silly to name you after a character in a book, especially since our last name is Barrett. I finally got him to agree by reminding him he could tell everyone you were named after his aunt.”

“Just because I’m named after her doesn’t mean this movie won’t be boring.”

Janessa elbowed me again. “Come on, Lizzie. This is better than homework. Or being in bed. Thanks for convincing my mom to let me come, Mrs. Barrett.”

“I’m glad you could join us,” Mom said.

“You’ll have to tell us how closely it follows the book,” I said.

Mom looked at me with suspicion. “Just remember, you girls are seeing this movie in addition to reading the book. Not instead of reading it.”

“Of course, we’ll read it,” Janessa said.

The truth was I had no intention of reading the book. I’d started it three times since Mr. Malloy gave us the reading list and I just didn’t get it. The words made no sense and by the third page, I was lost. I was depending on this movie and the Internet to give me all the information I’d need to ace this unit.

“I’m serious. Lizzie? You girls promise me you’re going to read the book or we’ll leave right now. I won’t help you cheat.” I stared at a woman with an unusually large smile on the screen. I guess her oversized white teeth were supposed to entice us to visit Dr. Stonesmith’s office for free teeth whitening. “Are you going to read the book, Lizzie?” The screen changed to a lawyer with perfect helmet-hair who could defend my rights if I was hurt in an auto accident. “Lizzie?”

“You know I always end up reading the books, Mom. I’m a good student. That’s why I’m in Honors English.”

“We’ll read it together, Mrs. Barrett,” Janessa said.

Satisfied, Mom settled back into her seat. “You’re going to love it. I’ve read it every few years since I was your age. And I’ve seen the 6-hour mini-series at least three times,” Mom said. “This is going to be fun.”

I enjoy a good romance and Mom assured me this was, but I preferred romances that took place in the twenty-first century. I’d seen a couple of movies made in the eighties and nineties that I liked, but only a couple. Mr. Malloy had told us Pride and Prejudice was a classic romance from the early nineteenth century.

That was two-hundred years ago!

Jane Austen may have been a talented writer, but what did anyone from two-hundred years ago know about romance? And Mom. Sitting here in her mom-jeans and a pale blue polo shirt, Mom didn’t exactly inspire romantic confidence. She couldn’t even convince Dad to come with her. If this was a romance for the ages, it shouldn’t have been difficult to persuade the love of her life to sit beside her in a dark theater for an hour and a half.

When Dad had refused for the tenth time, Mom turned to me. Lucky for her, Pride and Prejudice was next on our reading list or it would have taken a hefty bribe to get me here, whether I was named after this Elizabeth or not. Thank goodness for Janessa. At least sitting through the movie would give us something we could laugh about later.

The lights dimmed and the previews began. I nestled down in my seat and propped my feet up in front of me.

I have a theory about previews. I think you can tell a lot about a movie by the previews they show before it and if my theory held up, we were in trouble. The first trailer was for a movie about a Scottish cyclist with bi-polar disorder. Fun! The star was cute but the movie looked dismal. The second starred Russell Crowe as a greedy businessman who learns the meaning of life when he travels to Europe to sell a vineyard. Ugh. Riveting stuff.

The movie opened with some pretty scenes of the English countryside and a piano song so gentle and lilting, it could have put me to sleep. Elizabeth walked across the meadow reading. I’d seen Keira Knightley in Bend it Like Beckham and she looked even prettier here. There was a houseful of girls and a silly mother. There was a father that liked to tease the mother. And woo hoo! The new guy was single and rich and he was going to be at the dance.

Soon a crowd of poorly dressed country folk was dancing to some lively music. It was crowded and noisy and I could imagine the room probably smelled bad.

And then something happened—both on the screen and inside me. I took my feet off the seat in front of me and leaned forward. The new guy and his friend had just walked into the dance. Mr. Bingley was smiley and charming and cute in a goofy way, but I hardly noticed him. His friend was Mr. Darcy.

And Mr. Darcy was magnificent.

Sure, he was surly and dour. But he was tall and imposing. He looked around the room with contempt and while his mouth said boorish things about the local girls, his eyes were drawn toward Elizabeth.

Blue eyes. Interesting eyes. Expressive eyes.

The rest of the movie I was enchanted. I ached for it to go on and on and dreaded the moment it would end. Every time Mr. Darcy was on the screen, I melted. When he looked at Elizabeth, I couldn’t breathe. When he helped her into the carriage, I gripped the armrest a little tighter. When he danced with her my heart stopped beating for a second. He was the most intriguing man I’d ever seen.

Did I mention Mr. Darcy’s eyes?

And then they argued in the rain and they were so passionate and the place was so beautiful. I knew every daydream I’d ever dreamed would have to be re-imagined to include those giant, mossy pillars and that vast, green countryside. Even the rain was romantic.

I wondered if they’d kiss. I wanted them to kiss. The anticipation of it all was killing me and I considered asking mom how it would end just to ease my mind, but I couldn’t let her know how much I was enjoying this movie she’d had to drag me to. Mr. Darcy leaned in so close I don’t know how they didn’t kiss. His feelings were so obvious in his eyes I don’t know how Elizabeth could stand it.

And then Elizabeth refused him. How could she? Just kiss her! She’d be putty in his hands if he’d just kiss her. But he didn’t and when he left and she collapsed against the wall, I wanted to cry.

Oh no! I was going to cry. I couldn’t cry at this movie. That would be far too embarrassing. I blinked hard and fast.

It took much too long for Mr. Darcy to reappear on the screen. Okay fine. It wasn’t that long, but it felt much too long. He was so quiet and hard to read, but when he was with his sister, he was happy and he smiled.

Oh my goodness. That smile. And I wanted to float away in his eyes.

I loved this movie and it was going to end much too quickly. Finally Mr. Bingley, who turned out to be more adorable than goofy proposed to beautiful Jane. And then there was the hateful aunt. Rich snob! No wonder Mr. Darcy was so arrogant. And then Elizabeth couldn’t sleep because she knew she was in love with Mr. Darcy, so she went for an early morning walk in the meadow.

The meadow.

During the forty-five seconds that Mr. Darcy walked across the meadow, my life changed. Each long stride he took toward me—I mean Elizabeth—lodged itself in my heart and I would never be the same. The mist, the sunrise, the trench coat, and the sweet declaration of his love melded into the most beautiful few minutes I’d ever seen and I was bewitched body and soul.

I felt a terrible emptiness when the movie ended. Mom and Janessa started talking almost immediately but I didn’t listen to them. I sat perfectly still, listening as the piano music filled my soul.

When the lights came up, I followed Mom and Janessa out of the theater to the chilly, almost-empty parking lot. “Did you like it?” Mom asked. I nodded. “What about you, Janessa?”

“It was much better than I thought it would be,” she said. “At least I’m not dreading the book so much now.”

“You’ll love the book,” Mom said.

“I’ll understand it better now that I’ve seen the movie,” Janessa said. “Lizzie? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You have a funny look on your face.”

I shook myself back to the present. “No, you have a funny look on your face.” Maybe sarcasm could rescue me. I couldn’t let them know how utterly transformed I was.

Janessa shook her head. “Whatever.”

That night I couldn’t fall asleep. Something had happened to me. I was no longer the person I’d been just a few short hours ago. I didn’t think about Jake from the soccer team, the boy who’d been my crush for the last six months. I no longer cared if he noticed me or not. He was just a boy, after all.

That night a dream was born. I’d discovered what I wanted, what I knew someday I must have. I knew I could never be satisfied until I found it.

I wanted my own Mr. Darcy.

Chapter Two

Six Years Later

Janessa walked into the kitchen stretching like a cat awakened after a century of slumber. Even in the morning, with her short, dark hair sticking up in all directions, she was beautiful. Janessa was the much prettier half of our best-friends duo. Her blue eyes and fair skin seemed lit from within, ethereal almost. My light, wavy hair and the freckles across my nose and cheeks would never inspire people to call me beautiful. Cute was the word most often used, if anyone commented on my looks at all.

“Oh, you’re still here,” she said. “I thought you’d be gone to work already.” Janessa was a manager at Urban Elegance, a boutique women’s clothing store in the mall. She didn’t have to be to work until nearly ten so I was usually gone before she got up.

“I needed a good breakfast this morning. There’s a teller meeting during lunch and Delia always orders the worst food. I may not get anything decent to eat until tonight.”

“How was your big date yesterday? I wanted a full report but you were already asleep when I came in.” Janessa pulled out a bowl and rattled through the spoons. Everything she did in the kitchen made noise. Even by herself, she sounded like an entire staff of energetic sous chefs. She loudly shuffled through a half dozen boxes of cereal before settling on Cheerios.

“It was fine but it wasn’t a big date. It was lunch.”

“Was there potential?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What was wrong with this one?”

“Who said there was anything wrong with him?”

“You don’t have a list of objections for me?” Janessa raised one eyebrow, a talent I couldn’t master no matter how hard I tried.

“I don’t have objections about everyone I date,” I said.

“So when are you going out again?”

“Probably never.”

“So there was something wrong with him.” Janessa said.

“No, there wasn’t. He was a perfect gentleman,” I said.

“Then why don’t you want to go out with him again?” I shrugged. “Listen Lizzie. Any guy who gets up the courage to ask a girl out at the grocery store should get a few bonus points. Go out with him again.”

Last week I’d been standing in the Asian aisle of the grocery store picking up some curry paste and coconut milk. “Do you actually drink coconut milk?” a tall, cute guy asked.

“I suppose you could but I don’t know anyone who does. I use it for chicken curry.”

“Sounds interesting. You like Indian food?”

“It’s actually Thai.”

“I haven’t had Thai food for years. I don’t know why. I think I liked it.”

“I start craving it at least once a month. Sometimes I get it from Pok Pok and sometimes I make it myself.”

“Pok Pok?” he’d asked.

“It’s over on Division Street. If you like Thai, you should try it. The food is amazing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. I’m Chad, by the way.” I shook his outstretched hand. I couldn’t help but smile. It was cute that he’d shake my hand in the grocery store.

“I’m Lizzie.”

“Nice to meet you, Lizzie. I’m just stocking up on ramen.” He waved a little plastic pouch of ramen and put it back in his basket.

“Ramen has its place,” I said.

“I agree. It makes a quick and easy lunch.” We looked at each other for a moment longer than was comfortable. He smiled a slightly crooked smile. “Well, I guess I’ll take my ramen and run. Thanks for the recommendation. I’ll have to try Pok Pok sometime.”

“Sure.” I watched as he walked away. When he reached the end of the aisle, he turned around and walked back to me.

“I just have to ask. Would you mind if I called you sometime? Maybe we could meet for lunch or something?”

“Oh, um…” He was cute and earnest but I could already tell there was no future.

“Unless you’re not available. You probably have a boyfriend, right?”

I shook my head. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Then can I call you?”

“Uh, sure. I guess so.”

“Great.” Chad handed me his cellphone and I punched in my number. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.” He put his phone back in his pocket and shook my hand again before he left.

He’d called me two nights ago. We’d met for lunch yesterday.

“I just wasn’t interested,” I said to Janessa. “Can we leave it at that?”

Janessa folded her arms and looked at me for so long I started to squirm. “What?”

“I wish you’d look at yourself. You’re ruining your life with this stupid obsession.”

“I’m not obsessed.” I stood up quickly, nearly tipping my chair over. I rinsed my plate and put it in the dishwasher. I could feel Janessa’s eyes on me the entire time, but I refused to look at her. “And just because I’m not interested in this guy doesn’t mean my life is ruined.”

“Let me guess. Was he blond?”

“Knock it off.”

“Too short?”

“He wasn’t short. I’ve got to go.” I left the kitchen with Janessa on my heels.

“Was he too cheerful?”

“Oh brother. I’m not having this conversation with you.”

Janessa grabbed my arm and turned me toward her. “Yes, you are.”

“I’m going to be late for work.”

“Then we’d better talk fast.”

“I don’t have anything to say,” I said.

“Then I’ll talk. You listen. You have to start giving these guys a chance.”

I folded my arms tightly. “I give them a chance.”

“You give them one date, two at the most. But you’re not really giving them a chance because your mind’s already made up before you even go out.”

I was getting annoyed. “I don’t have time for this conversation again.” Janessa was practically reciting word for word what she’d said after my last date. And the one before that.

“Lizzie. If you don’t want to have the same conversation, do something different. Shake things up a little.” She smiled and did a little shimmy. I refused to smile no matter how silly she looked.

“How do you suggest I do that?”

“If this guy… What’s his name?”

“Chad.”

“If Chad calls you back, go out with him again.”

I sighed. “I don’t see the point.”

“Did you get a serial killer vibe from him?”

“No, I got a nice-guy-that-doesn’t-deserve-to-be-led-on vibe from him.”

“Nice guys are good. So you’ll say yes, right?”

“If I’m not interested, it wouldn’t be fair to say yes.”

“Oh knock off the baloney. You haven’t been fair to a guy since high school. You’re just afraid if you get to know a guy, you might like him. And wouldn’t that be awful? Was Chad funny?”

“Yes, he was funny.”

“Handsome?”

I sighed. “I don’t know if I’d call him handsome, but he was cute.”

“Cute is good. Especially if he was funny. So go out with him again.”

“You act like it’s all up to me.” I walked to the closet and collected my purse. Like a tiger leaping on her prey, Janessa pounced at the bowl on the entry table and grabbed my car keys. “This isn’t funny, Janessa. I’m going to be late for work.”

“Then let’s make a deal. You agree to go out with him ten times before you toss him aside and I’ll give you your keys.”

“Ten times? No way.”

“That’ll give you time to get to know him.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m serious, Lizzie. Ten is a good number. In that amount of time, you can make a real decision. Instead of one based on a stupid movie.”

Now Janessa was skipping through a minefield. “It’s not a stupid movie and I’ve got to go.”

“It’s the stupidest movie in the world if it ruins your life.”

“Nothing’s ruining my life and I’m going to be late. Give me my keys and we’ll talk about this later.” A little tussle ensued as I tried to rescue my keys from her clutches. I almost had them when she darted to the bathroom and shut the door hard and fast, locking it behind her. “This is real mature.”

“I don’t care about mature. You’re my best friend, Lizzie. I love you and I’m trying to save you from yourself.”

I banged on the door. “Give me the keys. Now.” My voice had become shrieky.

“I’ll give you the keys as soon as you promise you’ll go out with him ten times.”

“I doubt he’ll ask me out again.”

“Why? Were you a jerk?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

I hesitated, knowing I hadn’t been very good company. “I’m pretty sure.”

“If he doesn’t ask you out, you have to ask him.”

“No way am I asking out a guy ten times. No way!”

“You just have to ask him out once. If he doesn’t return the favor you can move on. But you have to be nice to him and give him a reason to want to ask you out again.”

“This is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had.”

“Listen Liz, I’m doing this for you. Give a guy a chance before you give him the old heave-ho.”

I leaned my head on the door. “Just give me the keys. Please.” Now I was whining.

“You’re the one keeping yourself from your keys. And probably true love.”

I looked at my watch. Now I’d have to risk a speeding ticket or get to work five minutes late. I wasn’t sure which was worse—a ticket from a police officer or a tongue-lashing from Delia.

“Fine. I’ll go out with him again if he asks me.”

“And?”

“If he doesn’t ask me, I’ll ask him?”

“Right. And how many times will you go out with him?”

“Way too many,” I said under my breath.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Ten times. If he asks me.”

The door cracked open. “And you’ll be nice to him?”

“Whatever you say. Now give me the keys.”

Janessa emerged from the bathroom and triumphantly dropped my keys into my outstretched hand.

“You’re an idiot,” I said.

“An idiot that loves you and wants you to be happy,” she said. She turned and headed down the hall. “Someday you’ll thank me,” she sang.

“If I don’t kill you first.” I slammed the door behind me.

Chapter Three

“You have to call him today,” Janessa said. “Before you go to bed. I don’t know why you don’t just do it and get it over with.”

“I don’t want to call him. If he wanted to go out with me again, he’d have asked me by now.”

“He’s probably afraid to. If a guy doesn’t look and act like Matthew Macfadyen, he’s out of luck. Matthew Macfadyen is married and has two kids. It’s time to branch out.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow.”

“Sorry Lizzie. You’re calling him tonight. I’m not letting you go to sleep until you do. Give me his number and I’ll dial it for you.”

“I can dial it myself. If I decide to call him.”

I’d hoped Janessa would forget about this crazy agreement, but her reminders had become more and more persistent the last few days. I should have called him right away instead of waiting two weeks. Now it was sure to be even more humiliating.

A thousand times I wished I’d never mentioned my adoration of Matthew Macfadyen’s Mr. Darcy to Janessa. We’d been seniors in high school when Janessa’s parents went on a Western Caribbean cruise and asked if she could stay with us for a week. Late one night, when my defenses were down, I’d confessed all. Well, almost all.

“Whatever happened with Luke?” Janessa had asked. “You crushed on him for so long and then when he finally asked you out, you didn’t even care.”

“I don’t know. I guess I just realized he wasn’t my type.”

“Since when do you have a type?”

“I didn’t used to, but I guess I do now.”

Janessa giggled. “Spill it. What’s your type?”

I thought about Mr. Darcy. “Tall. Definitely tall.” Tall enough to look out over a crowd of people and hold my gaze with his.

“Luke’s tall.”

I shook my head. “I like dark hair. And just a little long so it can be tousled and a little messy in the wind.” Or on a gorgeous gazebo. Or a misty meadow.

Janessa rolled her eyes. “Did you seriously just use the world ‘tousled?’”

“You know what I mean. A little messy. Not too perfect. And I like blue eyes.” Eyes that are bright and piercing at times and cloudy and smoldering at other times. Eyes that find me no matter where I am in a room. Eyes that show love when he’s looking at me, disappointment if I reject him and concern if someone in my family does something foolish.

“Wow, that’s pretty specific,” Janessa said. “Does this ‘type’ have an actual name?”

I didn’t want to tell her who it was. She’d think I was crazy if I told her I was in love with Mr. Darcy. And not just any Mr. Darcy, but a very specific Mr. Darcy. A Mr. Darcy that looked and sounded exactly like Matthew Macfadyen.

After I’d given my heart away in that movie theater the year before, I’d immersed myself in all things Darcy. I’d looked up Matthew Macfadyen on the internet and discovered that, while he was pretty handsome in all his movies, his career might as well have started and stopped with “Pride and Prejudice.” It was in that role that he was perfect. Perfectly perfect in every way.

I’d read Pride and Prejudice with a highlighter in hand, marking each word Mr. Darcy uttered. I’d watched the six-hour version with my mom and even though I liked it, I wanted to hear my Mr. Darcy—the Matthew Macfadyen Mr. Darcy—say those lines. I read reviews and wondered at the women who preferred Colin Firth to my Matthew. Colin’s face wasn’t as expressive and he never took my breath away.

Yes, my type was specific. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley specific.

“Lizzie, are you thinking about someone in particular?”

“No, why?”

“Your eyes just got really far away and dreamy. Come on. Tell me who you’re thinking about.”

“No one in particular,” I said.

“You’re lying to me. Come on, spill it. You know I won’t leave you alone until you do.” Janessa was good at getting her way. She used a variety of tactics—nagging, threats of public embarrassment and when all else failed, sweetness.

And so I told her. “I think my type is like Mr. Darcy.”

Janessa looked confused. “I thought you hated that movie.”

“I didn’t hate it. I actually liked it a lot. And someday I want someone just like Mr. Darcy.”

Janessa swooned. “Who wouldn’t?”

We watched “the real Pride and Prejudice” three times during the week she stayed with us. She was the perfect person to share my secret with because she nodded when I pointed out my favorite parts and she didn’t care when I watched the meadow scene over and over.

Unfortunately, the friend who had kept my secret all these years had watched me govern my dating life by what she now called “my unrealistic Darcy expectations.” Where once she’d been my ally in my desire to find my own Mr. Darcy, she had now become my enemy. Well, not really my enemy. Just where Mr. Darcy was concerned.

Lately, she’d been on a crusade to get me to “open myself up to other possibilities.” Why didn’t she just say it? She wanted me to settle. Like right now, for instance.

“Call him, Lizzie. Before it gets embarrassingly late,” she said and tossed my phone onto the couch beside me. “I mean it.”

I knew if I didn’t call, she’d jump on my bed or blare country music at 3 a.m., so I reluctantly dialed his number. On the fourth ring, his voicemail picked up. “Hey, this is Chad. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back.”

“Hi. Uh, this is Elizabeth Barrett. Um, we went to lunch together a couple of weeks ago.” I hesitated. Maybe he went to lunch with lots of people and wouldn’t even remember who I was. “I’m the one from the grocery store. I was buying coconut milk and we talked about Pok Pok. Anyway, I just wondered if you might want to see a movie this weekend. Or something. Um, well, okay. If you do, just give me a call back and we can make arrangements. If you want. Bye.”

Janessa laughed. “That was super eloquent.”

“Don’t talk,” I said pointing at her. “I wasn’t ready for voicemail. I hate voicemail.” After a few moments, I smiled. “I sounded really bad, didn’t I?”

“You’ve sounded better.”

“Maybe this is good. Maybe he won’t call and we can end this dumb thing right now.”

“You’ll just have to go out with the next guy ten times.”

I frowned. “You can’t hold me to that. I have no control over how many times a guy asks me out.”

“But you have total control over whether or not you try to make them want to ask you out again. That’s what I’m saying you need to do. Be cute. Be fun. It’s not that hard to make a guy interested in you.

“Easy for you to say.”

“Maybe you’ll actually like him if you give yourself long enough to know him. You’ve never done that before.”

“You can’t possibly know if I’ve ever done that,” I said.

“Liz, I’ve been your roommate for more than 4 years now. I know.”

I didn’t argue any further because she was right. Every date I’d been on since that fateful night when I was sixteen had been spoiled by perfection. No one measured up. No one looked so good or brooded so well. No one was so haughty and egotistical or so generous and caring. No one had the right combination of eyes, hair, and expressions. I knew what I wanted was nearly impossible but I stubbornly refused to give up hope. I was a nice girl. I worked hard and loved my family. I liked children and I recycled. I deserved to have my dream come true.

My cell phone rang. Janessa pumped her fist in the air like she was at a rock concert and I shook my head. “Hey, Lizzie.”

“Hi, Chad.”

“I just got your message. I was surprised.”

“You were?”

“It didn’t seem like you had much fun the other day.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.” I turned away from Janessa and lowered my voice. The last thing I needed was her knowing I hadn’t been flirty and fun. “I guess I just had some things on my mind. I really did have fun.”

“Great, then let’s go see a movie.”

Janessa’s smug expression when I hung up the phone was rankling. “We may have to get our own apartments if I have to deal with your meddling much longer,” I said.

“You love me and you know it,” Janessa said.

“That doesn’t mean I want you managing my love life.”

“Lizzie, you don’t have a love life. I’m trying to help you get one. Once you have one, I promise I’ll back off.”

“Not all of us are lucky enough to have a Ben dropped in our lap.”

“That’s true, but have you noticed how little Ben looks like Mr. Darcy? If I had your list of qualifications, I wouldn’t have given Ben a chance. And look what I’d have missed out on.”

I busied myself with the remote control. I refused to acknowledge that maybe she had a point.

* * *

“Hey Liz, Chad’s here.” Janessa knocked on my bedroom door as she opened it.

“I’ll be right out.”

“Whoa, you look really good.”

“I’m determined not to give you ammunition. I don’t want you saying I didn’t try,” I said.

“Good girl. But be careful. You might make him fall in love with you.” I followed Janessa out to the living room where Chad was waiting.

“You ready?” Chad asked.

“Yep.”

“You kids have fun,” Janessa said. I glared at her as I pulled the door closed.

“How much is your heart set on a movie?” Chad asked when we reached the car.

“It depends. Did you have something else in mind?”

“Have you heard of The Slocums? They’re a local band and they’re playing tonight at a club downtown.”

“What kind of music is it? I’m not a big fan of grunge.” I wanted to make that clear since Portland still had its share of leftover, grungy wannabes. They wore dirty flannel shirts, rarely washed their hair and they made their voices so gravelly, my throat hurt for them. I couldn’t imagine sitting through an evening of that.

“It’s not grunge. It’s three brothers and they do more indie, acoustic stuff. I’ve heard them before and they’re really good.”

“Sure. That sounds fun.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” His cute smile made me happy I’d agreed.

We had to park more than a block from the club and I was glad I’d brought a sweater. The cool outside air made the hot, stuffy air of the club feel like a muzzle. Chad led me to a tiny table and we sat down, our knees bumping under the Frisbee-sized table.

“What can I get for you?” The waitress, Myra, sounded bored and looked dissatisfied with the world. Her hair was cut in a severe boy’s style. Her eyes were heavily lined and her right eyebrow held three tiny hoops. Her left arm sported a snake tattoo that slithered its way from the knuckle of her middle finger, around and around her arm until it disappeared into her tank top. It reappeared at her neck, where its mouth was open wide, fangs extended, ready to eat her ear. She looked angry and fearsome, like a dystopian warrior. I pictured her battling an evil future government with rusted tin cans and broken bottles, not taking orders for drinks and potato skins.

“We either need bigger tables or smaller plates,” Myra said when she put down our food and drinks. “These crappy tables are the worst part of my job.”

“I’ll bet they are,” Chad said. “We’ll do our best not to create a mess for you.” He bestowed his warm, crooked smile on her. To my surprise, Myra’s glacial expression thawed and she smiled back at him. She had an unexpectedly pretty smile.

“I appreciate that. But if something spills, it won’t be your fault. It’s the tables.”

The potato skins were loaded with bacon and cheese and a small bowl of sour cream for dipping finished them off perfectly. Before we were through eating, The Slocum’s took the stage and began playing. Soon I was carried away by the music. It felt so real and heartfelt. The brothers moved from instrument to instrument throughout the performance. They played guitar, drums, banjo, mandolin, and piano. Before each song, a brother would share the story that had inspired it. Some were funny and a couple, like the one about the birth of the bearded Slocum’s baby nearly made me cry.

Myra refilled our drinks and brought us another plate of potato skins partway through the concert. Chad sang along on a few songs. I was surprised to realize I was having a great time.

When The Slocums finished, we clapped and cheered but they didn’t come back to the stage. Chad left a generous tip for Myra and we moved through the crowded room to the door. Chad kept his hand on my waist until we were outside.

“That was fantastic,” I said.

“I’m glad you liked it. I love live music.”

“I love good live music,” I said. “I’ve been to a couple of live shows that were awful. But I loved this. I’m glad you suggested it.”

Chad smiled. He had a really good smile—easy, slightly crooked, and totally genuine. It seemed to come from inside him and wasn’t just a happy thing attached to his face.

“Thanks for calling me,” Chad said. “I’m usually pretty good at reading people, but my sensors must have been malfunctioning the day we went to lunch.”

If I were a better person I’d have put his mind at ease and let him know his sensors were right on the money. But I decided that rather than confess the circumstances that led to this date, I’d let him puzzle over my mixed messages.

I didn’t want to admit it to Janessa, but I’d had a good time and a little part of me hoped Chad would call again. I tried to ignore that little part, however, because if I enjoyed myself too much, I’d have to admit that Janessa was right. And she wasn’t right. Mr. Darcy was worth holding out for. He was the man I’d been dreaming of for years. The one I was waiting for. The one who would walk into the bank on Monday morning.

Chapter Four

Mornings at the bank were busy. Courtney and I worked the inside teller windows and Pete ran the drive-thru. Our branch of Oregon National Bank was located close to the university and several streets of small businesses. Mornings were spent preparing all those little stores for the day’s business with cash for their drawers and petty cash boxes. Evenings, we had a flurry of deposits.

It was a busy Monday morning. I was looking out at the line of waiting customers when he walked in. He was taller than anyone in the room. Of course. His hair was dark and a little disheveled. It was hard to see from where I was, but his eyes looked like they were blue. And best of all, he didn’t smile. He looked gorgeously unpleasant and impatient. He looked around the room and his eyes met mine. Still he didn’t smile. My heart was racing. He looked perfect.

I gasped, shut my thumb in my cash drawer, and then tried not to cry while Mr. Sandoval from a hearing aid store asked me if I was okay.

When I finished Mr. Sandoval’s transaction, I looked at him again.

I did my best to time it so I’d be his teller. I went a little too fast with one customer and accidentally shorted her a twenty dollar bill. I tried to concentrate as I corrected the transaction. I slowed way down on the next customer, but just when I thought I was finished and would be able to help him next, my customer asked me to break a ten into change. He walked up to Courtney’s window while I counted out nickels and dimes. Furious, I stomped my foot. Not too loudly but enough to release a little of my frustration.

I listened closely as Courtney helped him to see if I could learn anything, but he hardly spoke. He gave a terse nod when Courtney thanked him for coming in and turned on his heel and left. He had excellent posture and a nice, confident stride.

I finished with my customer, and then before anyone else could step forward, I picked up the phone and dialed Courtney’s extension. She glanced at her phone’s display and looked over at me curiously.

“Who was that?” I whispered when she picked up the receiver.

Courtney shielded her mouth while she spoke. “Elizabeth, look how many customers there are.”

“I know. Just tell me who that was.” I watched as Courtney picked up her last transaction slip.

“His name is Matt Dawson.”

“Is he married?”

“I have no idea,” Courtney said, glancing toward Delia’s desk.

“Was he wearing a ring?”

“I didn’t look. What’s going on, Lizzie?”

“I just need to know about him.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about him and Delia’s watching us. I’ve gotta go.”

Matt Dawson. Matt. Matthew. Like Matthew Macfadyen. Dawson. It was pretty close to Darcy. The only way it could be better is if his name was Fitzwilliam but I’d never met a Fitzwilliam in my life.

Matt Dawson.

This had to be a sign.

Two days later, he was there again. His clothes were modern but it was easy to picture him dressed as an English gentleman. I could hardly tear my eyes away from him.

This time my timing was impeccable and I put on my best smile when Mr. Dawson stepped up to my window.

“How can I help you today?” I asked.

“I’ve listed the denominations I need on the note.” He didn’t smile. In fact, he barely looked at me.

“Of course. I’ll get right on that.” I dragged my gaze away from his beautiful face and his sapphire blue eyes and began putting together the money he needed. “Nice day out there today, isn’t it?” I said as I tapped a stack of ones on the counter and wrapped them with an elastic band.

“Mmm.” His voice wasn’t exactly right, but it was close enough.

The logo on his note said, “Pink Salamander Books.”

“You work at the bookstore? I’ve been meaning to come in there. I’ve heard it’s one of the best bookstores in town. Not as big as Powell’s but definitely more personal.”

“I don’t work at The Pink Salamander. I own The Pink Salamander.”

Ooh. A little egotistical. Nice.

“Oh. How exciting. That must be so interesting.”

“Mmm.”

I counted out the money and then put it in his bank bag. “Have a nice day, Mr. Dawson.”

“Indeed.”

My hand flew to my heart.

Indeed? Had he really just said indeed? Oh, that sounded so refined and aristocratic. It carried the perfect amount breeding and class.

And yes, his eyes were blue. Lake water on a clear day blue. Summer sky blue. Pools of gorgeousness blue.

And he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. His long, elegant fingers held no jewelry at all.

Somehow I had to make him notice me. Somehow I had to become the object of his affection. I wanted him to adore me, no, more than that. I wanted him to love me most ardently. After all these years, could my dream finally be within reach?

* * *

“Hey, Elizabeth. I finished The Help. Did you still want to borrow it?” Courtney asked. We’d just finished work and were walking to our cars.

“Did you like it?” I asked.

“It was really good. You’ll like it. I have it here in the car, if you want to borrow it.”

Suddenly an idea leaped into my head. “You know, I think I might just buy it.”

“I don’t care if you borrow it,” Courtney said. “No need to spend the money.”

“That’s okay. I think I’ll just walk over to The Pink Salamander and pick up my own copy.”

Courtney grinned and gently punched my arm. “Ah, I get it. You’re just hoping you see that guy that works over there. What was his name? Matt?”

“He doesn’t just work there. He owns it.” I tried to sound as haughty as Mr. Dawson had sounded.

“Nice. I’ve noticed how you make sure you get to help him.” Mr. Dawson had been in three more times and I’d finagled my way into being his teller all three times.

“Is it that obvious? Do you think he’s noticed?”

“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. In fact, today I took a minute extra on Mrs. O’Brien’s transaction so he’d have to come to your window.”

“I knew I loved working with you.”

“I’m not sure why you’re so interested in him. He seems like a snob to me.” Courtney unlocked her vintage green Volkswagen. “Go ahead. Go get your book.”

I put on some fresh lip gloss and walked the two blocks to The Pink Salamander, a charming old Victorian house painted pale pink with darker pink rails and shutters. The wide porch floor was charcoal gray as was the front door. A bell jingled when I opened it.

“Welcome to The Pink Salamander.” A woman a few years older than me stood behind the counter. I’d seen her at the bank before. She was exquisite. Her chin-length raven hair was sleek and stylish and her clothes looked more expensive than my car. “Can I help you find something?”

“I’m looking for The Help.”

“It’s in the Women’s Fiction room at the top of the stairs on the right.”

A plush Persian rug ran all the way up the stairs, kept in place at the back of each step by an ornamental brass rod. The balustrade was intricately carved. As I climbed the stairs, I paused to look at the framed portraits of well-known authors. In a prominent position near the top of the stairs was a portrait of Jane Austen in an ornate silver frame. Was this another sign?

The Women’s Fiction room was lined with built-in bookshelves. Two overstuffed chairs with soft, yellow upholstery sat at the window. It was an elegant room. I easily found The Help, but I didn’t feel like leaving. Soft piano music wafted through the air from a speaker somewhere near the door and the pretty chairs beckoned me. I sat down and started to read. The chair was comfortable and the book captured my attention from the first page.

“Pardon me. We’re going to be closing soon.” Startled, I looked up to see Mr. Dawson leaning on the doorframe, his arms folded. The light had changed while I’d been reading and the last of the late-evening sun slanted through the room. Tiny specks of dust floated in the air giving Mr. Dawson a hazy, dreamy glow.

“I’m so sorry. I must have lost track of time.” I hurried toward the door.

“Your purse,” he said and nodded toward my purse, still sitting beside the chair.

“Oh yes, of course.” I retrieved my purse, intensely aware that Mr. Dawson was still filling the doorway, watching me. “I’ll just pay for this downstairs then,” I said as I moved past him. He shifted, but barely enough for me to walk by without touching him.

“Nanette Eggleston will be doing a reading and book signing here next week.”

I was almost at the top of the stairs. I turned back toward him. “I’m sorry. Who’s Nanette Eggleston?”

“She’s a local author who writes women’s fiction. I thought you might be interested. If you read something other than just best-sellers.”

“Of course, I do.” My voice sounded defensive so I tried to soften my tone. “I read all kinds of books.”

“Then perhaps you’d like to come. She’ll be here next Tuesday evening.”

“I’d love to. Thanks for inviting me.”

Wait. Had he invited me? Or had he just informed me. There was a big difference and I wasn’t sure. I searched his face for a clue, but his empty expression gave nothing away. He looked at me for a long moment more before he turned and walked away.

Chapter Five

“Lizzie? Are you sick?” Janessa asked. We’d finished dinner and were watching a reality dance show on television.

“No, why?”

“You haven’t said a word since the show started and you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I was thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“I’ll bet you were daydreaming about the wonderful time you’re going to have with Chad tomorrow.”

I shook my head. “Nope. That wasn’t it.”

“What are you guys doing, anyway?”

“I have no idea. He said to wear comfortable shoes and warm clothes.”

“That doesn’t sound very romantic,” Janessa said., wiggling her eyebrows.

“Thank goodness. I’m not looking for romance.” That wasn’t true. I was definitely looking for romance, just not with Chad.

“Give him time. Maybe he’ll start to grow on you. This is good, though. After tomorrow, you’ll have two dates down. Only eight to go.”

“No, tomorrow is date number three.”

“No, it isn’t.” Janessa gave me a stern look. “You don’t get to count the lunch date where you purposely tried to drive him away. It’s ten dates with you on your best behavior.”

“You’re impossible,” I said.

“Did something happen at work today? Why are you so deep in thought?”

I was torn. I wanted to tell Janessa about Mr. Dawson. What I didn’t want was for her to freak out and tell me I was crazy. But she was my best friend and not telling her about it seemed cruel. I sighed. “Okay, Janessa. I’ll tell you what happened today but don’t tell me it’s no big deal because I want it to be a big deal and I don’t want you to discourage me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I think I’ve met him.”

“Met who?”

“Mr. Darcy. Of course his name isn’t Darcy, but it’s close to Darcy and if you saw him, you’d be stunned.”

I told Janessa about the times Mr. Dawson had come into the bank and about my excursion to the bookstore. I told her about how he’d stood in the doorway watching me and how he’d told me about the book signing. She didn’t interrupt. She just looked at me and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. There was a long pause after I stopped talking.

“Wow. Are you sure you’re not just imagining that he looks and acts like Mr. Darcy because you want him to?”

“See, Janessa. That’s what I was afraid you’d say.”

“No, no. Lizzie, don’t get me wrong. I’d love it if you got your dream. I’m just asking if it’s possible you’re imagining some of these similarities.”

“I’m not. I’ve never seen such a resemblance. And he’s so serious and intense. You should have seen him standing there by that door looking at me. It’s like I was Elizabeth—well, I am Elizabeth—but like I was that Elizabeth and he was looking right at me. He didn’t smile or anything. It’s like he was studying me the way Mr. Darcy studies Elizabeth.”

“Maybe he didn’t smile at you because he’s a stuck-up jerk.”

“Don’t forget, everyone thought Mr. Darcy was a stuck-up jerk, too. I think he’s just serious. I’m sure he’s really nice once you get to know him. He told me about the book signing, after all. Maybe you should go into the bookstore and see for yourself. Just take Ben with you so Mr. Dawson doesn’t set his sights on you and your ravishing beauty.”

Janessa laughed off the compliment. “You’re safe whether I take Ben with me or not. Mr. Darcy isn’t really my type.”

We watched two more dances. Suddenly Janessa grabbed the remote and muted the sound. She turned to me, her face serious. “Lizzie, promise me something.”

“What?”

“Even though you think you’ve met Mr. Darcy, or whatever his name is, you have to promise me you’ll still be agreeable and fun with Chad. Just in case this Darcy thing doesn’t work out. Remember, you agreed to ten dates and the agreement holds even if this guy turns out to be perfect.”

“Fine,” I said, but I knew if Mr. Dawson proved to be all I hoped he was, ten dates with Chad was unlikely.

* * *

“If you don’t like hiking, we can do the short trail.”

“I like hiking,” I said.

“Have you ever hiked Multnomah Falls?” Chad asked.

“We went to the overlook above the footbridge when I was a kid, but I’ve never hiked any further.”

“Then you’re in for a treat. This is my favorite time of year to hike Multnomah. I love the fall colors and I prefer hiking when it’s cooler. There’s a five and a half mile loop that goes past some of the other waterfalls. That should get us back to the lodge in time for a late lunch.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Oh, and I’ve got a few snacks if we get hungry in the meantime.”

Multnomah Falls was a scenic half-hour drive from Portland. Early morning sunshine slanted through the trees that lined the road. Patches of autumn colors peaked above the clouds that snuggled low on the hills. Morning mists hadn’t yet burned off the banks of the Columbia River. Of course, morning mists reminded me of Mr. Darcy walking toward Elizabeth in a long coat, which somehow evolved into an image of Mr. Dawson standing in the doorway of the Women’s Fiction room looking at me through an evening glow.

I dragged my thoughts away from tall brooding men and realized the companionable silence had swelled into an awkward pause. “I don’t know what you do,” I said to Chad.

“I thought I told you at lunch,” Chad said. I felt ashamed that I hadn’t really listened to him that day.

“You probably did. Sorry. Sometimes my memory fails me.”

“I teach high school science. And I coach the swimming team.”

“You’re a swimmer?”

“Mom said I started swimming before I started to walk. I don’t remember that and moms are prone to exaggerate their children’s accomplishments, so I can’t swear to it.”

“I’m a terrible swimmer. I took lessons three different summers but never got comfortable putting my face in the water. I’m afraid the backstroke and dog paddle are all I can do and I’m really slow at those.”

“Maybe we should go swimming sometime. I could give you a few pointers to help you with your breathing so you feel more comfortable with your face in the water.”

“That would be great.” And it would take care of another date. Janessa would be so proud of me. “I’ll bet you couldn’t give me pointers that would make me understand science. That was by far my hardest subject.”

“That’s why I decided to teach science, against my Dad’s wishes. I understood it but so many of the kids around me were lost. The teacher asked me to tutor a couple of the kids and I discovered I had a knack for helping them understand it better than the teacher. I like helping my students feel smart and when they understand science, they feel smart.”

“And when they don’t, they feel dumb. I had my share of those feelings in science. Your students are lucky. What did your dad want you to do?”

“Go into the family business. Dad’s a partner at Bradshaw, Keller and Spielman. He hoped I’d come work with him someday.”

“That’s the firm in the big glass building off the freeway.”

“That’s the one. There’s good money to be made in corporate law and he wanted me to go to law school and join his firm. I took two years of pre-law requirements and hated them. I just couldn’t see myself doing that the rest of my life.”

“Was he terribly disappointed?”

“He was at first. He was worried I wouldn’t make enough as a schoolteacher to be comfortable, but I think he’s gotten used to the idea. What about you? What made you want to be a bank teller?”

I laughed. “I don’t think anyone sets their sites on being a bank teller. At least I didn’t. I got the job during college and when I graduated last year, I couldn’t find work in my field. So I’m still there.”

“What did you study?”

“Interior design. I loved it but I guess I didn’t think much about how economy-driven it is. I made appointments with several places, but no one was hiring. In fact most of them have cut back the past few years. Hopefully someday I’ll be able to use my skills to decorate instead of counting out money.”

“I guess teaching has its advantages. It might not make me rich but there’s a certain amount of job security.”

“Especially if you’re good,” I said.

“Hopefully things will improve and you’ll be able to use your degree.”

“I hope so. If nothing else, my own home will look great someday. I’m not complaining though. I’m really thankful I have a job.”

The parking lot at Multnomah Falls was already filling up when we arrived. The morning was lovely—crisp air, bright colors and noisy water. Waves of cold spray drifted through the air.

The bottom part of the hike was an easy, paved trail. As we continued up the trail, it got steeper and less populated as casual hikers and tourists turned around. A few areas were pretty difficult. At a stream, Chad took my hand and guided me across the biggest stones. As soon as we reached the other side, he let go of my hand. Could he tell I wanted to keep things friendly or was he not very interested? It bothered me that I was contemplating his motives when it really didn’t matter. I was only here to appease Janessa, after all.

“This part of the trail was closed for almost a year when I was kid,” Chad said. “A huge mudslide covered the trail and it took them more than a year to clear it out and make it passable again.”

We stopped at Benson Footbridge and shared some trail mix before we turned onto the Larch Mountain Trail. Occasionally, other hikers passed us, having taken the loop the opposite way.

Rocks and roots made portions of the trail precarious. I placed my feet carefully to avoid twisting my ankle. Two teenage girls overtook us, laughing and jostling each other as they went.

“I guess we’re just old and slow,” I said.

“Or older and wiser,” said Chad.

Just a minute later, one of the girls tripped and fell. Her scream echoed against the hillside. Her friend stood over her, hopping from one foot to the other while shaking out her hands. “What should I do? What should I do?” the hopping girl asked.

Chad and I hurried up the trail to where the hurt girl was sitting on the ground. Where just moments ago, she’d looked young and strong, now she looked fragile—pale and scared. She held her arm gingerly as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Chad knelt down beside the injured girl and talked quietly. “Hey, that was quite a move there. Don’t cry. Let’s take a look at this.”

“What’s wrong with it?” She looked at Chad with fearful eyes as her voice rose hysterically.

“Just stay calm. It’s going to be okay. Do you think we can get your jacket off?”

Chad’s calm voice quieted the girl to a whimper. He gently helped her take her arm out of the jacket. I choked back a gasp when I saw her arm and the girl started crying harder again. Halfway between her elbow and wrist, her arm bent upward at an unnatural angle. My stomach turned over at the sight of it.

“It’s not supposed to bend there. What’s wrong with it?” the girl cried. Her friend knelt beside her and rubbed her back but kept her eyes focused somewhere down the trail.

“You’re going to be fine,” Chad said, his voice calm and soothing. “You’ve broken the bone. That’s all. Happens all the time. We’ll get you to a doctor and he’ll fix you up good as new.”

“It hurts so bad,” the girl said.

“Should I go for help?” her friend asked.

“No,” Chad said. “We just have to get her off the mountain. We can have you down and on your way to the hospital before help could even get up here. My name’s Chad, by the way. And this is my friend, Lizzie. What are your names?”

“Kamrie,” the injured girl said.

“I’m Faith,” said her friend.

“All right, Kamrie. We’ll help you get to the bottom, okay?”

Kamrie nodded. “Okay.”

“Let’s leave your other arm in your jacket and keep it over your shoulder to keep you warm.”

I took off my jacket. “Here. Tie this around her to keep her arm steady,” I said.

“Good thinking.” Chad took the jacket. “It will hurt a lot less if it isn’t moving around with every step. Okay?”

“Okay.” Kamrie wiped her tears with her sleeve.

Chad helped Kamrie to her feet and carefully draped her jacket around her. I held it over her shoulder while Chad wrapped my jacket around her and tied the sleeves to keep it snug. “How does that feel?”

“A little better.”

“Let’s keep going that way. I’m pretty sure we’re more than halfway and it’ll be shorter to keep going.” Chad held Kamrie’s good arm and guided her down the trail.

Faith and I followed. Kamrie cried out when an awkward step jarred her arm, but Chad held her steady. “Just go slow and easy. We’re not in a hurry. So where are you two from?” he asked.

“We live in The Dalles.” Kamrie’s voice held pain but she was calmer.

“Lizzie and I live in Portland. Do you hike here often?”

“This is my first time.”

“Sad. I hope it won’t be your last. It’s a beautiful trail.” Chad kept up a quiet conversation all the way down the hill. It helped keep Kamrie distracted and moving. I was impressed. Chad was great under pressure.

“Your boyfriend’s really nice,” Faith whispered to me.

“We’re just friends. But he is nice, isn’t he?” I said.

“And really cute. Maybe you should make him your boyfriend.”

I laughed but her words made me look at Chad. Really look at him. She was right. Chad was cute. His dark blond hair was cut short. He was tall and athletic and now that he’d told me, I could see he had the body of a swimmer—broad shoulders, narrow waist. Several times he looked back at me and smiled. I felt Faith’s eyes on me and my cheeks got hot. What was that about? Chad wasn’t my boyfriend and Faith was a teenage girl. Was I twelve?

A little over an hour later, we made it back to the Multnomah Lodge parking lot and Kamrie’s car. “Are you okay driving her to the hospital?” Chad asked Faith.

“Sure,” Faith said. “We’ll call her mom and have her meet us at the Emergency Room.”

“Thanks for helping me,” Kamrie said. “Oh, and don’t forget your jacket.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Keep it on until you get to the hospital.”

“But…”

“Really. Just keep it. I don’t want you to move your arm around until you get to the hospital.”

Chad helped Kamrie into the seatbelt.

“Thanks Chad. Thanks Lizzie,” Kamrie said. “I’m sorry I ruined your hike.

“Are you kidding?” I said. “You made it an adventure.”

Kamrie smiled. “You guys are too nice.”

“Come on, Kamrie,” Faith said. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”

We watched them turn out of the parking lot. They weren’t even onto the main road before Chad put his jacket around my shoulders. I looked at him, surprised.

“Goose bumps,” he said, pointing to my arms. He was right. I smiled as I slid my arms into the sleeves, still warm from Chad. “Sorry I didn’t realize you were cold before. I’d have given it to you up on the trail?”

“I wasn’t cold when we were moving,” I said. “Besides, you were occupied.”

“I hope you’re hungry because I’m starving.”

“Me, too.”

“The lodge makes great chicken stew. Let’s go get a bowl.”

* * *

Entering Multnomah Lodge was like entering a medieval pub—wood beams, stone fireplace, and plaster walls. Arched doorways led to a warm room with rustic wooden tables. The waitress seated us by a tall window with an impressive view of the colorful mountain.

The chicken stew was rich and hearty and came with warm crusty rolls, butter, and local Marionberry jam. I was spreading my second roll with butter when I noticed Chad was watching me, smiling.

“This is so good.” I held up the roll.

“I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my favorite meals,” Chad said. “Wait until you taste the blackberry pie and ice cream. The crust has little sugar crystals baked onto it. It’s delicious.”

“Mmm. I’d better save some room,” I said.

He was right. The pie was luscious.

“You would have made a good paramedic,” I said between bites. “You were really good with her and you didn’t panic at all when you saw her arm. I just about lost it when she took her jacket off.”

“It looked pretty scary.”

“Have you ever seen a break like that before?”

“Not in person.”

“Well, she was lucky you were there.”

Maybe it was the food or the cozy restaurant. Or maybe it was because Chad was so pleasant and talkative. Whatever it was, I felt comfortable and happy.

This was a milestone for me. Whether Janessa was letting me count it or not, this was three dates with the same man. I’d never done that before. I’d always declined after one or two dates. It wasn’t because I didn’t think I could have fun dating a variety of guys. It was because I didn’t want to risk liking the wrong guy or worse, having him like me. I didn’t want to be a girl who led guys on and since I was holding out for a very specific man, it was better to keep things short and sweet.

In spite of the day’s crisis, I’d had a good time. I was glad if I was going to have to fulfill Janessa’s silly, ten-date requirement, at least it was with a decent guy like Chad.

“Do you ever miss high school?” Chad asked.

“Not at all,” I said.

“Oh, come on. You know you miss all those good times.”

“Right. I miss the drama and the homework and definitely the cliques. I miss those most of all.”

“I’ll bet you miss the dances.”

“I didn’t go to very many school dances. A Christmas dance my junior year and prom my senior year. Sorry. I don’t miss those either.”

“You never went to a Sadie Hawkins dance?” Chad had a mischievous smile on his face.

“No?” I said slowly.

“Well then, you’re in luck.”

“Why am I feeling really unlucky right now?” I asked.

Chad laughed. “I have to chaperone the Sadie Hawkins dance next weekend. I can go alone if I have to, but I think I’d have a lot more fun if you went with me.”

“You might have more fun, but what about me?” I said.

“Come on. Are you saying I’m not fun?” Chad asked.

“You’re not the problem here. The problem is you’re inviting me to a high school dance. I might hyperventilate just thinking about it.”

“I don’t want to be the cause of any maladies, but you might actually have fun. This could be a good opportunity to face your fears.”

I laughed. “I’m not afraid of high school dances. Well, maybe a little.” I took a sip of water. “If you’re taking me to a high school dance, aren’t you supposed to ask me in some dramatic, over-the-top way?”

“Darn, I guess I dropped the ball. I should have sent you on a scavenger hunt around Portland and had you end up at the Paul Bunyan statue where you’d find a message taped to his shoelace.”

“Did you really do that?”

“I did. I sent her all over Portland.”

“Wow. How long did it take you to set it up?”

“Hours and hours. No wonder the girl wasn’t very interested. I probably cost her $25.00 in gas.”

I laughed. “How did she answer?”

“She had her brother tie a note that said ‘yes’ to my shoes during a swim meet.”

“After all your hard work, that’s all she did?”

“Yep. She probably didn’t want to spend any more time and money.”

“I guess I should be thanking you for just asking me and sparing me the tour of Portland.”

“So? Will you go with me?”

I sighed. “I suppose. But if it’s Sadie Hawkins, isn’t the girl supposed to ask.”

“Okay. Go ahead. Ask me.” I rolled my eyes. “I promise I’ll say yes,” Chad said. His crooked smile was way too cute.

“Chad, will you go with me to Sadie Hawkins?”

“I’d love to. Thanks for asking. By the way, where are you taking me to dinner?”

Chapter Six

Lights from inside The Pink Salamander left bright patches on the dark ground. Two restaurants on the street were lit up but the other businesses were dark.

“This must have been an amazing house,” Janessa said.

“I know. It’s really beautiful.”

“When did they turn it into a bookstore?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “I remember noticing how pink it was my second year of college, so it’s probably been about three years.”

The bell jingled as we walked in and the exquisite girl from behind the counter stood just inside the door.

“We’re closed unless you’re here for the Nanette Eggleston event,” she said. Her long, slim skirt and delicate white blouse looked incredible and I felt underdressed, even in my favorite outfit—a knee-length printed skirt, a lace tee and cardigan, with mustard-colored tights and brown boots. Janessa said I looked elegantly quirky, but next to Miss Exquisite, I felt much more quirky than elegant. I just hoped Mr. Dawson would notice me.

“We’re here for the Eggleston event.” I felt pretentious just saying it.

“Go straight down the hall to the parlor on the right.”

Just inside the parlor door was a table with stacks of Ms. Eggleston’s books. A couple that looked promising. I’d never owned a signed book before. Maybe tonight I’d own two.

A small platform with a stool and microphone sat in the corner. Chairs faced the platform in tight semi-circled rows. A few people were already sitting in the chairs, flipping through the pages of books. A small fire burned in the fireplace next to the platform.

“Let’s sit by the fire,” Janessa said. We took two seats on the second row.

A few minutes later, Mr. Dawson and Ms. Eggleston, a woman in her thirties, walked in. They stood at the edge of the platform, just a few feet from us.

“Wow, I see what you mean,” Janessa said. “Grow out his sideburns and put him in a waistcoat and it’d be hard to tell the difference.”

“See, I told you. And watch him. He carries himself the same way, too.”

We discreetly watched him for a minute. “I thought you had to be exaggerating but you weren’t.”

I was glad Janessa had come with me. It was much easier than coming by myself and I felt a little thrill to hear her confirm what I already thought. Now she’d understand why I wanted to make him notice me.

No. Why I had to make him notice me.

“However did you come up with the name The Pink Salamander?” Ms. Eggleston asked Mr. Dawson.

“I let my younger sister name it. It was her idea to paint the exterior pink, as well. I suppose that’s what you get when you let a teenager make important decisions.”

“Well, I think it’s perfectly charming.”

I wasn’t eavesdropping on purpose. They were just standing close enough to hear and I couldn’t help it.

“It gets people’s attention. We’re happy you included us on your book tour. I must confess I haven’t read The Dawn of All Tomorrows, but my employee, Meg, said she loved it. Romance isn’t really my thing.” Janessa jabbed me with her elbow.

“You really should read it. I assure you it isn’t just a romance. It’s much more socially relevant than that. There’s a whole set of readers who only read romance. I like to trick those silly women into thinking they’re buying a romance and then throw in some of my pet social issues.”

Mr. Dawson was nodding. Ms. Eggleston leaned in closer and continued. “I find most romance readers to be quite shallow. My goal is to raise their social consciousness without them even realizing what’s happening.”

“Bravo. Like putting a little sugar with their medicine. Cloak something of meaning in a love story and you may teach some of these women something after all.”

Janessa leaned in close. “He’s certainly got the arrogant thing down.”

“So did Mr. Darcy,” I whispered.

Mr. Dawson surveyed the half-filled room. At first, his eyes passed over me but a moment later they came back to where I sat. His gaze bored into me and although my instinct was to look away, I didn’t. A few moments later, he gave me a curt nod and then looked at his watch.

Mr. Dawson stepped up to the microphone. “Welcome to The Pink Salamander. You’re in for an enlightening evening with one of Oregon’s brightest authors, Nanette Eggleston.” The scattered crowd clapped politely. Ms. Eggleston reached for Mr. Dawson’s hand and he helped her up the step onto the platform.

Really! One small step and she needed help? “I present to you, Nanette Eggleston.”

It was hard for me to take Ms. Eggleston seriously since I now knew she thought all the women in the room were intellectually inferior. Mr. Dawson took a seat at the far end of the front row. The row of chairs curved so I could see him. And he could see me.

The first time our eyes met, I smiled. He didn’t smile back. After that I tried not to look his direction, but just as they were when Matthew Macfadyen was on the screen, my eyes were dragged to him against my will. I saved a crumb of dignity by refusing to smile at him each time our eyes met.

Ms. Eggleston droned on and on. First she read a passage about the leading lady who was fighting an internal battle about whether she should sacrifice for the man she loved or put her own desires first. The passage ended before the decision was made, but after hearing her earlier speech to Mr. Dawson, I imagined she chose the selfish route.

When the reading was over, she asked for questions.

“What inspired this novel?” a woman toward the back asked and Ms. Eggleston graced us with a ten-minute discourse about a friend who had gone through a divorce because she’d spent her life putting her husband and children first only to discover that if she didn’t put herself first, no one else would. She left her family and went on a pilgrimage to find her best true self.

“Where is your favorite place to write?” an older woman asked.

“I find I do my best work at Starbucks,” Ms. Eggleston said. Several people snickered.

Ms. Eggleston bristled and her voice became defensive. “You may laugh but I’m quite serious. There’s a creative energy in a coffee shop. It’s palpable. Smart, intellectual people mingling together and sharing ideas. I like to sit in a corner and soak everything in over a Skinny Caramel Macchiato. And then I start writing. It’s actually quite exhilarating.”

Ms. Eggleston pointed at an eager, plain young woman with thick glasses, who asked, “What advice would you give to someone who wants to be an author?”

“You want to be an author?” Ms. Eggleston asked and the young woman blushed as she nodded. Ms. Eggleston looked the girl over before she continued. “My best advice to you would be to forget about it. Get a job in a restaurant or a bank. Writing is only half the battle. Even if you manage to write a good book, you have to learn how to turn yourself into a brand. It isn’t for the faint-hearted, I assure you, and although you may be very bright, thriving in the literary world is very difficult.” The young woman looked deflated and I was afraid she might cry.

At first Ms. Eggleston’s haughtiness had been a little amusing but now I was beginning to feel anger. Who was she to stomp on someone else’s dream? I didn’t like her. “Any other questions?” she asked.

I slowly raised my hand and she nodded at me. “I see you’ve written seven novels?”

“Eight, actually, but the last one hasn’t been released yet.” Her voice and her smug expression told me she was quite proud of herself.

“Have any of these books become best-sellers?”

A flash of surprise crossed Ms. Eggleston’s face and quickly turned to a several-second glare. I wondered if she was counting to ten in her head. Finally she took a deep breath and responded, her words slow and precise as if she were responding to a difficult little child. “No, I have not had a best-seller, but let me explain a few things to you. It’s very difficult to become a best-selling author. Very few are able to do that. It bears no reflection on your talent as a writer. It has more to do with the marketing dollars your publisher is willing to spend.”

“That makes sense,” I said. “I guess your publisher hasn’t been willing to spend enough of those dollars on you. Hopefully you can convince enough shallow, silly women who read romances to buy your books. Those Starbucks lattes aren’t cheap.”

Janessa’s shocked expression quickly changed to a look of pride. I glanced over at Mr. Dawson. It might have been my imagination, but it looked like he was suppressing a smile. After an uncomfortable moment, he stepped up to the platform and thanked Ms. Eggleston for coming.

“Ms. Eggleston will be signing copies of her books at the table by the door. Thank you all for coming out tonight.”

I took Janessa’s arm, pulling her out with me. I paused just long enough to drop Ms. Eggleston’s books on the table.

* * *

I left The Pink Salamander feeling quite proud of myself. I wasn’t usually shy about speaking my mind, but I’d surprised myself with my candor in front of a room of people, especially a room that included Mr. Dawson.

“I’m so proud of you for sticking up for that girl,” Janessa said. The adrenalin coursing through me left me short of breath and a little giddy.

“That woman was a bully and someone needed to say something,” I said.

“The question is will Mr. Dawson like you more or less because of it?”

That tempered my enthusiasm. In the moment I’d raised my hand, indignation had compelled me to speak up, but maybe I should have been the one counting to ten.

By the time I fell into bed, I worried my outburst might have embarrassed Mr. Dawson. If my actions had somehow reflected badly on The Pink Salamander, he’d likely be angry with me. What if speaking my mind had cost me the chance to fulfill my dream?

I didn’t sleep well and I woke the next morning with a headache. When I thought of seeing Mr. Dawson at the bank, I considered calling in sick. That seemed like a wimpy thing to do and most likely I’d have to see him eventually so I showered and got ready for work.

Just before ten, Mr. Dawson stepped through the door. I felt his gaze before I saw him. His eyes didn’t waver as he looked at me. Just before I pulled my attention back to my work, he nodded. I knew nothing about what his expressions meant, but I felt a little relief that he didn’t seem to be frothing at the mouth. I relaxed a little for the first time all morning.

Courtney’s window became available before mine but instead of stepping up to her window, Mr. Dawson turned to the woman behind him and indicated she should go next. He was choosing my window on purpose. My heart did a clumsy somersault.

I finished with my customer and Mr. Dawson stepped forward. I unfolded the slip of paper with the pink lizard at the top and began filling his request.

“Your name is Elizabeth?” he said.

“It is.”

“Is that what people call you?”

“Some do. Some people call me Lizzie.”

“What would you prefer I call you?”

I lost track of the bills I was counting. This was a significant question and I wanted to answer it right.

What did Mr. Darcy call Elizabeth? I needed time to think. Even though I’d watched Pride and Prejudice a million times my mind was malfunctioning and I couldn’t remember if he used the more formal Elizabeth or the more casual and intimate Lizzie? I certainly couldn’t suggest he call me his pearl. We didn’t even know each other.

Since I couldn’t remember and Mr. Dawson was standing there waiting for an answer, I blurted out my best guess.

“You can call me Elizabeth.”

Great. Now he’d think I was trying to keep things more formal? I had to stop analyzing every little thing and count the money.

“Elizabeth, how long do you have for lunch?” I stopped counting again and looked at him. “Lunch, Elizabeth. I assume you take a lunch?”

“Um, yes. I do. I have an hour.”

“What time is your lunch hour?”

“I go from 12:30 to 1:30.”

“I’m planning to order sandwiches for lunch today and wondered if you’d come to the bookstore and join me.”

I gaped at him. Was he teasing me? “Sandwiches? Today? At the bookstore?” Had I really just repeated everything he’d said? He was going to think I was a moron. I was starting to think the same thing.

“Yes, I’m inviting you to lunch. Today. At the bookstore.”

“Okay, sure. That would be nice.” I finally finished counting the money and placed it in the bank bag.

“I’ll see you at 12:30,” he said. Before I could even process what had just happened, Mr. Dawson was gone. There were no customers in line so I stood there, staring at the door he’d just walked through. Courtney finished her transaction and called my extension.

“You should probably close your mouth. It’s been hanging open since he left.” I clamped my jaws shut. “Congratulations. He picked your window today.”

“Courtney, he just invited me to the bookstore for lunch.”

“Is there a restaurant in the bookstore?”

“No, he’s ordering sandwiches.”

“Ooh, you must have made quite an impression on him.”

“Right. I’m just not sure if it was a good one.”

“Of course it’s a good one. You look adorable.”

“Thanks, but that’s not what I mean. I went to a book signing last night and insulted the author. I may have insulted Mr. Dawson, too.” Dread snaked its tentacles around my stomach. “Do you think he’d invite me to lunch to tell me off?”

“Whoa. That’s kinda scary. I guess you’ll find out in a couple of hours.”

“I feel sick.”

“Don’t worry about it. If he chews you out, you’ll know not to waste any more of your attention on him.”

Courtney’s logic made sense but she didn’t understand. Years of hopes and dreams hung in the balance. I needed him to adore me, not berate me. Dread kept its firm grip all morning.

* * *

I needed The Pink Salamander to be further away than two short blocks. I needed more time to convince myself it didn’t matter what he thought about last night. But it did. I didn’t want him to be angry with me. I’d been waiting for six years to meet him and I was tired of waiting. I wanted to find someone to love, someone who would love me back. I didn’t want to blow this, especially before he even had a chance to fall in love with me.

I put on a confident face even though I felt scared and fearful inside. Elizabeth Bennet never cowered and neither would I.

“Can I help you find something?” Miss Exquisite behind the counter asked. Why couldn’t Mr. Dawson’s employee be plain and shabbily dressed? I felt dowdy just looking at her. Today’s ensemble was a gray tweed skirt and an ecru blouse trimmed with crocheted lace. Her skin was flawless and her hair was sleek and smooth, a look only the prettiest face can pull off.

“Mr. Dawson is expecting me,” I said.

A look of surprise crossed Miss Exquisite’s face but she quickly recovered. “His office is down the hall on the left.”

The door to Mr. Dawson’s office was directly across the hall from the parlor, the scene of last night’s brouhaha. The rows of black chairs were gone and in their place was an arrangement of comfortable couches and chairs.

“In here, Elizabeth.” Mr. Dawson’s office was bright and modern. His chrome and glass desk and credenza were at odds with the Victorian styling everywhere else in The Pink Salamander. Mr. Dawson stood as I walked into the room. His chair looked like it belonged on the deck of a spaceship—all mesh and metal. Two red Eames chairs sat opposite the desk.

“Hi,” I said from the doorway.

“Come in. Please. Sit down.” He came around the desk and we each took one of the Eames chairs. “I ordered sandwiches from Eighth Natural Wonder.”

“I’ve never eaten there,” I said. Mr. Dawson handed me a sandwich wrapped in waxed paper and a small baggie of carrot sticks.

“Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“I was surprised you asked me. I thought you might be angry with me.”

Mr. Dawson raised an eyebrow. “Have you been to many book signings, Elizabeth?” I couldn’t read his expression. Maybe he was angry after all.

“Actually, no. Last night was my first.”

“I suspected so.” Mr. Dawson took a bite of his sandwich. I waited, nervous and uncomfortable, for him to say more. When he took another bite, I began eating my sandwich.

The sandwich was awful. It took all my willpower not to gag. I looked between the pieces of flatbread, trying to be discreet. There was a layer of romaine, a thick spread that looked suspiciously like dog food mixed with sunflower seeds, and a layer of sprouts. I forced myself to chew until I could swallow the thick sludge in my mouth.

“Is there somewhere I could get a drink of water?” I asked.

Mr. Dawson reached across the desk and picked up his phone. “Meg, would you please bring us two bottled waters?” A minute later, Meg, who turned out to be Miss Exquisite, walked in with two bottles of Evian and a withering expression.

“I gather you weren’t very impressed with Ms. Eggleston’s presentation last night,” he said when Meg had left.

“No, I wasn’t. I had the misfortune of overhearing your conversation before she gave her presentation. I’m afraid it tainted the rest of the evening for me.”

“I see.” He took another bite of sandwich. Did he have the same kind of sandwich? How was he not choking?

I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry if I offended you, but I’m not sorry for what I said to her. She treated us all as inferiors and then she nearly made that girl cry.”

“Which probably proved her point that the girl was ill-equipped to deal with the literary world.”

Was he defending her behavior? “I’m sorry, Mr. Dawson. But she wasn’t trying to help that girl. She was bullying her to make herself look more important.” I took another bite of my sandwich—not because I wanted it or because it tasted good. It didn’t. But I needed to occupy my mouth so I wouldn’t have to speak for a minute, even if it meant risking death by gagging.

I watched Mr. Dawson’s face. His jaw looked strong and manly as he chewed. His hair was just the right length and his eyes were so blue. It was like I was looking at Mr. Darcy. I wanted to touch his face to prove I wasn’t dreaming. But of course I didn’t.

Mr. Dawson swallowed hard, my first clue that maybe his sandwich was strangling him after all. “I guess I’ll have to be more careful what events I invite you to,” he said.

So it had been an invitation! I stifled a smile. Did this mean he intended to invite me to more? “I guess you will, Mr. Dawson.”

The beginning of a wry smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. I watched his lips and hoped the smile would grow but it didn’t. Mr. Dawson looked at me and I knew he’d caught me staring at his mouth. I quickly looked out the window behind his desk.

“Why do you call me Mr. Dawson?” he asked.

Because Elizabeth called Mr. Darcy Mr. Darcy. But of course I couldn’t say that. “I suppose it’s because of our business relationship.”

“Is that what this is? A business relationship?”

I blushed all the way to my toes. “You know what I mean. The bank.”

“Why don’t you call me Matt? Mr. Dawson sounds so old.”

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Twenty-eight. And you?”

“I’m twenty-two.”

“We’re much too close in age for you to be so formal.”

“All right. Matt. Thank you for lunch.”

“Would you like to join me again tomorrow?”

“As long as Ms. Eggleston won’t be here.” I smiled at my little joke. Matt raised his eyebrow but didn’t say anything. “That would be nice,” I said, cursing my lame attempt at humor. I wrapped up the last few bites of my sandwich and stood to leave.

Matt reached out and took my wrist. “I still think she was right about that girl, but what you did was kind.”

It was hard to put words together with his warm, strong hand on my wrist. I held perfectly still, wishing his hand would never move. “I’m not sure Ms. Eggleston knew that girl well enough to be the one to give her harsh advice. And sometimes it’s better to be kind than right.”

“Point taken.” Matt let go of my wrist and walked with me to the front door. Meg kept her eyes averted as we walked by. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Matt said.

My wrist still felt warm as I walked. Just for fun, I flexed my hand like I’d watched Mr. Darcy do about a hundred times.

Chapter Seven

“Hey, good news,” Janessa said, tossing her keys in the bowl. She looked at the television and stopped. “What are you doing, Lizzie?”

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not watching the whole thing. Besides, I thought you were going out to dinner with Ben tonight.”

“So when you think I’m not going to be home, you watch the movie?”

I smiled. “Only sometimes.”

“This is so sad,” Janessa said, shaking her head.

“I have a reason for watching. I needed to know what Mr. Darcy calls Elizabeth.”

“And this matters why?”

“Because Mr. Darcy—Matt Dawson—asked me to lunch today and he wondered if he should call me Elizabeth or Lizzie.”

“First, congratulations on the lunch date. Second, Mr. Darcy should not factor into this at all. You should have him call you whatever you want him to call you. Who cares what Mr. Darcy called Elizabeth?”

“Calm down. It’s not a big deal.”

“Exactly, Lizzie. And Mr. Darcy called her Miss Elizabeth. You know that.”

“I do now. But my mind went totally blank when he asked me. I was so worried he was going to be angry with me and then, suddenly, he was asking me to lunch.”

“Was he angry?”

“He didn’t seem angry but he thought Ms. Eggleston was right. He must not have been too upset because he asked me to lunch again tomorrow.”

“Lucky you. Lunch with a sullen, proud man who thinks it’s okay to bully customers.”

“Can you at least pretend to be happy for me?”

“If this is what you want, Lizzie, sure. I’m happy for you. What did you tell him to call you?”

“Elizabeth.”

“I guess tomorrow you can tell him to make it Miss Elizabeth. You might as well live the dream.”

“Very funny. What was your good news? And why aren’t you with Ben?”

“Ben had to work late. The good news is I picked up some pear and bleu cheese ice cream at Salt and Straw. Want some, Miss Elizabeth?”

“You know I do.”

We were halfway through a quart of ice cream and dinner at Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s when my phone chirped. It was a text from Chad.

Hey, I know we have plans for Saturday, but I’m craving Mexican. Want to go to dinner tomorrow?

I read the text to Janessa. “What should I do?”

“Go to dinner.”

“But Mr. Dawson, I mean Matt invited me to lunch again.”

“So you’re skipping dinner?” Now Janessa was just being difficult.

“Of course not. I mean, I’m seeing him tomorrow. What if he wants to do something in the evening, too?

“Did he mention doing something in the evening?”

“No.”

“Then you have no plans. Besides, if he asks you out for tomorrow night, it will be good for him to know you’re in demand. And don’t forget, you’ve still got eight dates left with Chad. Go to dinner and you get to knock off another one.”

* * *

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so full in my life,” Chad said. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach.

“I know. I might be sick.”

It was happy hour at Por Que No and between us, we’d just consumed a huge bowl of chips, salsa, and guacamole, four virgin margaritas, and eleven tacos.

“Do you want any flan?” Chad asked.

“I don’t know where I’d put it.”

What happened next wasn’t supposed to happen. Ever. And I didn’t mean for it to happen this time. I just didn’t see it coming until it was too late.

“Have you seen any good movies lately?” Chad asked.

“I haven’t gone to a movie in ages, but I watched part of Pride and Prejudice last night.”

“What is it about that movie? My mom and sister like it, too.”

“Probably because it’s one of the best movies ever made.”

“You really think so?”

“I love it.”

“Allison—that’s my sister—she says the best way to impress a girl is to watch Pride and Prejudice with her.”

Uh oh. I tried to hide my qualms with a laugh that sounded artificial to my ears. Long ago I’d decided my Pride and Prejudice was a hallowed movie—only to be shared with a chosen few. I knew it would be difficult, if not impossible, to hide my feelings about the movie. And about Mr. Darcy. How could I betray Mr. Darcy by watching him bare his soul while I sat beside another man?

“Let’s watch it.”

“I don’t know. You probably wouldn’t like it,” I said. “There’s no action. It’s all dialogue.”

“Should I be offended that you think I couldn’t handle a movie with dialogue?” Chad was teasing me and I should have teased back but I was too busy panicking.

“It’s not that I think you couldn’t handle it. I just don’t think you’d really like it. We could watch something else. Mission Impossible? Transformers?” Please. Anything but Pride and Prejudice.

“I’m afraid you’re only making me more curious to see what all the fuss is about. There’s a video store close to my house. Let’s go get it.”

I made other suggestions at the video store but in the end, we walked out with Pride and Prejudice and Chad’s thumb was covering Matthew Macfadyen’s face.

* * *

Chad’s house was a small bungalow on a street of small bungalows. He told me he’d bought it as a foreclosure the previous year and he was fixing it up a little at a time. It was clean and sparsely furnished.

“Please don’t judge me by my decorating. I’m not a trained interior designer,” Chad said.

“The décor suits you perfectly,” I said. “I’d call this eclectic old bachelor.” A dilapidated couch and a comfy recliner faced the big-screen television that hung on the wall above the brick fireplace.

“I may be a bachelor but twenty-five is a little young to be called an old bachelor.”

“Fine. We’ll call it eclectic young bachelor.”

“I feel much better. You take the chair. This couch has seen better days. It came from my Grandma’s house and I think she bought it when my dad was a kid.”

Chad offered me milk, water, or PowerAde, the only drinks he had in the house. I chose water. He put in the movie and sat down on the side of the couch closest to my chair. A few clicks with the remote and the menu appeared on the screen with the familiar lilting piano music and Keira Knightly standing on the rocks of the Peak District, her coat and hair blowing in the wind. He pushed a button and the movie started.

At first I felt self-conscious. I reminded myself that to Chad, this was just a movie. But it felt like my deepest hopes and dreams were parading across the television screen for Chad to look over and analyze. He’d think I was irrational and crazy. He’d probably laugh at me and my silly dream.

“So what do you recommend, to encourage affection,” Mr. Darcy spoke from the television.

“Dancing, even if one’s partner is barely tolerable,” Elizabeth replied.

“Good one,” Chad said.

I glanced at the small version of Chad’s crooked smile. Something inside me warmed. Chad had recognized how perfect Elizabeth’s retort was. I started to relax and enjoy myself.

I stole occasional looks at Chad throughout the movie, expecting to see boredom etched on his face, but if he was bored, he was hiding it well. Twice, Chad looked at me and smiled. I didn’t feel nearly as ill at ease as I’d expected I would.

“That was good,” Chad said as he drove me home. “I can tell you really like it.”

“It’s been my favorite movie since I was sixteen.”

“What do you like best about it?”

That question was loaded. Did I really want to tell him? Of course I didn’t. But maybe if I did, he’d realize I was a waste of his time and he’d move on. Chad was a really nice guy and didn’t deserve to put any hopes into a girl who could only be happy with Mr. Darcy. Two lunches with Matt had me feeling insanely hopeful. If Chad didn’t ask me out again, I wouldn’t end up hurting him when things worked out with Matt.

“My favorite thing about the movie is Mr. Darcy. I think he’s close to perfect.”

“Really? Even though he’s so mean to her?”

“He’s only mean because of their cultural differences. And when he knows he loves her, he’s willing to set all that aside and do anything for her. I think he’s misunderstood in the beginning.”

Chad parked outside my apartment and turned to face me.

“How is he misunderstood?”

“He’s lost both his parents. He feels responsible for his sister and the family estate. And he’s in love with a girl who he thinks can’t fit into his life. And then, even when he thinks he has no chance of winning her, he still tries to help her. That shows his true feelings.”

Chad looked at me for a long moment. “That’s true,” he finally said. “He’s probably a better guy than he seems at first.”

Why was I suddenly choked up? Was it that Chad understood my movie or was it because his eyes were soft and kind? I held my hands tightly in my lap as an unfamiliar feeling clutched my stomach.

Chad put his hand over my clasped ones. I looked at his hand resting on mine. It felt safe and sincere and warm and pleasant. I resisted the urge to turn my hand over and hold his. And then his hand was gone and I wanted it back.

* * *

“You look great,” Chad said as we walked to his car. I’d collaborated with Janessa about what an adult should wear to a high school Sadie Hawkins dance. We’d settled on her gray dress with tiny white flowers, my red tights and black pointy-toed shoes.

“Thanks. I wasn’t sure what a chaperone should wear,” I said.

“That’s perfect.”

“What exactly do chaperones do?” I asked Chad at The Boot, an Italian restaurant with the best mushroom and sausage rigatoni I’d ever tasted.

“The first half, my assignment is to patrol the dance floor and make sure no one is doing any dirty dancing. The second half we’ll be patrolling the rest of the building—making sure no one is sneaking into the bathrooms or under the bleachers.”

“I hope they pay you for this.”

“Enough to buy this dinner,” Chad said.

“You’re going to take on this awful job and spend the money on dinner? You should have bought something for yourself with the money,” I said.

“What makes you think this isn’t for me? I’m happy to have dinner with you and I’m glad you’re going to keep me company tonight.” I tried not to smile. “Don’t worry. I’m spending the money exactly where I want to.”

We arrived at the dance before it started. Bright lights lit the room and a DJ in a Trailblazers ball cap checked the sound system. Giant autumn leaves made from construction paper hung from the ceiling. Chad introduced me to a couple of teachers who were setting up the refreshment tables. I helped arrange yellow and orange sugar cookies and cupcakes on the table while Chad talked to the DJ.

Before long, someone turned down the lights. The construction paper leaves looked almost pretty in the subdued light. Students began to arrive and soon the gymnasium was full of loud couples and louder music. I could tell it was a girls’ choice by the eager expressions on the girls’ faces and the indifferent swagger of most of the boys. Why was it so hard for some of these girls to see that their date wasn’t as attentive as he should be? They say love is blind but perhaps high school crushes are even blinder.

“See the couple over there?” Chad nodded toward the corner where a boy and girl were already wrapped around each other and kissing. And it wasn’t even a slow song. “I’m going to take a little stroll. You can wait here or come with me.”

“I’ll watch from here this time,” I said.

“Chicken.” Chad smiled and started dancing toward the corner. Terrible, arm-flinging, leg-kicking dancing. His moves had nothing to do with the beat of the song. He twitched and wiggled as he spoke to them and soon they were laughing and dancing separately. Chad danced a little longer beside them as they exchanged a few more words and then he shimmied back across the dance floor.

I laughed as he moonwalked the last ten feet toward me.

“You’d better not be laughing at me,” Chad said.

“You are a terrible dancer,” I said.

“I’m not that bad. I promise. It’s just a lot easier to get the kids to do what I want them to if they’re laughing than if they hate me.”

“I think they just feel sorry for you,” I said.

“Laughter or pity. Either one is okay if it gets the job done.”

When it came time to patrol the halls, I was glad for the break from the loud music but I missed watching Chad make a fool of himself as he cooled the hormones of the more amorous students.

Most of the classrooms were locked and it didn’t take long to check bathrooms and bleachers. We repeated the route several times and only found one couple in a dark alcove by the band room.

“So is this the worst date you’ve ever been on?” Chad asked as we walked down a long, dim hallway.

“Not at all. I could watch you dance all evening.”

“I’m glad you were entertained.” Chad looked at his watch. “Our responsibilities are just about finished. Come with me.” He took my hand and we walked back to the gym.

“Last dance of the night,” the DJ said as we walked into the gymnasium. “No one should be sitting this one out.”

“You heard him,” Chad said. “Let’s dance.”

Chad led me onto the dance floor. I felt old and conspicuous and wondered if Chad was going to be rhythmically challenged on slow songs as well. “This is how it’s done,” he said to a few of the couples around us. He pulled me into his arms in a formal position, one hand on my back and one hand holding mine out to the side. And his rhythm was fine. In fact, it was really good. He was an excellent dancer and we moved comfortably to the music.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he said into my hair.

“It was fun. Thanks for inviting me.”

“You must have forgotten that you invited me,” he said.

“Oh right. Well, I’m glad I did.”

“Me too.” I could feel Chad’s breath in my hair. I was keenly aware of his hand on my back. I was glad we were chaperoning. It helped me resist the urge to snuggle in closer. That would be a bad move. We had to keep things friendly to set a proper example for Chad’s students. Besides, I had no business wanting to snuggle in closer. What was I thinking?

And then, near the end of the song, he pulled my hand in closer and his steps became smaller. His arm tightened around me and I was frustrated with how good it felt. I knew I should want the song to end immediately and yet I dreaded that last note.

Chad didn’t let go until the last note had faded out completely. We stood there for just a moment after the music ended. Then he brushed his lips against my temple. I had a little trouble catching my breath. I wasn’t supposed to let him like me. And I wasn’t supposed to like the way it felt in his arms. I needed some air and some perspective.

“Do you have to help clean up?” I asked. Chad’s hand was still on my back.

“Not technically. My job is to wait until all the students are gone. Last time I chaperoned, I helped put away chairs and tables.” His hand was still on my back.

“I can help.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind? If you’re tired, you can just sit down and wait for me.” His hand was still on my back.

“I don’t mind at all. Should I help clean up the refreshments or help you with the chairs?”

“Whichever you want.” His hand was still on my back.

“I’ll just go help with the refreshments.”

“I’ll come get you in a few minutes,” Chad said. He took his hand off my back and moved toward some chairs.

When the students were all gone and the gymnasium again looked like a gymnasium, Chad drove me home.

“That might have been the most fun I’ve ever had at a school dance,” Chad said.

“More fun than with scavenger hunt girl?” I asked.

“Definitely more fun than that. I don’t think she actually wanted to go with me that night,” Chad said

“I had fun. I wish I’d recorded you dancing. I could have made a fortune off that.”

“Thanks for coming.” Chad hugged me and I wished we were still on the dance floor. It was much easier to pull away when we were surrounded by dozens of teenage eyes. Here, by ourselves, I just wanted to burrow into his arms and stay there. I knew I needed to go inside. Chad held me close with one hand and played with my hair with the other. I tried to call to mind Matt’s face and when that didn’t work I thought about Mr. Darcy. Even his face was a little hazy. All I could really think about was how warm and solid Chad felt and how much I wanted to stay right where I was.

“I’d better go,” Chad said. He took a step back and smiled at me, his hand still touching my hair.

“I’ll talk to you soon?” I said.

“Yeah. Very soon.”

Chapter Eight

I added a slice of cheese to my turkey sandwich and put it in a sandwich bag.

“Not going to the book store for lunch today?” Janessa asked.

“I am but I thought I’d eat a real sandwich on my way over today. Matt’s killing me with all the vegetarian food. Yesterday he ordered soup that was more like a peanut and vegetable paste. And it smelled bad. I couldn’t eat it and I was starving by the end of the day.”

“Has he ever asked you what you want to eat?” Janessa asked. I’d been eating lunch at the bookstore for two weeks now.

“No.”

“Does he realize you’re not a vegetarian?”

“He’s never asked me so he probably doesn’t know what I am.” I felt a little twinge of annoyance. Why hadn’t he asked me? I had just as much right to my meat as he did to his veggie paste. “I guess we should have this discussion,” I said. “It’s fine if he wants to eat that way, but I’m getting tired of it.”

I’d had a couple of annoyed twinges lately. The first had come when Matt was walking me to the front door after a bland lunch of bean sprout, lettuce and tomato sandwiches. He actually had the nerve to call it a BLT. That wasn’t disappointing at all. On the front porch, he leaned against the railing and looked across the street.

“I was thinking you might as well plan on lunch every day. Unless one of us needs to cancel for work, of course.”

My initial glee that he wanted to spend every lunch with me gradually turned to irritation as I walked the two blocks back to the bank. Was it really such a hassle to have to ask me to lunch? Was this all about convenience or desire to see me? And speaking of desire to see me, did Matt ever want to see me somewhere other than the bank or the bookstore? Why didn’t he ask me on a real date?

Just before ten Matt came into the bank. “I can’t do lunch today or tomorrow,” he said when he reached my window.

“Oh, that’s too bad.” I was glad I had a sandwich in the break room refrigerator. I wanted to know why he was cancelling but he didn’t offer an explanation. “I guess I’ll see you Monday?”

“Actually, I was wondering what you’re doing after work tonight. There’s a movie I’d like to see at Cinema 21.”

“That sounds fun.”

“I don’t know about fun. It’s a serious movie. But if you’d like to go, I thought we could see it together.”

“Sure,” I said hoping my voice didn’t sound as thrilled as I felt inside. I didn’t care if it was a documentary on quantum physics. Matt had asked me on a real, after-work-hours date. I was excited and relieved.

“If you can come to the bookstore after work, we’ll just go from there? We can grab a bowl of soup somewhere on our way.”

I agreed, hoping he’d take me to a normal restaurant with real soup like chicken noodle or clam chowder.

I ended up eating a bowl of vegetable barley soup. It could have used some beef in there but it was far and away the best thing I’d eaten so far with Matt.

The movie was called “Land of Indecision” and Matt was right. It was serious. There wasn’t a single smile in the entire movie. For more than two hours, two twenty-something attorneys talked. They’d been hired by a poor, old man who was dying of cancer. He’d found oil on his property and wanted to drill it to relieve his family’s financial burdens when he died. As the case unfolded, they spent many hours at the office talking, and the local bar talking, and the old man’s living room talking, and the car talking. The subject they discussed incessantly was how to fight an environmental group who was fighting his right to drill.

Two hours and ten minutes into the movie, the two attorneys had evolved into enlightened men who no longer felt comfortable helping the old man destroy the beauty of his property with the blight of drilling equipment. They spent ten minutes telling the broken-hearted man that the greatest gift he could give his children was his property, unsullied by the ugliness of development.

By the time the movie ended, I was depleted of all enthusiasm about this date and realized I’d have preferred an evening of scrubbing the public restrooms at the Greyhound station to sitting through such a pompous film.

“What would you like?” Matt asked after the movie. We were ordering at a coffee shop a few doors from the theater.

“I’d like some hot cocoa and one of those pecan sticky buns,” I said.

“Did you know hot cocoa has three times as many calories as a cup of coffee?” Matt asked.

“Did you know it’s more than three times as delicious?” I asked.

Matt laughed. It was a real laugh and I realized it was the first time I’d ever heard it. “You got me there,” he said. “We’ll take two cups of hot cocoa.”

“You don’t want a sticky bun?” I asked.

“I try to stay away from too many refined sugars. But maybe I’ll eat a bite of yours.”

“I suppose I can let you have a bite.”

“What did you think of the movie?” Matt asked when we’d found a table.

“I don’t think you want to know?”

“Of course I do.”

“I thought it was pretentious and boring.”

“Really?” Matt sounded surprised.

“Did you like it?” I asked.

“It was interesting. What was pretentious about it?”

“It seems like the filmmakers had an agenda and like they think they’re much smarter than the rest of us. They treated the old man like he was a fool. And nothing happened except talking and talking and more talking.”

“You don’t like movies that are mostly dialogue?”

“Actually, my favorite movies are mostly dialogue, but they’re about smart and interesting people talking to each other instead of pompous people just wanting to hear themselves speak.”

“Give me some examples.”

“I love classics like old Audrey Hepburn movies and I like period pieces like Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice.”

“Ah, romances.” Did he have to sound so patronizing?

“There’s nothing wrong with romances.”

Matt held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say there was,” he said, but his mouth was pulling into that little smirk I was starting to recognize as condescending.

“But you think there is, don’t you?”

“I just think there are more important things to think about than whether a man and woman are going to end up together.”

“I happen to think it’s one of the most important questions in the world.”

“Do you mean that?” Matt asked.

“If men and women don’t end up together, it will mean the end of civilization.”

“Whoa, you really take your romance seriously.”

I laughed. “I just prefer a good story about people and relationships. I go to a movie to be entertained, not lectured.”

“Well, I liked it, but I can see it might not be for everyone.” Matt took a drink of his hot cocoa. “This is really good. I’m glad I let you talk me into it.”

“Maybe I need to start twisting your arm more often.”

“You’re pretty spirited, aren’t you Elizabeth.”

“You think so?” No one had ever called me spirited before.

“I’ve never met anyone quite like you. You’re sweet and cute but if anyone crosses you, they’d better run for their lives.” Sweet and cute. Not exactly the words I’d have liked him to say, but sweet and cute was better than sour and ugly.

“I guess you’d better not cross me,” I said.

“Oh, Elizabeth. I have no desire to cross you.” Matt took a bite of my sticky bun and smiled. I felt like I was at Pemberley, watching Mr. Darcy smile for the first time.

It was almost midnight and my car looked lonely and forgotten when we reached the bank parking lot. Matt walked me to my car.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” He took my hand and moved his thumb back and forth across my knuckles. I turned my hand in his and linked our fingers. I was holding hands with the closest thing to Mr. Darcy I’d ever met. That realization made it difficult to remember what I was doing tomorrow night. I looked at my hand and tried to concentrate. When I finally remembered, my heart sank.

“I’m going to a high school swim meet,” I said, wondering why he’d asked.

“I see. Sounds dreary.” Matt leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “I guess I’ll see you Monday.”

He got back in his car and was gone before I’d even unlocked my door.

Chapter Nine

I drove straight from work to Mt. Hood High School. Mt. Hood was one of the few schools with an on-campus swimming pool. The bleachers were small—only three rows high. I was glad I was early so I could choose a seat at the end. The air was heavy and wet and smelled of chlorine.

“Hi Lizzie. Did you pay? I was going to get you in for free.”

“Don’t worry about it. It was only three dollars.”

“I’m glad you could come.” Chad sat down on the bench beside me and handed me a sheet of paper printed with the team roster. “Just in case you want to know who’s swimming,” he said. “Watch this kid.” He pointed at the name Carter Stevens. “He came in second at state last year. He’s probably going to swim for the Oregon Ducks next year. And this boy here, Taylor Kennedy, he’s never been on a competitive team before. I came in during my free class one day and his PE class was swimming. He’s only a sophomore but I was impressed with how strong and fast he was. I talked him into joining the team. This is his first meet. I think I might be as nervous as he is.”

“How long have you been coaching?”

“This is my second year.”

“Woo, Coach Keller, what’s your girlfriend’s name?” Two swimmers in tight, navy blue suits that went from their waists to their knees walked past. I wasn’t sure if it was the girlfriend reference or their swimsuits that made me blush.

“I’d tell you if I thought it would help you swim better,” Chad said. “Go warm up. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“There are a lot of banners hanging in here,” I said. I hoped he’d look at the banners and not my hot cheeks. Of course, he was looking at me.

“I know. Mt. Hood has a good program. They’ve taken state six of the last ten years.”

“I’m impressed. You must be a good coach.”

“Oh, I wasn’t the coach when they took state,” Chad said.

“I know, but they hired you to take over their winning program. They must have a lot of confidence in you.”

“I don’t know about that. There are some great kids here.”

“You’re just being modest,” I said.

Chad patted my knee and started toward the team at the far end of the pool. He stopped and then turned around. “Don’t leave after the meet. I thought we could go get hamburgers and shakes.”

Hamburgers and shakes! The thought of sinking my teeth into a juicy hamburger made my mouth water. How did he know I was starved for some beef?

The swim meet was more fun than I expected. I watched Chad as he put his hands on the boys’ shoulders before they took their starting positions. He looked positive and encouraging. Carter Stevens took first in his race by half a pool length. In Taylor Kennedy’s first race, he had a rough start and came in fourth. When he came out of the water, Chad put his arm around him and pointed at the starting platform. Taylor nodded as Chad spoke. On his second race, he got a great start and narrowly missed first place. When he got out of the pool, he and Chad exchanged excited high fives.

The meet was over before I knew it and Mt. Hood had taken first place.

“You’re my good luck charm,” Chad said at Spencer’s, a little hamburger joint with fresh-baked buns and thick chocolate milkshakes.

“I don’t know if you guys needed any luck.”

I took the first bite of my bacon cheeseburger and moaned.

Chad laughed. “That good, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

“Nothing better than a low-maintenance girl.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not,” I said.

“It’s the very highest praise. There’s nothing worse than a girl who’s never happy or satisfied with anything.”

“Well let me assure you that a good bacon cheeseburger and a chocolate shake is a sure way to put a smile on my face.” I grinned to prove my point.

We sat in the booth and talked long after our hamburgers and milkshakes were gone. When the waitress started giving us dirty looks, we realized they were trying to close. “Sorry,” Chad said to the waitress and smiled at her as we walked past. “We were having so much fun we lost track of time. Hope we didn’t keep you too long.”

His smile disarmed her and she smiled back. “No problem. Have a good night.”

Chad walked me to my car. “We don’t have practice Monday,” he said, “so I was thinking that might be a good night to take you swimming.”

“Won’t you want to avoid from the pool on your night off?”

“Nah, I don’t mind. We can use the school pool and then we can get some dinner. I’ll let you decide if we go for hamburgers and shakes again or if you’d like to branch out a little.”

Monday would make six dates. The faster I reached the finish line, the faster I’d be able to focus on my relationship with Matt. And the faster I could rid myself of the guilty and confused feelings I felt when I was with Chad. He was so nice and funny and sweet. But he was also a far cry from Mr. Darcy and as much as I enjoyed his company, I couldn’t stand the thought of leading him on or hurting him.

“Sure. Monday sounds good.”

Chad closed the door and waved as I pulled out of the parking lot.

* * *

The recessed lights glowed from inside the pool. The water was smooth and quiet except for a gentle lapping sound by the vent. Chad flipped the switch and the room lit up.

I stuck a toe in the water to check the temperature.

“It’s heated so it should feel okay.”

The temperature felt fine but I was self-conscious and embarrassed. Chad stripped down to his swimsuit. I was relieved to see he was wearing regular swim trunks and not one of those form-fitting competition suits. His muscular shoulders provided more than enough distraction. He dove into the water with no hesitation. I’ve always been impressed when someone jumps right into the water. I usually step onto the first step, let my feet adjust to the temperature and then take another step. Ten minutes later, I’m finally in up to my shoulders. Putting my head in is a whole other issue.

Tonight was different. There were only two of us here and once I was down to my swimsuit, I’d quickly be in the water. No standing around on display tonight.

“Come in whenever you’re ready,” Chad said. He turned away from me and started swimming to the other side. I suspected he knew I was uncomfortable and wanted to give me a little privacy. I quickly took advantage of his kindness, pulled off my sweats and jumped into the water.

It may have been heated but it still felt bracing and took my breath away. I moved around trying to warm up my body until Chad swam back.

“Did anyone ever teach you how to breathe while you’re swimming freestyle?”

“If they did, I don’t remember.”

“Then let’s start there,” Chad said. Soon I was putting my face in the water and blowing out a long, slow breath. I didn’t have to do this alone. Chad did everything with me. Once I’d mastered taking a breath, lowering my face and exhaling to the count of five, we moved to timing the inhale. Chad took my hands and guided them in the arm motion of freestyle swimming while he helped me get accustomed to the time I would take a breath. “Left, right, inhale. Right, left, inhale. Left, right, inhale. Right, left, inhale. Good. Now while we do it, blow out slowly during the first two strokes. Blow. Out. Inhale. Blow. Out. Inhale. That’s right. You’ve got it.”

Chad was such a kind and encouraging teacher, I found myself wanting to be a good student.

“Now let’s put all that in the water. You won’t actually swim yet but you’ll do all this under water. You’ll exhale, stroke and inhale.” I lowered my upper body even with the water and went through the motions. When I had a good rhythm going, Chad stepped aside. “Now take it across the pool. Don’t panic and don’t rush. You know you’re going to get a breath in three counts, so just keep your rhythm going.”

I repeated the words in my mind as I swam. Blow. Out. Inhale. Blow. Out. Inhale. I was swimming the length of the pool without panic. I didn’t have to stop and tread water while I caught my breath. Every third stroke I took a quick breath and then with my face in the water, I slowly exhaled. Before I knew it I was at the other end of the pool.

“That was so easy,” I yelled. From across the pool, Chad smiled and gave me two thumbs up.

“Now swim back to me. Just keep the rhythm steady and don’t panic.”

I put my face back in the water and sang the words in my mind. After years of fighting the water when I did the freestyle stroke I felt completely in control. I was elated.

“You did great,” Chad said after I swam back to him.

“You’re a good teacher.”

Chad gave me a few pointers on my kick and we both swam a couple more lengths of the pool. When we were through swimming, we split up to get dressed. Chad went into the boys’ locker room and I went into the girls’.

Even with the lights on, I managed to freak myself out. The room felt too big and quiet. I imagined how easy it would be for someone to lurk behind a row of lockers, ready to leap out and kill me. I dressed in a panic and ran as quickly as I could back out to meet Chad. I didn’t bother with combing my hair or fixing my face. Those things weren’t worth dying for.

“Are you okay?” Chad asked. “You look terrified.”

“That room is scary at night. I completely worked myself up in there.”

Chad laughed and put his arm around me. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. Now what sounds good to eat?”

“How about pancakes?” I said.

“Pancakes it is.”

The fluorescent diner lights blazed and I wished I’d controlled my fear long enough to apply some mascara and comb through my hair. My chlorine-dipped skin felt tight and dry and I could feel my hair frizzing as it dried.

While we waited for our pancakes and bacon, we swapped Thanksgiving plans and family traditions. I’d just finished telling him about my mom’s famous stuffing when I realized he was smiling at me.

“What? Is something funny?”

“No, I was just looking at your hair.”

“Oh, it’s awful, isn’t it?” I touched the tight, unruly curls.

“It’s fantastic.” Chad reached over and twirled a curl around his finger.

“It needs some serious hair product,” I said. Chad kept his finger there, twisting it around and around.

“I don’t think it needs anything.” Chad’s fingers were so close to my face I could feel their warmth. I wanted to tilt my face so his hand touched my cheek but I knew that would be sending the wrong message. I’d finally met the man of my dreams. So why did every part of me want to lean into Chad’s warm fingers, to have his hand touch my cheek? It didn’t make any sense.

Fortunately, I was saved from my confusion before I could make a fool of myself. The waitress arrived with plates of food and soon things were back to normal.

At least as normal as they could be after I realized I wanted someone other than the man of my dreams to caress my cheek.

Chapter Ten

Thanksgiving dinner was over and Mom, my sister-in-law Laura, and I were putting together this year’s Thanksgiving Day puzzle. Dad, my brother James, and his 3 year-old son, Jonah were napping to the sounds of a football game on television. We’d just finished the edge of the puzzle when my phone chirped.

CHAD: HOPE YOU’VE HAD A NICE DAY WITH YOUR FAMILY. WANT TO KNOW WHAT I AM THANKFUL FOR? YOU. SEE YOU AT THE MEET ON TUESDAY.

“What’s the matter, Lizzie?” Mom asked.

I stared at Chad’s text, turkey and stuffing churning in my now upset stomach.

“Lizzie, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’ve done a terrible thing,” I said.

“What have you done?”

“I’ve led on a really nice guy.” I squeezed my eyes shut and put my head in my hands. “I’m so ashamed.”

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think,” Laura said.

“What are you talking about?” Mom asked.

I told them everything. I told them about Janessa and her crazy ten-date ultimatum. Of course Mom was proud of Janessa. I told them about Chad and how kind and good he was. They were excited for me until I leveled them with the bad news. I couldn’t like Chad, no matter how great he was, because I’d finally met Matt Dawson, the closest thing to Mr. Darcy I could ever hope for.

“Mom, he’s everything I’ve always wanted. When he walked into the bank that first day, I knew it. I knew he was what I’d been waiting for.”

“How did you know so quickly?”

“He could be Matthew Macfadyen’s twin brother. He was tall and reserved and confident.” I noticed I was choosing my words very carefully to make Mom and Laura like Matt. The truth was he’d been tall, arrogant and snobby. He often still was, but those words wouldn’t sound right to Mom and Laura.

“Tell us more about Matt,” Mom said. I saw a look pass between Mom and Laura and I knew I had to make them understand why I liked him. I had to make them see he was perfect for me.

“He owns a bookstore called The Pink Salamander. It’s just a couple of blocks from the bank. He’s very smart and well read and we have interesting conversations. We get together almost every day for lunch and discuss news and politics. He’s really into healthy eating and so he orders lunch every day from The Eighth Natural Wonder. That’s a health-food restaurant across the street from the bookstore.”

“Is he a nice man?” Laura asked.

Why was that such a hard question? Was he nice? He certainly wasn’t the nicest man I’d ever met. But he wasn’t intentionally cruel. Just honest.

Wow. That wasn’t much of a recommendation. “He’s kind of serious and aloof until you get to know him,” I said. “But he’s nice to me.”

“Nice sounds so boring,” Laura said, “but it’s not. Kindness is what counts. I know when I’m tired or sick”—she patted her three-month pregnant stomach—“I don’t care if James is attractive or smart at all. I just care if he’s good to me.”

“I should tell Janessa I can’t do this anymore,” I said with resolve. “It isn’t fair to Chad.” Again, Mom and Laura exchanged a look. “What? You think I should finish out the ten dates?”

Mom picked her words carefully. “Honey, I don’t know either of these guys so it’s hard for me to say. Does Chad know about Janessa’s dating plan?”

“No.”

“And he keeps asking you out?”

“Yes.”

“Then he must be doing it because he wants to,” she said.

Tears stung the corners of my eyes. “I know, Mom. That’s the problem. I can tell he really likes me and it isn’t fair to lead him on.”

“Have Chad or Matt said anything about dating exclusively?” Laura asked.

“No.”

“Then stop worrying so much.” Mom stroked my hair. “You deserve to have enough time to decide what’s best for you. Until one of them asks for more, you’re not doing anything wrong by dating both of them.”

“But I know what I want,” I said.

“Are you sure?” Laura asked.

“I’m positive.”

“Don’t cut off Chad until Matt gives you a reason to,” Mom said. She wiped the tears that had spilled onto my cheeks. “Okay?”

I nodded and picked up my phone.

LIZZIE: LOOKING FORWARD TO THE SWIM MEET. HAPPY THANKSGIVING. BE SURE TO EAT LOTS OF PIE.

* * *

I didn’t hear from Matt over the Thanksgiving weekend. I buried my disappointment by reminding myself he’d gone to Arizona to be with his family, so he was probably very busy. When he came through the line at the bank the Monday after Thanksgiving, it was business as usual until I handed him his bank bag.

“Are we on for lunch?” I asked.

“I was planning on it,” he said.

Lunch was a travelogue of his trip to Arizona. I was a little disappointed when he said his trip had been slow-paced and relaxing. I wanted to tell him I’d hoped he’d call or text but I didn’t. I didn’t want to be one of those demanding girls.

“What did you eat for Thanksgiving dinner?” I asked. I wondered what vegetarians ate instead of turkey and sausage stuffing.

“I ate the same things you did, I’m sure.”

“You ate turkey?”

“I try to eat healthy but I’m not a strict vegetarian. I eat meat a few times a year.”

“Your mom was probably glad not to have to find a soy alternative to turkey.”

“My mom wouldn’t have had to worry about it. She had the meal catered.”

“Thanksgiving? Catered?” I couldn’t imagine Thanksgiving without cooking the turkey and making the pies.

Matt laughed. “Yes, Elizabeth. Even Thanksgiving. My mom doesn’t like to cook and since she can afford not to, she doesn’t.”

“I don’t even know what your Dad does,” I said.

“Dad owns a large construction company but Mom has money from way back. Her grandfather owned part of a railroad company. He made a fortune when he sold it. My share of the money is what bought this bookstore.”

Matt’s wealth explained why he carried himself so much like Mr. Darcy. He was like him in more ways than I had realized.

It was almost time to go back to work. I wrapped up my half-eaten stuffed pita.

“Elizabeth, we’re hosting a Christmas book event on the 21st. Three authors will be here to give presentations and sign books. Don’t worry, nothing too controversial. It’s going to be more like a reception. I was wondering if you’d like to come. As my date.”

“I’d love to.” Finally we were moving the direction I’d been hoping. “And I promise not to fight with any of your guests.”

Matt smiled. “I figured I could leave you unmuzzled at this event.”

We walked out onto the porch. Matt squeezed my shoulder. “I missed you, Elizabeth.”

I was glad.

* * *

I was next in line to pay for my swim meet ticket when someone grabbed my hand. I looked up to see Chad grinning at me. He pulled me past the woman at the table. “She’s with me.” The woman nodded. When we were inside the doors, he hugged me tightly. “Oh, it’s good to see you. Did you have a nice weekend?”

“It was great. I love Thanksgiving food.”

“I think you just love food, period.”

“You’re probably right,” I said.

“What are we eating tonight?”

“Why don’t you choose tonight? Surprise me.” We walked to the end of the bench I’d sat on before.

“Sorry you have to sit alone.”

“I really don’t mind.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

The meet was a success. Taylor Kennedy took first place in both his races. It was hard to tell if he or Chad was more excited. Carter was sick but still managed to win his race by more than a body length. Mt. Hood won came in first and Chad grinned as he walked toward me after the meet.

“If you’re not in a hurry, let’s run to the grocery store. We can go to my place and make chicken Alfredo and garlic bread.”

“Mmm, that sounds delicious.”

We walked through the aisles of the grocery store, gathering ingredients. We added a carton of toasted almond fudge ice cream and then drove to Chad’s house.

I deboned the rotisserie chicken and toasted the garlic bread while he made the sauce and cooked the noodles.

“Tell me about your Thanksgiving,” I said.

“It was the usual. Grandma—the one who gave me that lovely couch—came from Seattle. Allison was home from college. Mom’s a great cook, but Dad always does the turkey. It was a good weekend.”

I set the small, square table in the kitchen with plates on opposite sides. After I pulled the garlic bread out of the oven, I discovered Chad had moved one of the table settings so now they were kitty corner to each other. Chad gave me a mischievous smile when I looked at him.

Dinner was good and the conversation was even better. We talked about our families, food, and movies. We debated whether Batman or Spiderman was the better movie franchise. Somehow we evolved into a discussion about his grandpa’s losing battle with cancer. Chad had been in college when his mom called him with the news. “Grandpa had gone to the doctor with a nagging headache,” Chad explained. “A few tests later, they knew he wasn’t going to live more than a month or so.

“It was terrible. I got in the car and drove straight there. I spent three days there with him and Grandma. They’d given Grandpa something for the pain so he seemed almost normal. We went to a Washington Huskies football game and we watched several John Wayne movies since they were Grandpa’s favorites. The day I had to leave to go back to school, Grandpa took me into the garage and gave me his tool chest. I still get a little choked up when I use one of Grandpa’s tools on this house.”

I couldn’t help it. I reached out and put my hand on Chad’s arm. He looked at my hand and covered it with his. “That was the last time I saw Grandpa alive. He called me the day before he died and said, ‘Well Chad, I think this is it.’ I hardly recognized his voice. I told him I wanted to come back up to see him and he said no. He didn’t want me to remember him confined to his bed. He said to remember him the way he was when I’d been there a few weeks earlier, so I didn’t go back until the funeral. It was hard.”

“I’m sorry, Chad. He sounds like a wonderful man.”

“He was.” We were quiet for a moment. I looked down at my hand on Chad’s arm. It had been a mistake to put it there. I wanted to do right by Chad and it was getting harder and harder to keep things light and casual. I meant to move my hand. I really did. And then I didn’t have to, because Chad moved both of his hands. One arm still rested on the table but the other came up behind my neck, under my hair. Slowly he pulled me close. I could have pulled away, but I didn’t. Instead I let him kiss me. Even then, I meant to pull away, but my heart was racing and his lips felt so nice I didn’t want to move. So I kissed him back instead. And then he rested his forehead against mine, his hand still behind my neck and told me I was amazing. So I put my arms around him and kissed him again.

After we kissed, we ate ice cream. I hardly tasted it because I couldn’t decide if I should kiss Chad again or tell him we should never see each other again. When he took me home, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him, shutting out every thought except his lips and his arms around me. Then I went inside and cried myself to sleep because I was falling for the wrong man and I had to do something about it before I devastated one of the best people I’d ever met and ruined my chance with the one I’d been waiting for six years.

Chapter Eleven

“Did you see the new episode of Crimson and Clover last night?” Matt asked.

“I wasn’t home last night. Was it good?”

“I laughed through the whole thing.” I’d have liked to see that. Laugher was a rare commodity when it came to Matt. “Where were you?”

“Mt. Hood High had a swim meet.”

“Do you know someone on the team?”

“The coach is my friend.” Something about that answer felt dishonest.

“What’s her name?”

“It’s not a her. His name is Chad.”

Matt looked at me for a long moment. I hoped my face didn’t look as flushed as it suddenly felt.

After an awkward pause our lunch conversation continued as usual. Matt shared the plotline of the sitcom he’d watched and we talked about a robbery that had taken place just a few blocks from the bookstore.

Matt walked me out to the front porch when it was time for me to return to work.

“Do you have a swim meet on Thursday?” Matt asked. The question had an edge to it.

“No.”

“Let’s go out to dinner. Somewhere nice.”

“That would be great,” I said.

* * *

On Thursday I sat in one of Delia’s boring training meetings. It had been going on all day. I hadn’t seen Matt when he came in for cash that morning because temporary tellers were filling in for us. When lunch arrived, Delia handed us waxed-paper-wrapped sandwiches and I realized we were eating lunch catered by The Eighth Natural Wonder. Was everyone conspiring against me?

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. It was Chad. He didn’t leave a message. I felt immensely relieved and a little bit sad.

* * *

The evening was cold and wet—perfect weather for my brown corduroy dress, pea-green tights, and ankle boots. My hair was a little wild tonight so I held it back with a floral headband.

“You look so cute,” Janessa said.

“Thanks.” I shook out my hands. “I don’t know why I feel so nervous tonight. We eat lunch together almost every day.”

“Don’t be nervous. Just have fun. You look fabulous.”

Matt looked me over from head to toe when I opened the door. A little smirk appeared and then disappeared. I wasn’t sure what it meant but suddenly I felt self-conscious.

When we pulled out of the parking lot, Matt reached over and took my hand. “I thought we’d go to Sage.” I’d never eaten at Sage but I’d heard rumors they didn’t put prices on the menu. If you had to worry about the price, you couldn’t afford to eat at Sage. I was glad I’d worn a dress.

Matt was extra attentive, opening doors, putting my arm through his, and pulling out my chair. I opened the black leather menu. My mouth watered just reading about the dishes offered. The rumor was true. There were no prices.

“What is your vegetarian offering tonight?” Matt asked.

He’d better not be ordering for me. With the food described here, there was no way I was ordering vegetarian.

“We have a sea palm and root vegetable strudel. It’s quite delicious,” the waiter said. His British accent sounded a little overdone. He was probably an acting student from Medford.

“Give us a few more minutes?” Matt said.

“Certainly.”

“I’m not sure that sounds very good,” Matt said.

I took this opportunity to ensure I wouldn’t be forced to eat vegetarian. “This pecan-encrusted salmon sounds good to me. I think I’ll have that,” I said.

“Salmon is certainly better than red meat. Maybe I’ll order that, too. But I don’t know about the pecans. A lot of extra fat there.” When the waiter came back, Matt ordered two of the salmon, one with pecans and one without.

“Is the bank doing anything for Christmas?” Matt asked.

“They’re having a Christmas party next week. They reserved a room at the Marriott for dinner and dancing. Have you ever heard of a work party that included dancing?”

“I didn’t think there were enough employees at your bank to hold a dance,” Matt said.

I laughed. “That would be super awkward. It isn’t just our branch. Bank employees from all over western Oregon will be there.”

“Are you going?”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“You should go. I’ll come with you.”

“Really?” What was going on with all this sudden attention?

“Unless you don’t want to,” Matt said.

“No. I mean yes. Let’s do it,” I said.

Matt’s smile disappeared and his face turned serious. “Elizabeth, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“What would you call us?”

I was confused. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Do you consider me a friend? A boyfriend? Are we ‘dating?’”

My mind muddled through possible answers and then I realized this was easy. It wasn’t my job to define the relationship. “I’m not sure what I’d call us. What would you call us?”

“I’d like to think we’re sort of a couple. But if we were a couple, you wouldn’t be dating the swim coach.”

I took a long, slow drink to give myself time to respond. This was wonderful, right? Exactly what I wanted. So why did it make me bristle? And then Mom’s words came to me.

“That swim coach is my friend. And until you give me a reason not to go out with him when he calls, I’m not doing anything wrong.”

Matt looked at me closely and then smiled. “So all you need is a reason?” I nodded. “Then here’s a reason. I like you. More than I ever intended to. And I think we may have a future together. But I don’t want to be worried about what’s happening with other men. I think we should date exclusively. Is that a good enough reason?”

I nodded but a pain seized at my heart.

“Good. Now tell me how we dress for this dinner dance.”

“It’s semi-formal,” I said.

Matt reached for my hand and held it between both of his. “I have a good feeling about us, Elizabeth.” He smiled and it was warm and sincere. I smiled back. Matt let go of my hand when the food arrived.

The ride home was quiet. Matt seemed very satisfied with the way the evening had gone. At the door, Matt pulled me into his arms and we shared our first kiss goodnight. It was nice. It really was. He didn’t rush and his arms felt warm and gentle. I wanted to be swept away, to have all thoughts disappear in the heat of the moment. But the heat wasn’t hot enough to burn away the memory of another kiss just a few days earlier. I refused to think about what that might mean.

“You’re an amazing girl,” Matt said as he held me close.

In a matter of days, two men had told me I was amazing. So why did I feel so un-amazing?

* * *

“The dating challenge is off,” I said in the doorway to Janessa’s dark bedroom. She sat up in bed and turned on her lamp.

“What did you say?” She stretched and shook away the grogginess.

“I said the dating challenge is off.”

“Really? Why?” She watched me with suspicion.

“Because Matt just said he wants us to be exclusive.”

“Are you serious? Lizzie. Sit,” she said as she scooted over and patted the mattress. “Tell me about it.”

“We ate at Sage.”

“Ooh, Sage. Was it as nice as I’ve heard?”

“It was super nice and super expensive. At least I think it was. I never saw any prices and I didn’t see the bill.”

“What did it look like inside?”

“The tablecloths were spun out of real gold and the salt and pepper shakers were encrusted with diamonds,” I said. Janessa snorted and slapped my arm. “It was pretty simple inside. Black leather menus, white tablecloths. There was modern art on the walls that wasn’t any better than the finger painting Jonah did on Thanksgiving.”

“Maybe Jonah’s a protégé.”

“He’s my nephew, so I’m sure he is,” I said.

“Okay, what did he say? Word for word.”

“He said, and I quote, ‘I’d like to think we’re sort of a couple, but if that’s the case, you wouldn’t be dating the swim coach.’”

“He did not.”

“Yes, he did.”

“How did he know about Chad?”

“I’ve told him about Mt. Hood’s swim meets.”

“So what did you say?”

“I told him I needed a reason not to date the swim coach and he told me he wanted us to date exclusively to see where things go.”

“Oh, Lizzie. I’m so happy for you.” Janessa threw her arms around me. “I know this is what you’ve always wanted and I’m glad you’re finally getting it. I’m sorry I bullied you into dating Chad. I just didn’t want you to end up sad and lonely.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I said, startling Janessa with my fervor. I dialed back my tone. “Chad’s a really nice guy. Some girl is going to be lucky to have him.”

“But you. You’ve got your Mr. Darcy. I have to admit I didn’t think it would happen.”

“I know. I’d about given up myself.”

“What about the whole vegetarian thing? Do you think you can handle that?”

“He told me he ate turkey on Thanksgiving and tonight he ordered salmon because the seaweed and root strudel didn’t sound good to him.” Janessa scrunched up her nose and we laughed. “He said he eats meat a few times a year. Hopefully I can convince him to make his vegetarian days a few days a year.”

“You’ll have him so wrapped around your finger he’ll be willing to start butchering his own meat if you ask him to.”

I rolled my eyes. “I guess I’m going to the Oregon National Bank Christmas dinner and dance.”

“You said you wouldn’t be caught dead at that.”

“That was before Mr. Darcy said he’d like to go with me,” I said. Janessa squeezed my hand.

“I’m exhausted,” I said. “I’m heading to bed.”

“Congratulations, Lizzie,” Janessa said as I walked out of her room. “Who says dreams don’t come true?”

* * *

I had planned to attend Mt. Hood High’s swim meet on Saturday morning, but now I couldn’t, so I texted Chad.

LIZZIE: I CAN’T MAKE IT TO THE MEET THIS MORNING. SORRY. COULD YOU STOP BY MY HOUSE AFTER IT’S OVER?

I couldn’t eat any breakfast and my stomach felt like it was gnawing on itself. I tried to watch a documentary about vacationing through Europe, but the happy tourists did nothing to lift my mood, so I turned it off. I folded a load of clothes and then sat down to wait.

Even though I was expecting him to come, I jumped when he knocked on the door.

“Are you sick?” Chad asked as soon as I opened the door.

“I’m okay. How did the team do?”

“There were four teams and we came in second by only a point.”

“Oh darn.”

“I told you you were our good luck charm.” I couldn’t look at Chad so I looked at the floor. “Lizzie, is something wrong?” Chad leaned down to look at my face. A tear rolled down my cheek and I brushed it away. “Hey, what is it?”

I took Chad’s hand and led him to the couch. I rested my elbows on my knees, clasping my hands in front of me.

“Lizzie? What’s wrong?”

“We can’t go out anymore,” I said, looking at the floor.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m so sorry, Chad.”

“What’s going on? What are you sorry for?

“I didn’t mean to lead you on,” I whispered.

“Just tell me what you’re talking about.”

“We weren’t dating exclusively,” I said. “I mean, we never said we were only dating each other, right?” Somehow I wanted him to believe that I hadn’t been disloyal.

Just heartless.

“I guess that’s true,” he said.

“I’ve been dating someone else, too. And he doesn’t want me to see you anymore.” I nearly choked on the words. I forced myself to look up at Chad’s face. He looked stunned.

“Is this what you want?” he finally asked.

I nodded at first and then I shrugged my shoulders. I realized it was a confusing gesture but it took me a moment before I could speak. “I think it is. Chad, please don’t hate me. Please.”

Chad put his arms around me and I cried into his shoulder. When I finally pulled away, I could see his eyes were sad and red-rimmed.

Chad shook his head. “Lizzie, I could never hate you.”

“I feel so bad.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” That only made me feel worse and fresh tears started.

“I’m so sorry, Chad. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

“Hey, no more crying.” He wiped my tears, stood up and walked to the door. “Be happy, Lizzie. If this is what you want, you don’t have any reason to be sad.”

I nodded but I couldn’t speak. Chad closed the door quietly behind him.

Chapter Twelve

When the door closed, I hurried to the window and watched Chad walk slowly down the sidewalk to his car. I was sure I was doing the right thing. So why was my heart breaking? I wanted to run after him and tell him I didn’t mean it. Why couldn’t we just be friends? If I hadn’t let him kiss me, I could have assured Matt that Chad was just a good friend. I wouldn’t have had to give him up entirely. But I had let him kiss me. And I’d kissed him back. It was too late to pretend we could hang out without it meaning anything.

I bit my lip to keep it from quivering. This was the right thing to do. Chad was too good to toy with and my mind was made up.

It had been made up since I was sixteen.

Chad sat in his car for several minutes. I couldn’t see his face, just his hands resting on the steering wheel. When he finally pulled out of the parking lot, I dried my tears and headed for the kitchen.

Usually when I was upset I liked to clean, but the kitchen was spotless, so instead I made a mess. A big chocolate chip cookie mess that I didn’t clean up until the next day.

* * *

I’d made a monumental effort to look good for the Oregon National Bank Christmas party. Actually, I made the effort for Matt and I hoped he would notice. Janessa and I had found a perfect charcoal gray lace dress. The elbow-length sleeves and waist were fitted and the full skirt fell just below the knee. Wine-red tights and pewter ballet slippers finished the look. Janessa helped me with makeup, including darker eyes and brighter lips than I was accustomed to. We left my hair loose and curly.

I knew I looked pretty when I opened the door. I resisted the urge to twirl—the skirt was so perfectly full it was made for twirling. Matt looked me over, but didn’t say anything. He just put out his arm for me to take. I berated myself for wanting his compliments. I knew I looked good. That should be enough, right? So why did I let Matt make me feel self-conscious when he withheld compliments? I was learning he wasn’t prone to gushing so I shouldn’t expect him to.

Mr. Darcy wasn’t a gusher either, right? And yet, he was still fascinated by Elizabeth. The thought gave me a little comfort.

The Oregon Ballroom at the Marriott was a Christmas wonderland. Frosted evergreens decked in tiny white lights lined the walls. Each table overflowed with greenery and sparkling ornaments. Rows of twinkling lights hung over the dance floor.

We found the University Branch table and sat with Delia and her husband, Courtney and her boyfriend and Steve, a loan officer and his wife. Matt was pleasant to everyone and had a lively conversation with Steve about the financial crisis in Europe. Conversation waned when they brought the food. Steve had barely cooked prime rib and the rest of us had chicken with a mushroom sauce.

“Didn’t you order me a vegetarian plate?” Matt asked.

I hadn’t realized I could order a vegetarian plate and Matt had never expressed a desire to have a special meal. Honestly, I was getting tired of Matt’s food preferences. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know they offered a vegetarian plate. I thought the chicken would be the best choice since you don’t like red meat.”

“You know I prefer no meat at all,” Matt said to me and then turned to signal the waiter. “Is there a vegetarian offering?”

“I’ll see if we have one, sir.”

My food cooled as I waited to eat with Matt. Several minutes later the waiter returned. “I’m sorry sir. We don’t have any extra vegetarian plates. I can order you a pasta primavera from the restaurant, if you’d like.”

“How long would that take?” Matt asked.

“Fifteen minutes perhaps.”

Matt sighed and waived him off. “Never mind. I suppose this will do.”

“I’m very sorry, sir,” the waiter said.

“I’m sorry Matt. I should have…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Matt dismissed my apology with a wave of his hand. He must have realized he sounded impatient because he reached over and patted my hand. “This is fine,” he said. He smiled but his voice had an edge. When they cleared the plates away, his food had hardly been touched.

Matt refused the chocolate cheesecake with sliced strawberries. It was delicious although it was a little harder to enjoy mine since Matt wasn’t having any.

We turned our chairs toward the dance floor where a bank executive and her assistant drew names for door prizes. Matt pulled my chair a little closer and held my hand. Courtney squealed when her name was drawn for a $100.00 gift card to Harry and David. She waved the card in the air as she hurried back to our table in her super-short sequined dress and four inch heels. Then the executive instructed each branch manager to hand out their gifts. Delia handed out envelopes containing $25.00 gift certificates to a steakhouse chain.

The DJ took over the microphone and wished everyone a Merry Christmas before he started playing an eclectic mix of old and new Christmas music. We watched while a few couples danced to “Last Christmas” by George Michael and “Mistletoe” by Justin Beiber. When Bing Crosby started singing “White Christmas,” Matt leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Let’s dance.”

Although the style of dance was different, and we didn’t have an impassioned conversation like Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, I closed my eyes and let the rest of the room disappear as Matt and I moved gently to the music. Suddenly, memories of dancing with Chad intruded on my dance with Matt. I wanted to be here, dancing with Matt, so why was I thinking of Chad’s hand on my back and his breath in my hair. I opened my eyes to anchor myself in the here and now. I was in a Marriott ballroom that looked like a fairy tale and I was dancing with the man of my dreams under sparkling lights, so why did I feel nostalgic for a high school gymnasium decorated with construction paper leaves?

The next song was a little faster. Some of the couples split apart to dance but Matt continued to hold me in his arms. A wall of mirrors behind the dance floor caught my eye and all thoughts of Chad disappeared. There was Matt looking tall, sophisticated and very Darcy-ish. He was holding me in his arms. Me! If I played this carefully, maybe someday I’d be Mrs. Dawson and Matt would look at me with eyes filled with love. Maybe he’d even call me his pearl.

“What are you thinking about?” Matt asked.

“I was thinking that you remind me of Mr. Darcy. In Pride and Prejudice. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“You think I look like Colin Firth?”

“No. I think you look like Matthew Macfadyen. In the Keira Knightley version.”

“I’ve never seen that one. Actually, I’ve never seen either of them.”

I pulled back to get a better look at his face. “Really? I’d have thought you would have.”

“Why?”

“You own a bookstore. Pride and Prejudice is a classic.”

“It’s a classic book. Not a classic movie.”

“Ah, but you’re wrong. It’s very classic,” I said.

“I’ve never really understood why it’s as popular as it is.”

“Have you read it?” I asked.

“Most of it. I didn’t understand the fuss. But I know you girls like it.” I wanted to defend my devotion to the book and the movie but I didn’t. I was afraid he might suggest we watch it together and at the moment, I didn’t want to share it with him.

Could Matt be my Mr. Darcy if he had never seen Pride and Prejudice? Don’t be silly. Of course he could. It isn’t like the real Mr. Darcy had a Mr. Darcy to guide his actions. I looked back at the reflection of us dancing. Me and the tall, proud man I’d loved for years.

* * *

A Katy Perry song drove us from the dance floor. We said goodbye to those sitting at our table and left.

“Would you like to go to Peacock Lane?” Matt asked.

“I’d love to,” I said.

Most of the year, Peacock Lane is an ordinary street of pretty older homes with tidy yards and tall, established trees. But during December, Peacock Lane becomes Christmas Street. Christmas lights and decorations transform every home. Families walk, holding children on their shoulders and reading the captions beside a life size Dr. Seuss or Santa Claus. Romantic carriage rides carry couples up and down the street, covered in plaid flannel blankets. Three homeowners work together to provide a beautiful nativity. The center house features the stable with the Christ-child. The yards on either side showcase the wise men and the shepherds. Christmas music plays in front of a few of the houses and once in a while, a group will break out in a reverent version of “Silent Night” or a rousing rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”

Matt finally found a parking place two blocks from Peacock Lane. “Would you like me to get a carriage?” he asked.

“No. No. I’m very fond of walking,” I said.

“Then we’ll walk.” Matt took my hand and soon we were walking down the long, sparkling street. The air was warm for December and we walked with our coats unbuttoned. We joined a crowd in front of one of the houses that had its lights set to a synthesized version of “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” It was fun to watch, but the song about gathering to adore the infant Christ-child seemed boisterous and unworshipful.

Several doors further, the homeowner had put a large archway over the sidewalk. It was covered with green boughs and Christmas lights. In the center of the arch was a large sprig of mistletoe. I pretended not to see it. Matt hardly seemed like someone who’d be moved by contrived romantic gestures, especially in such a public setting. We were directly under the mistletoe when he surprised me. He stopped, took me by the shoulders and kissed me, not a short quick kiss, either, but a long, expressive kiss. I could barely breathe when he pulled away and if he hadn’t pulled me into his arms, I might have lost my balance.

The cluster of people behind us started to cheer and I could feel the color rising in my cheeks. Matt quickly snapped back to reality. He nodded at the throng and we began walking again.

“Wow,” I said. “That was unexpected.”

“Maybe unexpected, but hopefully not unwelcome,” Matt said.

“Not at all,” I said looking up at him. He smiled.

For the first time that week I felt at ease. Matt was everything I wanted and he’d just shown the first sign that someday he might openly and completely adore me.

As I fell asleep that night, dances and kisses and Christmas lights drifted through my mind and gradually became dreams. Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth danced to Bing Crosby, Matt and I kissed under the mistletoe on Peacock Lane. Matthew Macfadyen walked toward me in a long coat as the sun rose and Chad called me his pearl on a Sunday afternoon.

Chapter Thirteen

The pink salamander was bustling with activity when I arrived for lunch. A life-sized Nutcracker guarded the front door. A Christmas tree stood inside the front entry, its branches covered with books and reading spectacles. Two women stood on ladders at either side of the arched doorway that entered into the parlor. They attached silver and red Christmas ornaments to an enormous bough of greenery. A young man was arranging tall, tapered candles on the fireplace mantle. Nearly every corner was decked with ribbons, baubles and evergreen boughs.

“I almost didn’t recognize the place,” I said when I walked into Matt’s office.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“It looks beautiful. Who are these people?”

“It’s Doxey Interiors. I heard they do a lot of decorating for Christmas events. Meg hired them when she was furnishing her condo and she swears they’re the best.”

I tried not to be hurt that Matt had hired an interior designer to do his Christmas decorating, but it was hard. Matt knew I’d graduated with a degree in Interior Design and I wished he’d given me a chance to impress him, or at least talked to me about his plans.

“I could have helped you decorate,” I said, “and I don’t know what they’re charging you, but I’d have given you a friends and family discount.” I laughed, trying to keep the conversation light and the hurt out of my voice.

“I should have thought of that. I guess seeing you working the teller window makes me forget you’re more than just a bank teller. Maybe next year.” The reference to something far in the future pleased me and helped me overlook the jab he’d just made about me being just a bank teller. “Did you see that tree? I love the books and reading glasses idea. Genius idea for a bookstore.”

Right. Genius. Who would ever think of putting books on the Christmas tree at a bookstore?

“Elizabeth, come see what they’ve done in the other rooms. I told them I wanted something different in each one.” Matt took my hand and led me up the stairway. In the Women’s Fiction room was a smaller tree covered with lipsticks, open compacts and necklaces. The tree in the Children’s Room had a garland of small alphabet blocks and Christmas candy. “Wait until you see the non-fiction room. Alexis decided to focus on the cookbooks in that room.”

Let me guess. A tree with kitchen tools? Sure enough the tree was covered with rolling pins, cookie cutters, spoons and whisks. So original.

“This is really nice,” I said and it was. It just wasn’t quite as imaginative as Matt thought it was.

“I hope we have a good turnout tomorrow night. I’ve had it advertised all over town. We’ll have Alicia Espinosa in here. She’s written a raw cookbook.”

“Isn’t that a little contradictory?” I joked.

“What do you mean?”

“A raw cookbook.”

“Ah, yes. I get it. That’s funny,” Matt said but he barely registered a smile. “I’m going to have Elliott Daniels in the parlor and Robert Sabuda will sign his Christmas pop-up books in the Children’s Room.”

“It sounds wonderful,” I said.

When the tour was over we sat down to eat lunch in the only undecorated space in the bookstore—Matt’s office. I was pleased to find that Matt had ordered me a sandwich with turkey and avocado spread. It was actually quite good.

“I have something for you,” Matt said. “This isn’t your actual Christmas present. I’ll give you that after the book event tomorrow night.” Matt would be in Arizona for Christmas.

“Ooh, a surprise?” I said.

“Don’t get too excited. It’s not a big deal,” Matt said. He handed me a silver gift bag.

“It looks nice,” I said. I opened the bag and pulled out a package of sheer, black pantyhose. I looked at Matt, confused.

“They should be the right size. I asked Meg to pick them up for me.”

It took me a moment to find my voice. “You had Meg buy me pantyhose?” I asked. The thought of Matt sending Meg out to buy me pantyhose felt wrong.

“I figured she’d know more about this than I do,” Matt said. “Are they the right size?”

I turned the package over and nodded. The size was right but the whole situation felt strange. Was this a normal thing to do? “I don’t understand. Why would you get me pantyhose?” I asked.

“I thought you could wear them tomorrow night.”

A light went on in my mind. I wanted to turn the light back off because if what it was illuminating was true, I’d soon be angry.

“Matt, I have clothes to wear.”

“I was just hoping you would wear these instead of your colored ones.”

Was he serious? What was wrong with my colored tights? I loved them. They were fun and playful and different. I liked the way they looked.

“So you don’t like my colored tights?” I asked.

Matt hesitated. “They just look juvenile,” Matt finally said. At least he had the decency to look a little chagrined.

“If they were only for children, they wouldn’t make them in my size.” Suddenly I realized why he never complimented what I wore. He didn’t like my style. That stung but even worse was the thought of him discussing what I wore with Meg, and sending her out for pantyhose for me!

Matt sighed. “I’ve offended you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” I didn’t speak. I’m not sure if I was more angry or hurt, but whatever it was, I would not cry in front of him. About tights. I stared at the package of pantyhose in my hand. “It’s just that tomorrow night is really a big deal and I wanted you to look elegant. And sophisticated.” Matt’s voice trailed off.

“I think I’d better go,” I said. The faster I left the less chance there was I’d cry about tights. Why do I have to be one of those girls who cry when she’s angry?

Matt sat in his seat and watched me put the pantyhose back in the bag, pick up my purse and walk to the door. “Elizabeth?”

I paused at the door but didn’t turn back.

“Don’t be mad at me just because I want things to be perfect tomorrow,” he said.

I didn’t look at him. “See you tomorrow,” I said.

* * *

I didn’t tell Courtney about the pantyhose even though she asked what was in my shiny, silver bag. When I got home, I threw the pantyhose on my bed and shoved the gift bag into the bottom of the garbage can. I knew Janessa would find this gift inappropriate and insulting and I was desperate to have the people I loved like Matt.

When I dressed for my date the next evening, I pulled out what I’d planned to wear—a black A-line skirt and a black cardigan I’d embellished in college. I’d removed all the boring buttons and replaced them with mismatched, vintage rhinestone buttons. Now I was questioning everything. Would he find the mismatched buttons unsophisticated? Maybe I should borrow Janessa’s plain, black sweater.

I removed the pantyhose from their package. Stupid, boring, black pantyhose. I had planned to wear my gray tights with a silvery shimmer. They were pretty and perfect for the holiday. I put them on and finished dressing. They looked good. I wanted to wear them.

What would happen if I didn’t wear the black, sheer pantyhose? Matt would probably be annoyed. But I was annoyed, too. Maybe he wouldn’t want to date me anymore. That would be just plain sad. Cause of relationship death: Irreconcilable hosiery preferences.

In the end, I wore my own embellished sweater but I changed into the black pantyhose. Tonight was important to Matt and I didn’t want to spoil it for him over something so trivial. Besides we were exchanging gifts after the signing and I was excited to give him his present. I didn’t want to spoil the night before he left for Arizona with a silly argument about tights.

* * *

The book event was a splendid success. Hundreds of people came throughout the night. Matt moved among the people, charming and attentive. He introduced me to his guest authors and some of his best customers. The hors d’oeuvres were delicious and I was glad Matt had listened to me when I’d suggested a Christmas gathering of customers might be a good time to branch out beyond Eighth Natural Wonder. The savory platters were delicious and included bacon. The sweet platters were a rich assortment of cheesecake bites and Christmas desserts.

When the last customer finally left, Matt collapsed into his office chair and grinned. “Mission accomplished,” he said.

“It was very nice.” I popped a small éclair into my mouth.

“By the way, you look very pretty tonight,” Matt said.

“Thanks.” I looked down at my boring black pantyhose with a twinge of resentment.

“I’m glad you were here.” Matt moved around the desk to sit beside me. It wasn’t until he sat down that I noticed he had an envelope in his hand. “Merry Christmas.” He handed me the envelope and kissed me lightly on the lips.

Inside the envelope were two tickets to Wicked. “It won’t be here until March, but I heard you talking to Courtney about it at dinner,” Matt said.

“This is perfect. I’ve wanted to see this for years,” I said. “Thank you.” I leaned across the chairs and hugged him. “Now let me get yours,” I said and retrieved it from inside the small closet where I’d stashed it with my purse when I’d arrived. “I hope you like it.”

Matt cut the string that wrapped the box and removed the lid. Inside the box was a framed photograph of The Pink Salamander. I had taken it in the evening, when the pink looked almost lavender in the darkening light and the windows glowed invitingly.

“Did you take this yourself?” Matt asked and I nodded. “You caught it at the perfect time of day. Thank you, Elizabeth.” He looked at the photograph for a long time. “What a thoughtful gift.” I loved the picture and thought it was beautiful, but it wasn’t until I knew he liked it that I realized how nervous I’d been about giving it to him.

Matt walked me to my car a few minutes later. He held me close for a long time. “Merry Christmas, sweet Elizabeth. I’ll miss you.”

Chapter Fourteen

The cold drizzle frizzed my hair and made my fingers numb as I loaded the car with my suitcase and Christmas presents for the family. Even though Dad and Mom only lived a half hour away, I planned to stay for a couple of nights.

I was getting a later start than I wanted and I had no one to blame but myself. I’d had my Christmas shopping finished weeks ago, but I’d forgotten wrapping paper. After leaving the bank at 3:00, I’d had to fight the Christmas Eve rush and stand in line for twenty-five minutes, all for a roll of pretty paper. So much for shopping early.

My phone vibrated on the counter. Someone had left a text while I’d been loading the car.

CHAD: HEY, I WONDERED IF I COULD DROP BY FOR A MINUTE. IT WON’T TAKE LONG.

My pulse did a little sprint. It was from Chad. I told myself my reaction was simply because I hadn’t heard from him for two weeks. My cold fingers trembled a little as I typed in a message.

LIZZIE: GLAD YOU CAUGHT ME. LEAVING FOR PARENTS SOON, BUT GO AHEAD AND STOP BY.

It only took a few seconds before he responded.

CHAD: BE THERE IN LESS THAN TEN.

I checked my reflection in the mirror and tried to tame my rebellious hair. It was no use so I pulled it back into a ponytail. Then I changed my mind and left it loose.

I hadn’t seen Chad since he’d driven away and I found it unsettling that I was so eager to see him. And that I cared what my hair looked like. Would Matt be disappointed in me if he knew Chad was stopping by? I’d have to be quick and businesslike. It was the only way to be fair to both Matt and Chad. I didn’t want to upset Matt or mislead Chad. Quick and businesslike. I could do that.

I sprang from my seat when the doorbell rang. I took a deep breath and walked calmly to the door.

Chad smiled. He looked awkward and sheepish. He held a large, flat box wrapped in shiny red paper. Chad had such a cute smile. I smiled back. “Thanks for letting me stop by.”

“Of course. How are you?”

“I’m okay. Been busy with school and the team,” Chad said.

“I know. You’ve had some good meets.” Chad looked surprised. “I read about them online.”

“Right. Carter signed a letter of intent with the Ducks this week.”

“That’s so great.”

An awkward moment elapsed. “Well, listen, I have something for you.”

A gust of wind shocked my senses. “Come in. It’s freezing out there.”

“Here. Just take this and I’ll get out of your way. I don’t want to keep you.”

“Don’t be silly. Come on in.”

Chad followed me into the living room and sat on the edge of a chair.

“I’m sorry,” I said, looking at the package. “I didn’t…”

Chad put up his hand. “Stop right there. I didn’t expect you to get me anything. I didn’t even know if I should give you this, considering the circumstances, but…” Chad looked down at the package. “No matter what happened, I wanted you to have this.”

“You’re much too nice, Chad.”

“Not really,” he said. His voice was so quiet I could hardly hear him. He handed me the package.

“Do you want me to open it now?” I asked.

“You probably should. I want to explain something to you.”

I tore away the paper and lifted the lid. Inside the box was a coffee table book called Design in the Details—Interiors that Speak. It was a beautiful book.

“Thank you, Chad. This is gorgeous. And so thoughtful.”

“There’s an envelope in there,” he said pointing at the book.

I flipped through the pages and found a small blue envelope. Inside was a hand-written gift certificate.

Good for an interior design consultation with Lola Keller.

I looked at Chad for an explanation.

“That’s my mom. She wants to redecorate her living room and dining room and when I told her about you, she said she’d like to have you come by for a consultation. If she likes your ideas, she wants to hire you.”

“Chad.” I could hardly speak over the dam in my throat.

“I talked to her before we… before things changed. Don’t worry. She knows things are different now, but she still wants to talk to you.”

“Does she know I’m a bank teller?”

“Of course. That’s not a problem. You can meet with her in the evening or on a Saturday. If she likes your ideas, I’m sure you can work things out with her. She’s a really nice lady.”

“I’m sure she is.” I was having a little trouble catching my breath. The sweetness of the gift had my mind in a muddle. Thoughts kept flitting through my head but I couldn’t say them. They wouldn’t be fair or appropriate.

Chad stood. “Mom’s number is on the back of that card. Just give her a call after Christmas and set something up.” I nodded. “Have a wonderful Christmas.”

I followed Chad to the door. He was halfway down the stairs and I still hadn’t said anything. I couldn’t let him leave like this.

“Chad?” He turned around and looked up the stairs at me. Why were words so elusive?

“Yes?” His voice sounded strangely hopeful and I was filled with guilt.

Finally, I forced myself to speak. “Thank you.” My voice sounded small in my ears.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

* * *

“You’ve been too quiet tonight,” Mom said. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Mom and I were the last ones up. After an evening of Christmas Eve festivities, Dad and James’s family had gone to bed. Mom and I were putting together a breakfast casserole before we went to bed.

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“I can tell you have something on your mind. You know you can tell me.”

“I know. I’m just so torn.”

“Torn about what?”

I told Mom about the gift from Chad. “It’s so thoughtful, but I don’t know if I can accept it.”

“Of course you can. Why wouldn’t you?” Mom asked.

“It’s Chad’s mom and we’re not dating anymore.”

“It isn’t about dating. It’s a job. For his mom. He didn’t ask you to decorate his house. Honey, this is what you studied and you’re good at it. You have to seize these opportunities when they come.”

“You think it’s okay if I do it?”

“Of course. It’s a great opportunity. Just be sure you tell Matt what you’re doing. Don’t make it a secret or he won’t trust you. Matt should want you to pursue opportunities like this.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Of course it’s true. Just tell Chad thank you and then give it your best shot. This was really a nice thing for him to do.”

“I know. I don’t deserve it.”

“He must think you do.”

* * *

It was almost midnight and I couldn’t sleep. I felt sick when I thought of Chad’s face as he left. Did he know how grateful I was? Even if his mother decided not to work with me, Chad’s thoughtfulness was one of the kindest things anyone had ever done for me and I knew I wouldn’t sleep until I’d told him how much I appreciated it. I flipped open my phone and started writing.

LIZZIE: YOUR KINDNESS OVERWHELMED ME AND I COULDN’T FALL ASLEEP UNTIL I TOLD YOU HOW GRATEFUL I AM. THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART.

Barely a minute had passed when my phone chirped.

CHAD: IT’S NOT A BIG DEAL. YOU SHOULD HAVE A CHANCE TO SHOW WHAT YOU CAN DO.

LIZZIE: I HOPE I CAN DO SOMETHING SHE LIKES. ANYWAY, I WANTED YOU TO KNOW I APPRECIATE IT.

CHAD: CAN I ASK YOU A QUESTION?

I knew I should say no. The smart thing to do would be to say goodnight and go to sleep. The problem was I didn’t feel very smart and I didn’t want the conversation to end.

LIZZIE: OF COURSE.

CHAD: IF I’D BEEN THE FIRST TO SAY I WANTED US TO DATE ONLY EACH OTHER, WOULD I HAVE HAD A CHANCE?

I knew I should have said goodbye. Now he was asking me a question I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t even want to think about it. Besides, Chad wouldn’t understand. No one would.

LIZZIE: I’M NOT EVEN SURE HOW TO ANSWER THAT. I WANT YOU TO KNOW YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG.

CHAD: THAT’S NOT TRUE.

LIZZIE: YES IT IS.

CHAD: IF I’D DONE EVERYTHING RIGHT, THINGS WOULDN’T HAVE TURNED OUT THE WAY THEY DID.

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t tell him that no matter how wonderful he was, he wasn’t Mr. Darcy. I couldn’t tell him I’d started liking him but that Matt walking into the bank had to be fate. I couldn’t tell him I’d probably never have given him a chance if it hadn’t been for Janessa. All these things just reminded me that what I’d done to Chad wasn’t fair and that fate had stepped in and played a cruel trick. Why hadn’t I met Matt first and spared Chad dating me in the first place? I couldn’t tell Chad that hurting him hurt me too. I didn’t even want to admit it to myself or I’d have to figure out my feelings. It didn’t make sense. I had what I wanted. I should be happy. I was happy. I had no reason not to be happy.

I was still wrestling with myself when Chad sent another message.

CHAD: SORRY. I REALLY WANT YOU TO TALK TO MY MOM SO I DON’T WANT TO MAKE THINGS AWKWARD. FORGET I STARTED THIS. IT’S JUST LATE.

LIZZIE: I PROMISE YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. THIS IS ABOUT WHAT I DECIDED I WANTED A LONG TIME AGO. I WISH I COULD EXPLAIN IT.

CHAD: AND HE’S WHAT YOU WANT?

LIZZIE: I THINK SO.

CHAD: ARE YOU SURE YOU KNOW WHAT YOU WANT?

LIZZIE: YEAH, I THINK SO.

CHAD: I HOPE SO.

LIZZIE: ME TOO.

CHAD: I PROBABLY SHOULDN’T SAY THIS, BUT I’VE MISSED YOU.

LIZZIE: I PROBABLY SHOULDN’T SAY THIS EITHER, BUT I’VE MISSED YOU TOO.

CHAD: GOOD NIGHT, LIZZIE.

LIZZIE: GOOD NIGHT. THANKS AGAIN.

I should have felt better but I didn’t. I rolled over and stared at the clock. It was almost one in the morning. That meant it wasn’t quite midnight in Arizona. I dialed Matt’s number.

“Hello Elizabeth.”

“Hi Matt. I hope it isn’t too late to call.”

“I’m just heading to bed. What are you doing up so late?”

“I just couldn’t fall asleep.”

“Like a kid on Christmas Eve, huh?”

“I guess so. Did you have a nice evening?”

“We played games and had Mexican food.”

“Mmm. Sounds good. Did your mom have it catered?”

Matt laughed. “Of course.”

“Was it delicious?”

“Everyone said it was. I had salad and Spanish rice.”

“Sounds boring.”

“There were other things. I just didn’t eat them. You’d have probably enjoyed it more than me. Sweetie, I’m really tired. Do you mind if we talk more tomorrow?”

“Sure. That’s fine.” A tear slid down my cheek. I quickly brushed it away.

“Thanks. I want to talk to you, I’m just so tired I don’t think I’d be very good company tonight.”

“No, it’s fine. We can talk tomorrow.”

“Great. I’ll call you tomorrow. Good night.”

“Good night.”

After almost an hour of restlessness, I tiptoed to the kitchen. Nothing in the refrigerator looked good. A tin of shortbread cookies sat on the table. Cute Mr. Klein. He’d been bringing a tin like this every Christmas since I was a baby. The cookie tasted good but did nothing to fill the hollow ache in my stomach.

Chapter Fifteen

It was Christmas evening. The excitement of the day had worn Jonah out so James and Laura had taken him home to sleep in his own bed. I was sitting in the family room with Dad and Mom watching The Best of Carol Burnett, a boxed set James had given Mom for Christmas.

Matt had said he’d call me, so I’d waited patiently all day. At least I’d waited all day. Sometimes I hadn’t felt very patient.

It was almost ten when my phone rang. It was Matt. “I’ll be back in a bit,” I said and hurried out of the room. “Hello.” I walked down the hall to my childhood bedroom and sat cross-legged on the daisy comforter.

“Hi Elizabeth. How was your Christmas?”

“It was good.” I told him about the cruise Dad had given Mom and the antique rocker James had given to Laura. I didn’t tell him about the floral tights Laura had found for me at a little boutique in Seattle. “Did you have a nice Christmas?”

“It was the usual Christmas. My older sisters spoiled their kids. My parents spoiled my little sister. There were way too many presents and by the time we were through I was nearly catatonic.”

“How many kids do your sisters have?” I asked.

“My oldest sister, Rachel, has three children. Mason is 12, Gabby is 8 and Ryder is… maybe 5. I’m not sure. Then comes JeNae. She has twins. Piers and Elliott. They’re six or seven.”

“And then there’s you.”

“Right. And then when I was ten they had Alexis. She’s 18 now. Graduates from high school this spring.”

“I’ll bet it’s nice to see everyone. I love seeing my brother’s family.”

“It’s nice for the first couple of days. Then I remember why I wanted to move away.”

“What made you choose Portland?”

“I wanted to live somewhere new and interesting. I’d read some things about Portland and so I took a trip. I liked the climate and the energy. I knew I wanted to own a bookstore but there weren’t any for sale so I decided to open my own.”

“Do you miss them when you’re here?” I asked.

“Sometimes, but they come visit and I go visit them. I find I love them more when I’m missing them than when we’re thrown together days on end.”

“Did you get anything good for Christmas?” I asked.

“My best present was a framed photograph of my book store. There’s this cute girl that lives in Portland who took the picture herself and had it framed.”

I was glad no one could see my goofy grin. “She must be pretty awesome to get you such a great present,” I said.

“She is. I like her a lot.”

“I’ll bet you really miss her when you’re in Arizona, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

“I’ll bet she misses you, too.”

“She’d better.”

“I’m sure she does,” I said.

“Tell me what you got for Christmas, besides play tickets,” Matt said.

“Well, James and Laura got me a watch. Mom and Dad got a chair re-upholstered for my apartment.”

“A chair?” Matt asked.

“It’s not just any chair. It’s this great overstuffed chair with thick, pillowy arms. It was my favorite reading chair when I was growing up. It was threadbare and beat up but they knew I loved it so instead of getting rid of it, they had it re-upholstered so it would look great in my living room.”

“That was nice of them. Did you get to pick out the fabric?”

“I did but I didn’t know I was. Mom had me choose my favorite fabric because she was thinking of getting herself a new couch. There was no new couch. Just a perfect chair for me. Oh, and I was going to tell you. My friend, Chad, gave me something, too.”

“Chad. Is that the swim coach?”

“Yes. He arranged for me to have a consultation with his mom. She’s planning to redo her formal living room and dining room and she’s going to let me make a proposal. If she likes it, I’ll have the job.”

Matt was quiet so I waited. “So you get to go to her house, put in hours of work on a proposal and if she likes it you have the job? What if she doesn’t like it?”

“Then she’ll hire someone else.”

“After you’ve spent all that time there and put in all those hours?”

“Matt, this is the way interior design works. The only people who hire someone without a proposal are people who go on those reality shows. The great thing is I’ll get to do some real interior design work and then hopefully I’ll get to carry out the plan.”

“I guess that will be some good practice for you.”

“I studied this Matt. I think I’m good at it. I’m not just practicing. This is for real. This is a potential job.”

“Does it mean you’ll quit the bank?”

“No. I can’t. It would take more than one job to let me quit the bank. But it would give me something to present to some design places so they could see my work on a real job instead of just in the classroom. It’s a step.”

“I guess I should say congratulations. I can’t decide if that’s a really generous gift or a really cheap one.” I didn’t tell him that the beautiful $75.00 coffee table book sitting in my apartment was also part of the present. I also kept to myself how grateful I was and how thoughtful Chad had been. There was a long, awkward pause and this time I felt compelled to fill it.

“When are you coming back?” I asked.

“I’ll be home the 30th. Meg is having a New Year’s Eve party at her condo. I thought we could go there to celebrate.”

Meg. What would she wear to a New Year’s Eve party? I knew I’d look dowdy next to her no matter what I wore. Did I dare wear my floral tights? They were pretty festive. I’d have to think about that.

“That sounds fun.”

“I guess I’ll say goodnight. Merry Christmas, Miss Elizabeth.”

Oh! My! Goodness!

I fell back on my bed and pounded my fist on my chest to restart my heartbeat. Did he really just say that?

“Goodnight, Mr. Dawson,” I said.

I hung up the phone but didn’t move. I was too busy swooning.

“You all right in here?” Dad asked several minutes later.

“I’m more than all right,” I said.

“Mom and I are heading to bed. See you in the morning,” he said, smiling at me.

“Thanks for the chair, Dad. I really love it. And I love you.”

“We love you too, kiddo.”

* * *

A shopping trip with Janessa yielded a cocoa-colored, belted sweater dress. Janessa said I should wear my new floral tights but instead I wore a pair of dark brown tights and bronze flats.

Matt smiled when I opened the door. It was a good smile that reached his eyes. “Are you as happy to see me as I am to see you?” he asked.

“I sure am.”

Matt pulled me into his arms for a long, warm hug. “Let’s not ever go ten days again.” He kissed me lightly. “Let’s go ring in the new year.”

I was so happy to see Matt that I almost forgot how intimidated I was to go to Meg’s party. Who would be there? Judging by my reception at the bookstore and her extravagant wardrobe, I had a feeling I might be a little out of place.

I was completely unprepared.

Meg’s condo was on the 26th floor of a swanky downtown building. A doorman (I didn’t know anyone in Portland had a doorman) checked our names against a guest list and then stepped inside the elevator to enter a code that would let the elevator stop at the proper floor. The glass and brushed bronze elevator hummed quietly as we were quickly lifted up above most of the surrounding buildings. When it stopped on the 26th floor, it opened not to a hallway or foyer, but to Meg’s condo. I soon realized she owned the entire 26th floor.

The view was staggering. Portland glistened on all sides. The front half of the condominium was open and spacious with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking all of downtown. A glossy red grand piano sat in one corner. Sleek and stylish furnishings were everywhere. There was a recessed kitchen of stainless steel and quartz fit for an Iron Chef. Uniformed caterers worked quietly at the shiny black counters. The back half of the condo held three large bedrooms and four bathrooms.

A group of guests sat in comfortable couches and chairs watching a concert on a gigantic flat screen television. Other guests filled plates from two banquet tables loaded with delicacies—one was piled high with savory amuse-bouche. Another was filled with miniature desserts. A bartender served drinks from a bar in the corner.

“Does Meg live here alone?” I asked. Matt nodded.

“Matty, I’m so glad you could come,” Meg walked up to us and took both of Matt’s hands in hers and kissed his cheek. She was dressed just as elegantly as I’d expected she’d be. She wore a strapless, black silk bustier with a slim black pencil skirt that hit just below the knees. Teardrop emerald earrings were her only accessories. Her heels were at least four inches and suddenly I felt like a pygmy standing beside her and Matt. “How was your flight home?”

“It was delayed while they waited for a flight from Colorado. I ended up sitting at the airport for about four hours,” Matt said.

“I told you you should just fly home on the same flight as me. I didn’t have any problems at all.”

“You were right. I should have.”

“It was great to see your family. I just love your mom.”

“She enjoyed seeing you, as well. Your mom seemed happy.”

“She’s doing better now that she’s adjusted to me moving to Portland. She still wonders why I didn’t want to buy a condo in Arizona.” A waiter walked by with a tray of stuffed mushrooms. “Oh Matt, you’ve got to come try this tofu tart. I told the caterer to bring some of his best vegetarian dishes, just for you. I tried one a while ago and it was delicieaux.” Was that French?

Meg linked her arm with Matt’s and started to pull him toward the banquet tables. Matt put his arm around my waist and we all moved together. “I hope you have some good things that aren’t vegetarian. I’ve had to wave a white flag when it comes to Elizabeth and vegetarian. I don’t think she’ll ever be converted.” Matt smiled at me and Meg raised an eyebrow.

“Some people are very attached to their meat,” Meg said. “I wish I had the willpower to be a vegetarian but every time I’ve tried, I’ve ended up caving in.” She squeezed Matt’s arm. “You’re one of the strong ones, Mattie.”

A woman in a catering uniform had a question for Meg. Meg kept her hand on Matt’s arm but took a step away to talk to the caterer and then turned back toward us. “I’ll catch up with you a little later. I’ve got to take care of something.” After a few steps, she turned back toward us. “Don’t forget to try that tofu tart.”

“I won’t,” Matt said.

We filled plates of food and I followed Matt out onto the deck. The night was mild and radiant heaters sat in several places on the deck. The traffic noise was far away and muted. A sliver of moon reflected in the windows.

The food was superb and I had to give Meg some culinary credit. Every bite was better than the last and I wondered if I’d ever taste food this good again.

“I didn’t realize you two knew each other before the bookstore,” I said.

“I’ve known Meg since we were children. Our families go way back.”

“What brought her to Portland?”

“That was my fault and I don’t know if her mom will ever forgive me. Meg graduated two years ago from Yale. After she graduated she moved back home. She and her mom had a difficult time living together again and Meg couldn’t find a job. I guess romance languages is like interior design when it comes to finding work.” I hardly thought it fair to compare the practicality of romance languages with interior design. In a better economy my degree would get me a job. What would someone with a romance language degree do other than teach romance languages? “Anyway, I was there for Thanksgiving two years ago and Meg came over. She was upset and crying because she’d just had another row with her mother and she didn’t think she could stand another day. I suggested she should come to Portland and work for me.”

“And she took you up on the offer.”

“She was here a week later.”

“You must pay really well,” I said looking around.

Matt laughed. “Meg’s family is very wealthy. Last year, her grandfather died leaving her a large sum of money. That’s when she bought this.”

“I’m surprised she wants to work at all,” I said.

“I think she likes having something to keep her busy.”

When we were through with our food, Matt leaned back on his chaise and motioned for me to sit beside him. He put his arm around me and I rested my head against his shoulder. The hum of the heaters was all I could hear until a car horn honked somewhere far below us. “What do you hope the new year holds for you?” he asked.

I wanted to say falling in love with you and becoming Mrs. Dawson, but I didn’t. “I hope this is my year to leave the bank behind and start using my degree.”

“Well, your friend has given you a little boost,” he said and I ignored the way he emphasized the word friend.

“I hope that’s just the start,” I said. “Where do you think this year will take you?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about that and I have some ideas.”

“Are you going to share any of those ideas?” I asked. I hoped he’d say something about us.

“A friend of mine lives in Seattle and he’s approached me about becoming a partner in another Pink Salamander up there. I’d put in some of the money and the name and then he’d run it.”

“Would it be pink, too?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I talked about making it a different color. Maybe purple or yellow.”

“What if you expand all over the country and run out of colors?”

“I suppose that would be a good problem to have. But right now we’re just talking Seattle. What color would you choose?”

“Hmm. Maybe orange. Something as bright and eye-catching as pink. Would you put it in an old Victorian?”

“Yes. Alan has already found a place he likes. He wants me to come up and see it. I was thinking of taking a day trip up there sometime in January.”

“Where are you planning to go in January?” Matt and I both jumped. Apparently Meg had beamed herself out to the deck. “Sorry. I guess you didn’t hear me.” She sat down in a chair across from us and crossed her long legs.

“I was just telling Elizabeth about Alan and a possible Pink Salamander in Seattle.”

“You mean the Purple Salamander, right?” Meg asked. She clearly knew about these developments already.

“Meg wants purple.”

“I just think it’s the logical choice. Pink. Purple. They just belong together.”

“That decision hasn’t been made yet,” Matt said. “In fact, none of it has. I need to see the place before I decide if I want to move forward. I was just about to ask Elizabeth if she wanted to take a road trip to Seattle.”

A look of disdain passed over Meg’s face. It only lasted a moment before she smiled at me. “That would be fun to have you come along. It’ll be nice to get to know you better,” she said.

“Sounds fun,” I said even though my interest in the trip had plummeted when I found out Meg was going.

“Listen,” Meg said, standing. “I came out to find you because Toren put together a video of the best and worst and funniest of last year. If we start it right away, it’ll end just before the clock strikes midnight. You should come in and watch it.”

I moved to get up but Matt tightened his arm around my shoulder. “We’ll be right in. Go ahead and start it,” he said.

Meg looked reluctant to leave. “All righty. But don’t be too long.”

When she’d gone inside, Matt sighed. “I’m sorry. That invitation didn’t go exactly the way I wanted.”

“It’s fine,” I said even though traveling with Meg sounded dreadful.

“I’d really like you to come.” he said.

The chance to spend time with Matt was worth having to deal with Meg. “It sounds fun,” I said.

“Good.” Matt tilted my face toward his and kissed me, softly at first and then more intensely.

A knock on the window interrupted our kiss. We turned to see Meg motioning for us to come inside.

“To be continued when the clock strikes twelve,” Matt said before he took my hand and we walked inside.

Chapter Sixteen

“You must be Lizzie. Please come in.”

Mrs. Keller reminded me of a bird—full-figured and round on top with long, thin legs. My first thought was that her fashionable brown pantsuit must have been a mix-and-match affair since the top was probably a size 14 and the legs looked like size 6. She smiled and I knew immediately where Chad’s smile came from. Her smooth, shoulder-length bob was a combination of Chad’s coppery blond and gray. “Let me show you the rooms and we can sit in there and talk.”

Mrs. Keller led me through the entry and into a large living room that looked like two cabbage roses had married and given birth to a million baby cabbage roses. Everything around me was flowery, whitewashed, and artfully distressed.

“I didn’t realize that fifteen years later I’d be embarrassed to show this masterpiece to a designer,” Mrs. Keller said.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about. This is a great room. I love the fireplace and the windows.”

“In my defense, shabby chic was very popular when we had this room redone. Dave told me it was too feminine but I ignored him. I don’t think he’s done more than walk through this room since we had it decorated. He hates it. And then there’s the dining room.”

She pointed at a room through a large archway. An ornate whitewashed table and chairs sat under a dripping white chandelier. The cabbage roses had continued their assault in here with three walls being covered with rose-laden wallpaper. A matching whitewashed hutch overflowing with silk greenery stood against the wall. Open French doors led into the kitchen and closed French doors led onto a deck in the back yard. Cabbage rose bark cloth panels hung on both sides of the exterior French doors.

“Do you mind if we sit at the table and talk for a few minutes? I’d like to get some ideas of what you’re hoping for.” We sat down and I pulled out a notebook.

“I want something simple, not so busy. I thought this was so cozy at first but after fifteen years of it, I can’t sit in these rooms without getting claustrophobic. It needs to be calmer and less cluttered. And Dave says no more whitewashed wood and definitely no more pink.”

“There’s no television in here. Is that how you want it?”

“Yes, this room will be for visiting with company and relaxing. Maybe listening to music and reading. We have a family room with a large television. I want this to be an escape from all that.”

“Do you have anything you want to keep in these rooms?”

“Nothing. I want to get rid of this pale carpeting, too. Everything needs to go. Oh, except the plates on the top shelf of the hutch. I want to keep those.”

“Could I see the plates?” I asked.

“Of course.” Mrs. Keller gently lifted a stack of plates from the hutch and brought them to the table.

“My mom couldn’t afford a set of new china when she got married, so she collected different patterns one plate at a time until she had enough plates to serve eight. She only bought plates she loved so it took her a few years. Dave doesn’t like to use them when we have guests—he likes everything to match—but I love them.”

“What a sweet story,” I said. Mrs. Keller carefully laid out the vintage china.

“These are beautiful,” I said, “and so much more interesting than a matching set.”

“Mom got this one on her only trip out of the United States.” She lifted an ivory plate with a teal border and gold edging. In the center of the plate was a hand-painted bird on a branch of cherry blossoms. “She found it in a little antique store in England. This one is my favorite.” She held up a white plate bordered with rich, royal blue flowers and latticework. The flowers had a dreamy, watercolor quality. “It’s called Flow Blue. I always picked this plate for Christmas dinner when I was a child,” she said.

“These are lovely,” I said, an idea beginning to form. “I’ve got to take some measurements. Do you mind if I snap some pictures?”

“Of course not. I’ll leave you to this. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Keller. And thank you for this opportunity. I really appreciate it.”

“Chad said he thought you’d have some good ideas, so I figured we might as well ask a friend of Chad’s before we called in a stranger.” She patted my arm and walked away.

Something about what she’d said or her motherly pat on my arm made my eyes sting. I wanted to do something she’d love. I wanted to impress her. But most of all, I wanted Chad to be glad he’d arranged this. I wanted him to be proud of me. I took a deep breath and got to work.

Forty-five minutes later, I stepped into the Keller’s gorgeous kitchen where Mrs. Keller was peeling potatoes. “I’m going to go. I’ll call you in a week or so and we can go over my proposal,” I said.

“Did you get everything you needed?” Mrs. Keller asked.

“I think so.”

“Just call if you need any more information or if you want to come back and look at the rooms again,” she said. She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and walked me to the door. “It was wonderful to meet you.”

“You too. And thank you again. I’ll be in touch.”

Mrs. Keller waited at the door and waved as I left.

* * *

“Did you bring homework?” Matt asked at lunch.

“Sort of. I met with Mrs. Keller last night. I’m working on my proposal.”

“Mrs. Keller is your friend’s mom?” Matt asked.

“Yes. For the redecorating job.”

Matt took a bite of his soup before he spoke. “You know I have a whole section on interior decorating. If you want to look through any of those books, you can.

“Thanks, Matt. That would be great. I have some ideas but it would be nice to look through some books.”

“Is it a big job?”

“Two rooms and she wants them completely redone. It would be an exciting job. I hope they like what I come up with. It would be so much fun to know someone is actually living in a room I designed.”

After I ate, I searched through a few design books while Matt worked on invoices in his office.

The next week was exhausting and exhilarating. Each night after work and all day on Saturday, I worked on my proposal. I drew, colored, and collected paint chips and fabric swatches. I went to furniture stores with my measuring tape and measured and photographed couches, chairs and tables. I chose hardwood, light fixtures, fireplace tile and rugs. I added prices and labor quotes. When I was finished I had a proposal I loved and a bid I hoped would seem reasonable.

“Please let this go well. Please, please let this go well.” I dabbed on some lip gloss, wiped my perspiring hands on my skirt and opened the car door. I gathered my college-worn portfolio case and my sample boards from the back seat. A light dusting of snow covered the driveway and I was glad I’d worn my rubber-soled boots.

“Come in, Lizzie,” Mrs. Keller said to me before she called to her husband. “Dave, Lizzie’s here.” The house felt warm after the cold air outside. “Let’s go into the dining room and you can show us what you’ve come up with. Do you need any help with that?” She pointed at my full hands.

“I’ve got it. Thank you.”

“I can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with. I was so excited when you called yesterday. Dave? Did you hear me?”

“I’m right here, Lola.” Mr. Keller walked into the dining room smiling. He was a tall man, big in the way an athlete is big after many years away from his sport. His dark hair was graying at the temples. “You’d think after fifteen years of these horrible roses, she could wait five more minutes without it killing her,” he said. “I’m Dave.” Mr. Keller reached out and shook my hand. I hoped mine wasn’t too damp.

“You’d think you’d be just as excited as I am to get rid of all these pink flowers,” Mrs. Keller said.

“Oh believe me. I am. Please, Lizzie. Tell me you’ve come up with a plan to rescue me from the roses.”

I loved the easy way they talked to each other. It settled my nerves. “I hope I’ve come up with something you’ll both love. Shall I jump right in?”

Mr. and Mrs. Keller sat across the dining room table from me. I tried to keep my hands steady as I pulled a foldout easel from my portfolio bag and put it on the table, ready for the sample board. Just do it like you did it for Mr. Castinello on your final project. You can do this. I took a deep breath.

“It was easy to find lots of ideas that would be very different than what you have,” I said and they both chuckled. “But I wanted to find just the right balance of masculine and feminine. And even though you want it much less busy, I didn’t want to go so far to the other end that it felt sterile and impersonal. Please stop me at any time and ask questions or let me know if there are any things you’d like changed,” I said. They nodded.

“It’s nice to have some sort of inspiration to go by and when you showed me your antique plates and I saw how much they mean to you, I knew I wanted to work them into the design.”

“Ah yes,” Mrs. Keller said and leaned in closer. Mr. Keller wasn’t as easily impressed. He probably pictured the explosion of pink flowers being replaced with an eruption of blue flowers.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Keller,” I said. “I’m not sacrificing you to the floral gods.”

Mr. Keller laughed.

I placed the sample board on the easel. “These rooms have wonderful natural light. All the windows make it the perfect candidate for dark wood, so I went with these wide plank, hand-hewn boards. We’d carry it all the way from the entryway to the dining room. It’s rich and warm and very masculine.”

“I like that,” Mr. Keller said.

“For a color palette, I went with something earthy and relaxing. I’ve got this gorgeous tan chenille for two sofas. There are lots of options, but I really like these for the space. I sat in them and they’re super comfortable and with this upholstery, they’ll be subtle. To have some contrast with the browns and tans, I chose this dusty teal.” I held out a picture of one of the plates. “I took the colors—teal and a little pop of orange—from this plate.” Mrs. Keller nodded. “I thought we could make the window treatments from this dupioni silk. It’s just the right shade of teal but when it catches the light, it’s shot with orange.” I held out a sample of the silk. “See how you can’t even see the orange unless you’re at the right angle.”

“I’ve never seen fabric like that,” Mrs. Keller said, holding the fabric at different angles in the light. “This is gorgeous. Who’d have ever thought of teal and orange?” My hands had stopped shaking and I was beginning to feel more relaxed.

“I want to pull out the orange in some of our other fabrics, too,” I said.

Mrs. Keller handed the fabric swatch to Mr. Keller who took a turn holding it up to the light.

“I love these chairs,” I said. “Comfortable but simple. And this fabric is perfect, I think. It’s a Scalamandre stripe. The tan works well with the chenille couch and it has this tiny orange pinstripe.”

I pulled a few large photographs out of my portfolio. One by one, I showed them to the Kellers and then laid them on the table in front of them. “Here are the rugs I had in mind. And I think these tables and lamps would fit nicely into the room.”

They nodded after each photograph. “For the fireplace, I’d like to resurface the surround with this fantastic glass tile.” I handed them a section of the long, narrow tile. “The color is great with the window treatments and I like the liquid, almost glowing quality. I think it’s the perfect way to finish off the room. Any questions or should we move on to the dining room?”

“Looks good so far,” Mr. Keller said with a smile.

“The paint in the living room will be biscotti—this nice, natural color here. I wanted a little contrast for the dining room, without going too dark, so I went with this soft blue. It’s called ocean and I love how it works with the other colors.”

“Nice,” Mrs. Keller said.

“I didn’t want to go dark table and chairs right next to dark floor, so I think this sisal rug under the table is a good option. It breaks up the dark wood. And this buffet is such a good size. You really won’t lose any storage when we get rid of the hutch. Mrs. Keller, for art in here, I’d like to use the plates. I thought we could hang them on the wall above the buffet.”

“I love that. We don’t use them any more anyway,” she said.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Mr. Keller said.

“They’re so lovely and meaningful, I just thought it would be nice for people to be able to see them.”

Mrs. Keller wiped away a tear and Mr. Keller put his arm around her. “You just scored some serious points,” he said.

I showed the Kellers the last few design elements. “Do you have any questions?” I asked.

“When can you start?” Mr. Keller said. I took a deep breath and tried not to show too much excitement.

“I love it. I absolutely love it,” Mrs. Keller said. “I love everything about it. Let’s do it.”

My portfolio and sample board were the only things that kept me from floating away as I walked to the car. They liked my design. They had no problem with the cost and they were understanding about my work schedule at the bank. It couldn’t have gone any better.

* * *

The savory aroma of Pok Pok’s chicken Khao Soi filled my car. I’d driven around this neighborhood for at least ten minutes trying to find a familiar landmark. Why hadn’t I paid more attention either time I’d been to Chad’s house? Maybe I wouldn’t find it and I’d have to take the food home and eat it myself. It smelled so good, it was tempting.

And then I saw Cal’s Video Connection, the little store where we’d rented Pride and Prejudice. Okay, now I was on the right track. I turned down a familiar looking street and then turned once more and there it was.

Chad’s house was dark except for a light shining from a back window. I parked the car in front of his house, grabbed the bag of takeout and the card I’d written earlier in the day and walked to the dark front porch. The doorbell chimed a little tune but no one came to the door.

Now what? I should have called first. This idea to surprise him with dinner and a thank you note was a bad idea. I couldn’t leave the food on his front porch. It smelled so good a hungry animal would surely come to investigate. I stuck the note in the old-fashioned mail slot beside the door. As soon as it slipped out of my hand, I worried the mail slot had been built over on the inside and my card had just disappeared forever inside the wall.

What was I doing? I shouldn’t have come by. I should have called him instead. No, I should have just texted a sincere thank you and been done with it.

But that hadn’t seemed like enough. I had my first interior design job and it was all thanks to Chad. I wanted him to know how grateful I was and a text just didn’t cut it. Dinner and a card did, but here I stood with rapidly cooling takeout, a missing card, and an empty house.

I trudged down the sidewalk back to the car. I was just opening the door when Chad’s car pulled into the driveway. Instead of pulling into the little garage behind the house, Chad left the car running in the driveway and started toward me. I could see his smile illuminated by the streetlight.

“Lizzie,” he said with enthusiasm. “Congratulations!”

“So you’ve heard?”

“I talked to my mom this afternoon. You blew them away. Mom said you even made her cry.”

Chad stopped a few feet from where I stood by the driver’s door.

“They were really nice and I’m so glad they liked it.”

“They didn’t like it. They loved it. I wish I’d have been there. I’d have liked to see what you came up with.”

I thought about my portfolio and the sample board sitting in the back seat of my car. I wanted to show it to him. I wanted to lay out the entire design. I wanted to watch his reaction as I unveiled each idea.

Did I want to show him because I was proud of it or because I just wanted to prolong my time with him? I knew both answers were yes and the realization that I wanted to spend more time with him made me stay quiet. It wouldn’t be right. I was dating Matt. It was important that Chad and I keep things friendly and my shortness of breath and the tugging in my stomach told me it would be easier to keep things friendly if I didn’t go inside. If Chad felt the same way, it wouldn’t be fair to him.

“I’m excited for you to see it,” I said. “I’m pretty happy with the way it came out. Now if I can just make the whole thing look as good finished as it does in my head, I’ll be thrilled.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” Chad said.

An awkward pause ensued. Little clouds of cold air escaped our mouths as we breathed. I tried to keep my breath slow and steady. I didn’t want my feelings to be apparent from my nervous, shallow puffs.

Chad tugged on his stocking cap, pulling it over his ears. “Do you want to come in?” he finally said.

“No. No, I can’t. Thanks though.”

“Was there a reason you stopped by?”

“Oh, yes,” I said. My cheeks were burning. “I wanted to say thank you, so I got you some takeout. It’s from Pok Pok.”

“Ah, the Thai place you told me about.”

“That’s the one.”

“I still haven’t eaten there.”

“I also put a card in your mail slot. Please tell me that goes into the house and it isn’t a black hole.”

One side of Chad’s mouth rose into a small smile. “It goes into the house. I’ll get it when I go inside.”

“Good.” Another self-conscious pause.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay? And eat with me?” I shook my head. “I wish you would. I just picked up some sweet and sour chicken and rice. I can’t eat all of this.”

I sighed. It would be so easy to just say yes and enjoy some good food and a pleasant conversation. But then what? “Oh Chad. I wish I could. I just can’t. But I’m sure this will still be good tomorrow. Just heat it up in the microwave.” Chad’s hopeful expression fell and a dump truck of sadness buried my heart under its load.

I shoved the bag of takeout toward him. “Here. Thank you.”

Chad took the bag with one hand placed it on the hood of the car at the same time that his other hand reached out and pulled me close. He circled his arms around me without saying a word.

For a moment I just stood there, fighting an internal battle. And then I surrendered and wrapped my arms around him. The cold no longer bothered me as his warmth surrounded me. He smelled faintly of soap and chlorine. His chin rested on my head. I fit here so perfectly.

“Your food’s going to get cold,” I finally said.

“I know.”

“And your car’s still running.”

“I know.”

Chad held me a little tighter.

“I really have to go,” I said but I didn’t move.

“I know.”

A few wonderful, agonizing minutes later I pulled away. Chad touched my cheek with his cold fingers and it took all my self-control not to take his hand between both of mine and hold it until it was warm.

He took a big step backwards putting more distance between us. “Thank you, Lizzie.”

“No. Thank you. So much.”

“You’re a good friend,” he said.

“So are you.” I nearly choked on the words.

Chad picked up the bag and stepped up to the sidewalk. I kept my eyes straight ahead until I was several houses away. When I glanced in the rear-view mirror, I saw Chad watching me leave. I turned up the volume on the radio and switched through the stations trying to find something that would distract me from the mess I was in. Nothing worked and I jammed the button angrily to turn it off.

What the crap was I doing? Why was I such a fool? Chad was a great guy but he wasn’t what I’d been dreaming of my whole life. I’d finally found that. Matt was it for me and if I didn’t sabotage myself, I knew my dream would come true.

“Stop being so stupid!” I said aloud and slammed my hand on the steering wheel. “Don’t ruin everything. You’re the luckiest girl alive.”

I wished I were more convincing. I wanted to believe myself.

Chapter Seventeen

“What are you looking for?” I asked. I didn’t mean for my words to sound so sharp.

“The can opener.” Janessa closed one drawer and opened another.

“It’s in the dishwasher,” I said.

“Thanks.” Janessa opened a can of peaches. She ate a large bowl of cold peaches with peanut butter on toast at least once a week. She took a deep breath as she poured the peaches into a bowl. “Okay, Lizzie. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Sorry I snapped at you.”

“You’ve been snapping at me for three days now. Why are you in such a foul mood?”

“I guess I just have a lot on my mind.”

Janessa shook her head. “I was excited for you when you got the job for Chad’s mom, but if you’re going to be in a poopy mood for the next six weeks, I wish they’d have told you no.”

“It’s not the job. And I said I’m sorry.”

“If it’s not the job, then what is it? Are things okay with you and Fitswilliam?”

“I guess.” I ate a bite of mashed potatoes. They lodged against the lump in my throat and I thought I might gag.

“I guess? That’s the best you can do? No gushing? No drooling? No singing his aristocratic praises?”

“Please Janessa. Just stop. I’m not in the mood.” My appetite was gone. I vigorously scraped my plate into the garbage.

“Whoa. Not in the mood for what? You know I’m just teasing you.”

“I know. I don’t feel very teaseable right now. Sorry,” I said again. The lump in my throat was growing. I had to get out of here. “I’m going to go for a walk,” I said.

“Liz, wait. What’s wrong?” Janessa’s arm went around my shoulder and that was all it took. Why did I always start to cry when someone tried to comfort me? A tear escaped, burning my cheek.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I said, collapsing into Janessa’s hug.

“Hey, it’s okay. Cry if it will make you feel better.”

I sniffed and pulled away. “It won’t make me feel better. I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

Janessa held my hand in hers and led me to the couch. “Let’s figure it out.” She snatched a tissue from the box on the table and handed it to me. “Seriously, how are things with Matt?”

I blew my nose and Janessa handed me the tissue box. “Matt’s good.”

“Is he still forcing his nasty food on you?”

I laughed. “No. He’s not even as adamant about his own food. Last time we had lunch he bought us both chicken tamales.”

“Is he still being funny about your job with Chad’s mom?”

“Not really. He hasn’t said a word about it since I told him on Sunday.”

“Are you nervous about the job?”

“Maybe a little. But mostly I’m just excited to get started.”

Janessa looked puzzled. “So it’s not the job and it’s not your honey, so what is it?” Janessa’s concern was touching but how could I tell her what I feared was really wrong? How could I tell her that even though I was dating the man of my dreams, I felt lonely for someone I couldn’t have? I was a terrible person. Greedy and selfish. I wanted Matt—handsome, interesting, perfect Matt. But I wanted to be friends with Chad. I wanted to talk to him and spend time with him even though I knew it would hurt him. The more I tried to put him out of my mind, the more frustrated I became.

“Maybe I’m just tired.”

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Janessa asked.

I nodded. “I know. And I promise I’d talk to you if I thought talking would help.”

Janessa searched my face so intensely I was afraid she’d read my traitorous thoughts. I picked up a throw pillow and twisted the fringe. “I really think I need a walk.”

“It’s dark outside. You’re not going alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

“No way are you going alone. I’ll come with you.”

“Thanks.”

It was a quiet, cold night. Sugar crystal stars filled the sky as we walked through the quiet streets of our neighborhood. I was glad Janessa had come with me. We talked about Urban Elegance. Janessa’s boss was sending her on a buying trip to New York in a few weeks. “I’d be more flattered if it felt like she trusted me,” Janessa said. “I have to send her photos of everything so she can make the final decision.

“Why doesn’t she just go herself?” I asked.

“Her daughter is in the high school play. I think she’s the one who marries the oldest brother in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Sue said she’s bought tickets to every performance. She’ll be watching her daughter sing and texting me yes or no on belts and dresses at the same time.”

I sighed. “Just take me with you. We’ll eat hot dogs on the street and see a Broadway play and…”

“You do know I’m going to work, right?”

“I know. Getting out of Portland just sounds so good right now.”

“Aren’t you going to Seattle with Matt soon?”

“We’re leaving next Saturday after I get off work. I’ll be back Sunday night.”

“Good. You can get out of Portland for a couple of days.”

“Going to Seattle with Matt and Meg for business isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to get out of Portland.”

“I know. But I’ll bet you’ll have a good time anyway.”

“I wish you could come with me. We’ll sneak away while they do business and buy cheese and crackers and smoked salmon at the market.”

“Cheese and crackers sound good but I want one of those marzipan Piroshky rolls. I’ve been craving one of those since the summer after high school graduation.”

“You ready to go?” Matt asked. He picked up the overnight bag sitting by the front door and leaned in close to kiss my cheek.

“I think I’ve got everything.”

“Is this your only bag?”

“We’re only going for one night. How much do I need?” I asked.

Matt laughed. “I’m sure you’re fine. I was just comparing your little bag here to Meg’s two big bags.”

Matt put my bag in the trunk of his BMW.

In the back seat, Meg was applying a bright shade of red lipstick. “Hi Meg,” I said as I got in the car.

“Hi, Elizabeth. Nice place,” Meg said. I ignored the haughty tone in her voice.

“Thanks. I like it.

Matt rubbed his hands together with enthusiasm. “Seattle, here we come,” he said and pulled out onto the street. Fifteen minutes later, we were speeding north on I-5.

“Matt, you said you wanted me to tell you about the authors I’ve lined up for spring and summer, Meg said. “Should I do that now?”

Matt looked at me with a question on his face. His concern about me made me happy. I smiled and shrugged.

“Sure, Meg, go ahead.”

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes as Meg pulled out a notebook and they discussed authors’ names and dates and books. Soon their voices were just a hum in the background as I drifted in and out of sleep.

“Hey, Elizabeth.” Matt’s voice brought me out of my haze. He squeezed my hand.

“Hmm? Did you say something?” I asked.

“Put your seat back a little. You’ll be more comfortable. There’s a button on the side.”

I felt for the button at the side of my seat and pushed it down. The seat gradually moved backward. I turned sideways in my seat and snuggled into the soft leather. “Thanks, Matt. Sorry I’m so tired.”

“Don’t worry. You might as well get a nap in now so you’ll be awake for dinner.” He covered my hand with his as I closed my eyes.

“She’s a mountain of fun,” Meg said after a few minutes. I wanted to tell her I was still awake and could hear her, but it didn’t seem worth the effort.

“She’s just tired. She’s been working a lot lately,” Matt said

“For her other boyfriend?”

Even though my eyes were closed, I was suddenly very awake.

“Knock it off, Meg.”

“What? She can’t hear me. She’s asleep.” I kept my eyes closed and tried to look relaxed. “Elizabeth?” she said quietly in a sing-song voice. “Are you awake?” I held very still. “See she’s asleep. Maybe she should have stayed home with him.”

“She’s not working for him. She’s doing a job for his parents.” Matt’s voice sounded stern.

“You don’t have to make excuses for her. This is me you’re talking to and I already know it bothers you.”

Matt’s voice was low, almost a whisper. “This isn’t the time to talk about this.”

Meg’s voice lowered to the same tone as Matt’s. “Whatever.”

Even with the radio playing softly in the background, the car overflowed with a potpourri of conflicting feelings. Matt’s frustration and Meg’s dislike for me seemed to crash and stew around me. My own discomfort wrapped me up like a blanket. I didn’t like that Matt and Meg talked about me. She knew random bits of my life that were none of her business. She knew about Chad and my second job. She’d even bought me pantyhose. What else did she know about me?

I wanted to fall asleep again if only to escape the tension in the car but my mind, muddled and tired just a few minutes ago, was now sharp and busy and uncooperative. I willed my eyes to stay shut for several more minutes before I gave up and put my seat back in its upright position.

“Can’t sleep?” Matt asked kindly.

“I just needed a little power nap, I guess,” I said. I smiled at him and he linked his fingers through mine. I held his hand between both of mine.

Meg sat in the back seat, a silent wall of hostility filling the space around her.

* * *

“We’ll go by your hotel first and get you ladies checked in and then we’ll head over to Alan’s house.”

“Sounds good,” I said. When Meg didn’t respond, I looked back at her. She was asleep, her head on a pillow against the window.

We checked in at a Marriott close to Pikes Place. I was thankful Meg and I had separate rooms and wouldn’t be required to make small talk. I carried my bag to my room. Meg pulled one of hers and Matt pulled the other.

“I’m impressed you could fit all you need into such a small bag,” Meg said. She didn’t sound impressed at all.

Meg’s room was across the hall from mine. Matt put her bag inside her door. “You don’t mind if I change real quick, do you?” Meg asked. “I always feel so icky after traveling.”

“You should go ahead and change for dinner,” Matt said. “We won’t have time to come back here first.”

“I’ll change now too,” I said trying to keep my voice bright.

“I’ll meet you down in the lobby,” Matt said. Meg closed her door slowly, watching us.

“See you in a few minutes,” I said and let my door swing shut. Just before it clicked, Matt stopped it and knocked.

“Is your room okay?” he asked from the open door.

“It looks great. Thanks Matt.”

“No problem.” He didn’t leave but just stood there in the open doorway.

“Meg said she’d share a room with you, but I thought that might be uncomfortable for you.”

His thoughtfulness warmed me. I could only imagine what plans Meg would have had if we were in the same room. I would have had to sleep with one eye open. I walked back to the door. “This is perfect. Thank you.” I pulled Matt down as I stood on my tiptoes. When our lips met, Matt’s arms came around me. He pulled me close and he kissed me again. “I’ll see you downstairs,” I said. Matt walked toward the elevator. As my door closed, I noticed the peephole in Meg’s door and hoped she hadn’t been watching.

* * *

I got to the lobby before Meg. I was surprised to see Matt had changed clothes. “Alan’s running a little late,” he said, patting the couch beside him. “He’s going to meet us at the restaurant.”

We listened to a jazz pianist play for a few minutes while a muted television showed sports highlights.

“I’m so excited to go to The Herbgarden,” Meg said when she finally appeared in the lobby. “Milo used to work there. He said it’s amazing.”

“Who’s Milo?” I asked.

“He’s the chef who catered my New Year’s Eve party. He moved to Portland a little more than a year ago. Anyway, he said we had to try it so when Matt asked me where we should eat this weekend, of course, I thought of the Herbgarden.”

I was suddenly glad I hadn’t eaten anything on the drive up. If the food was anything like the food served at Meg’s party, I was happy to be ravenous.

The Herbgarden was a half-hour drive outside Seattle. We turned down a narrow road that led to a cottage-style restaurant that looked like the inspiration for every Thomas Kincaid painting—aged stucco, small-paned windows, and wrought-iron fixtures. Lights glowed from inside the restaurant and from small glowing globes around the grounds. Mature shrubs and trees surrounded the house. A short walk away were raised gardens, stone walls and fountains. It felt old-fashioned and English.

After a valet took the car, we entered the warm, enchanting restaurant. We waited in the old-fashioned salon, where a large fire burned in an enormous fireplace. Meg sat down on a Victorian-style sofa and began leafing through a coffee table book full of artistic photographs of herbs and spices.

Everything around us felt like it belonged to another time. I didn’t feel like bank teller Lizzie from Portland, Oregon. I felt proper and significant. I stood with my back a little straighter and hoped we’d have witty and important conversations. I imagined myself in that time and place. In perfect gentleman form, Matt took my hand through his arm and we walked to the window to watch for Alan.

I looked at our reflections in the glass. Matt looked good in his gray trousers and light blue dress shirt and I felt pretty in my black and white houndstooth A-line dress and green cardigan, but I wished Matt was wearing breeches with a tailcoat and cravat and I was in a white gown with an empire waist, my hair pulled up and pinned with tiny white flowers.

I sighed at the thought.

“What are you thinking about?” Matt asked quietly, looking at me in the reflection of the window.

“I was just thinking this place is perfect.”

“What do you like about it?” he asked.

“It makes me feel like I’m a character in a Jane Austen novel.”

“Ah. You do like Jane Austen. And which character are you?” Matt was humoring me.

I nudged him and smiled. “I’m Elizabeth, of course.”

“Of course. So that would make me…”

“Dude, there you are.” A man’s voice boomed through the quiet room. Matt detached himself from my arm and in two long strides he and the man I figured was Alan were shaking hands and slapping each other’s backs.

“Yes,” I whispered. “That would make you Mr. Darcy.”

“How was the drive?” Alan asked.

“Great. Good weather. We made good time.”

“It’s great to see you, man,” Alan said. His use of “dude” and “man” successfully brought me back to the present.

“Hey, what about me?” Meg said moving between the two men. Her lips were actually set in a pout.

“Ah, Meg.” Alan kissed Meg on the lips. “It’s always great to see you. All grown up. You look stunning.” And she did. Meg’s hair was pulled up in a sophisticated twist and she was wearing a brilliantly simple, form-fitting black dress and diamond earrings.

“I’m not in high school anymore,” Meg said flirtatiously.

“You can say that again.” Alan looked Meg over appreciatively.

“Alan, this is Elizabeth,” Matt said.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, putting out my hand. Alan’s handshake was limp and soft and seemed unrelated to his boisterous carriage and loud voice.

“You too. You too.” He barely looked at me before he turned his attention back to Meg. Of course I didn’t mind the lack of attention from Alan, but suddenly I felt very young and plain in my dress and cardigan and flats. I was a mouseketeer next to Audrey Hepburn.

A hostess showed us to our crystal and silver-laden table with a card that said “Dawson Party” in delicate calligraphy. Three small bouquets of roses and sparkling votive candles adorned the center of the table.

The meal that followed was like the Olympics of fine dining—nine courses of impeccable food, each course better than the last. We had oyster and cucumber soup, olive-oil poached lamb, lemongrass sockeye, and figs with truffled cheese. When the waiter brought us each a trio of desserts, I gave Matt my blackberry rose geranium ice cream and he gave me his hazelnut cheesecake tart.

Alan had a sarcastic and irreverent sense of humor. Some of his jokes made me uncomfortable but I was glad he kept the conversation lively and Meg occupied. Matt was sweeter than he’d ever been. He ate the food without any complaints and made sure I was included in the conversation even when the subject turned to opening the new bookstore.

We had finished dessert when the waiter brought out “an assortment of small treats.”

“More dessert?” I said. “I don’t know if I can eat another thing.”

“Could you wrap this to go?” Matt asked the waiter.

“Certainly.”

“Mine, too,” Meg said.

“Why don’t you just wrap them all,” Alan said and the waiter took the tray away.

“They could have skipped that. I’d have been happy with eight courses,” Alan said.

“But that extra tray of treats lets them charge $150 per person,” Meg said.

I nearly choked on my water and turned to Matt who was smiling at me. “Don’t look so shocked.” He laughed and kissed my cheek. When the waiter returned with four boxes wrapped in silver ribbon, we left.

“I’ll drive Meg back,” Alan said. “and let you two be alone.” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively and I felt my cheeks burn. Meg, who’d been flirting all evening with Alan, shot me a dirty look.

“We should walk around the gardens before we leave,” Matt said.

“Ugh, I’m not in the right shoes for traipsing through gardens,” Meg said. “I guess I should have brought walking shoes.”

“Oh no, Babe, you definitely wore the right shoes.” Alan looked at Meg’s five-inch heels and her mile-long legs. “Let’s leave the gardens to them,” he said to Meg and winked at Matt. Meg looked like she was going to explode, but she smiled at Alan and took his arm.

“See you later,” she said in a syrupy voice.

* * *

A wide stone path led away from the gentle piano music of the restaurant. Soft lights lit the flowerbeds and herb gardens. A bubbling fountain at the end of the trail was surrounded with benches and flowerpots. Twinkling stars dangled from the indigo sky.

“Are you cold?” Matt asked.

“A little, but I don’t mind,” I said. “It’s so beautiful here.”

“Let’s sit down for a few minutes.” Matt guided me to a bench by the fountain. The lights from the restaurant glowed in the distance. He put his arm around me and his fingers traced circles up and down my arm.

“I’ve never had a dinner like that,” I said. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“Sorry they didn’t have your kind of food.”

Matt laughed. “I liked the food just fine.”

I leaned against Matt’s shoulder and he rested his cheek on my hair.

“This place is like a dream,” I said.

“Or a fairytale,” Matt said.

Actually, it was more like Jane Austen’s England, I thought. I didn’t want to leave. I’d never felt so close to my dream. Matt had never behaved more like Mr. Darcy, and even Meg and Alan could be tolerated when I thought of them as Caroline Bingley and Mr. Wickham.

The drive back to the hotel was lovely. Twinkling lights reflected in the water as we crossed the long bridge back into Seattle. Matt’s hand was warm holding mine. I was happy I’d come.

“Seattle’s a great place,” Matt said.

“Do you come here very often?” I asked.

“I’ve come several times since Alan moved here. There’s so much to do here and so many interesting people.”

“Do you wish you’d have moved to Seattle instead of Portland?”

“There was a time I thought I might have liked Seattle better.” Matt pulled my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers. “But not anymore.”

I sighed.

Chapter Eighteen

I dropped my overnight bag beside the couch and sank into the soft cushions. With as little movement as possible, I kicked off my shoes and burrowed my toes into the thick area rug.

It had been a very long day. After breakfast we’d met a realtor who took us to see the house Alan had found. It was an old Victorian in West Seattle. It was larger than The Pink Salamander in Portland and had twice as much gingerbread detail, but the front porch was smaller and the inside had been renovated and modernized.

After we looked at the first house, the realtor took us to three others she thought might be a good fit. In the end, Matt and Alan decided on the first house, so we returned to look it over again. The realtor drew up an offer and told us she’d call as soon as she heard from the seller.

We went to a deli a few blocks from the house and ate sandwiches while Matt, Alan, and Meg made plans.

“Are we all happy with this one?” Matt asked.

“It was my first choice,” Alan said.

“I really liked the third one, but I know it was a little small,” Meg said. I was surprised how opinionated she was about Matt and Alan’s business. “Now, about the color.” She gave me a warning look. “I don’t want to go with something wild or garish. Absolutely no orange or red.” I almost laughed. Because purple and pink were so sedate.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Matt said. “I think we should stick with pink. Just keep them the same.”

“I love the idea of purple,” Meg said. “And we’d go more lavender so it wouldn’t be too much.”

“I just don’t think The Purple Salamander sounds good and if we stick with pink, we’ll have continuity. It will be better for branding,” Matt said.

“I think he’s right,” Alan said. “It makes sense to keep them the same. Hey now. Don’t go pouting.” He laughed and patted Meg’s arm.

“Just remember, I’m putting in just as much money as you two. You can overrule me on the color but if you two start voting together on everything, I don’t want to be your partner.” Now I understood why she was so opinionated. The three of them were partners. It suddenly felt wrong for me to be sitting in on these discussions. I had nothing at stake and no good reason to give an opinion. And no one asked for one.

When the meeting had gone on for nearly two hours, Matt turned to me with a look of surprise. “I’m sorry. I’ll bet this has been awful for you.”

I smiled weakly. “It’s fine. There’s a lot for you to work out.”

“You’re a good sport,” Matt said. He rubbed my back as he talked to Alan and Meg. “I think we can take care of any other details over the phone.”

“And if we get the house, you’re coming up again next weekend, right?”

“Right. I’m sure I’ll be up here plenty. We’d better head home.”

We said our goodbyes and soon we were southbound for Portland. Meg steered the conversation to the bookstore most of the way home. I was tired and had no part in the conversation, but I didn’t dare fall asleep and risk becoming the topic of their conversation again.

It was good to be home. Except for the lovely few dinner hours, it had been a pretty uncomfortable trip. I loved my cozy couch and relished the sound of quiet—no shop talk, no icky Alan jokes and no Meg.

I had just closed my eyes when someone knocked on the door. I groaned and pulled myself up to answer it.

“Miss me yet?” Matt asked.

“What are you doing?”

“You forgot your ‘assortment of small treats,’” Matt said mimicking the waiter’s tone. He handed me the pretty box of little candies and cookies from The Herbgarden.

“Thanks, Matt. That was so sweet of you,” I said.

“Meg said I should just wait and give them to you tomorrow, but I thought you might want them before then.”

I glanced at Matt’s car sitting at the curb. Meg had moved to the front seat. I resisted the little tug of annoyance that I’d been dropped off before Meg.

“I think I’ll have one right now. Thank you for running them back.” Matt gave me a quick peck on the cheek and hurried back to the car. I waited at the door until he was gone and then snuggled back into the couch to wait up for Janessa.

* * *

“Hey, welcome home.” Janessa gently shook my shoulder.

“It’s good to be home,” I said, stretching and shaking off the grogginess. “What time is it?”

“It’s a little after eleven.”

“Wow, I slept for three hours?”

“You should have just gone in to bed.”

“No way. I was waiting up for you. I wanted to share my assortment of little treats with you.”

“What are you talking about?” I tucked my feet up under me and Janessa sat down.

“We went to this insane restaurant last night. It was nine courses of the best food I’ve ever tasted. This was the last course.”

“Looks impressive.”

“It was.” I picked up the box and untied the silver ribbon with a flourish. Janessa leaned over to look inside at the display of little truffles and cookies and cinnamon sticks.

“This is fantastic!” Janessa pulled out a chocolate truffle with little sprinkles.

“This was mine. We all got a little box like this.”

“Mmm, this is good,” Janessa said.

I pulled out a little macaroon with chocolate drizzles and popped it in my mouth. “You should have seen this place. It looked like a cottage with English gardens surrounding it. I wish you’d have been there.”

“Maybe we’ll have to take our own road trip sometime,” she said.

“Only if someone else is paying. It was $150 per person.”

“So I just ate a $10 truffle.”

I laughed. Then I surprised Janessa and myself by reaching over and hugging her.

“What was that for?”

“I missed you this weekend. And I’m so glad you’re normal.”

“Hmm. Thank you?”

“That came out wrong. I’m glad you’re not fancy.”

“And it just keeps getting better.”

I pushed the box toward her and we each picked another treat. “I’m going to quit talking but I promise I mean all of this as a compliment.”

“I know you do. I’m glad you’re not fancy either.”

We finished the treats while I told Janessa about the trip. An hour later I went to bed with a sick stomach. The treats had been a little too rich.

* * *

“You’re going to do what?” Matt asked. He didn’t sound happy.

“I’m going to use my vacation to do the remodel job.”

“I thought you were going to fit that in during the evening and on weekends. It seems like you’re going above and beyond if you’re using your vacation time as a favor to these people.”

“Matt, this isn’t a favor to them. This is a job for me. A job doing what I want to be doing. They don’t live close enough for me to go work during lunch and every night this week I’ve been placing orders and shopping. I’m going to need time to do actual work at the house.” Matt shook his head. “I don’t want this job to drag on forever. They’re without part of their house while I do this.”

“I thought they were okay with you taking longer than usual, since you have a full-time job.”

“They are. It’s me. I’m excited to do it and I don’t want to stretch it out so long. I’ll get more out of it if I do it like it’s a real job. This is what I hope to do someday.”

Matt was quiet for a long time. I ate my salad and worked on a list of tasks.

“So when are you taking this vacation?” He said vacation like it was a curse word.

“I’m going to make appointments and purchases during the next two weeks. The Kellers are going to Hawaii for two weeks so I’m taking my vacation the same time they take theirs and I’ll get as much done as I can while they’re gone. I have eight days of vacation. I have a pretty good timeline set up and if everything goes according to plan, the job will be finished when they get home.”

Matt’s expression was hard to read. His face was serious, his jaw clenched.

“Why is this bothering you so much?” I asked.

“I’m not bothered. I just don’t understand why you’d use vacation time for a job. Let’s not talk about this anymore.”

And with that Matt quit talking completely. He ate his sandwich and flipped through a stack of papers on his desk. It was like I wasn’t in the room.

I finished eating my salad and put my notebook in my bag.

“I guess I’ll head back to work,” I said.

“Sounds good,” Matt said without looking up.

I put my hand on his shoulder, hoping to soften things before I left. “Thanks for lunch.”

“No problem.” He kept his gaze on his desk.

I walked out of the bookstore, confusion mixed with relief. Confused by Matt’s reaction to my plans; relief that Meg was nowhere to be seen and I wouldn’t have to expend the energy to dress my face in a fake smile.

* * *

The weeks before the Kellers left were busy. Mrs. Keller sold or gave away some of the nicer things from the living room and dining room and then hired a moving company to haul everything else to Goodwill.

“I need a vacation after emptying out these rooms,” Mrs. Keller said as we walked through the now-empty space.

“It looks so much bigger,” I said.

“I thought the same thing. I just had too much stuffed in here.” Mrs. Keller clasped her hands. “I’m so excited about this. I’m so sorry you’re using vacation time for this but I’m thrilled to have it finished sooner.”

“I really don’t mind. My dad used to say ‘a change is as good as a vacation.’ This change is going to be fun for me.”

While I was there I hung large plastic sheets over the doorways to the rest of the house to keep the mess and dust to a minimum. The living room had no light fixtures and felt dark and forbidding. I couldn’t wait to see the room with the new light fixture and wall sconces. I made a note to bring a couple of lamps from home to use until the lights were in.

“I’m going now,” I told Mrs. Keller.

“Here’s the key and I wrote the code to the garage down in case you need to get into the garage for anything. There’s not a lot of food here, but you’re welcome to whatever you can find and you’re welcome to use the kitchen.”

“Thank you. I guess I’ll see you in two weeks. Enjoy the warm weather.”

I squealed with excitement as I drove away from the Keller’s. After work tomorrow, I’d begin stripping wallpaper. I offered a little prayer in my heart that everyone I had lined up over the next ten days would be prompt and responsible.

Please let tomorrow speed by. I was ready to leave my bank clothes behind and be a real interior designer.

* * *

“Matt’s in a meeting with Dave and Ally,” Meg said when I walked into the bookstore the next day.

“Oh, he didn’t mention we weren’t having lunch today,” I said.

“I don’t know what Matt’s plans were. I’ll check.”

Meg called Matt and a couple of minutes later, he and two of his employees emerged from the office.

“If you’re in the middle of something, we don’t have to do lunch today,” I said.

“We’re finished.” He kissed me lightly on the lips. I hated it when he kissed me in front of Meg. I could feel her eyes boring into me. “Let’s walk over to Bardo’s and get a sandwich.”

“Are they all set for next week?” Meg asked Matt.

“All set,” Matt said and held the door open for me to walk through.

“What’s happening next week?” I asked as we walked the block to Bardo’s.

“I’m heading up to Seattle. With Meg.”

“Oh.” I was surprised this was the first I was hearing about it.

“We’re closing on the house Monday and then spending the week getting the renovations set up. Too bad you have a job already. You could have been our designer.”

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to Matt. “Would you have actually hired me for the job?”

“Why not?”

“I can’t tell if you’re serious, Matt. Would you really have let me do that?”

Matt shrugged. “I don’t know if I’d have turned the whole thing over to you. I mean, you don’t have any real experience. But I’d have let you work with a designer. But it doesn’t matter. You have your other job.”

Matt continued walking and it took a moment for me to catch up to him. My chest felt tight and I was no longer hungry. Matt opened the door to Bardo’s. I folded my arms tightly and tried to control my anger as I walked by him.

Matt wouldn’t have hired me. He just wanted me to feel bad that I was doing a job for Chad’s parents. And he was going to Seattle for a week and hadn’t said a word. And he was going with Meg, who didn’t like me. And she’d probably say rude things about me. She’d probably try to make him even more uncomfortable with my job and she’d probably make fun of my tights.

“I’m going to have a veggie burger,” Matt said. “What would you like?”

I looked over the menu board. “I’ll have an order of onion rings and a chocolate shake.”

Matt arched his eyebrows. “Really?” he asked. He sounded like he was talking to a naughty child. I nodded.

“That’s what I want,” I said. “And make that a large order of onion rings.”

Lunch was long and the little conversation we had was stilted, but my onion rings tasted delicious and my chocolate shake was perfect.

Chapter Nineteen

In the bank bathroom after work, I traded in my skirt and blouse for an old pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. I drove through Subway and bought a turkey sandwich and lemonade. I was so excited to get started it was difficult not to speed as I drove to the Keller’s.

The house was dark and quiet when I pulled into the driveway. It felt strange to let myself in the front door. Hopefully the neighbors had been brought up to speed about my coming and going for the next ten days. I didn’t relish the thought of dealing with curious neighbors.

I put my sandwich in the refrigerator and unloaded supplies from the back of my car. I hauled in a stepladder from the garage and two lamps. Within an hour I was in the dining room, steaming the rose-covered wallpaper.

When I had the corner steamed, I scraped the edge back with a putty knife until there was a section of paper large enough for me to grip. I took a deep breath. This step would tell me how long I’d be at the Keller’s tonight. If the wallpaper peeled away in large pieces, this job would go pretty quickly. If it tore away in tiny shreds, I’d be in for a long night.

I pulled the paper back gently and evenly. Barely an inch had come free from the wall before it broke down into a wimpy scrap of paper in my hand. I reapplied the steam, careful not to leave it long enough to damage the sheetrock beneath it and tried again. It tore into little shreds almost immediately.

“Dang!” I said aloud. I looked at the three walls of wallpaper. Hundreds of pink rose bouquets waited to be removed. I sighed. It would be a long night.

I had most of the first wall finished and my shoulders were aching when my phone rang. I placed the steamer on the ladder tray and pulled my phone from my pocket. It was Matt.

“Hey, there,” he said. His voice sounded artificially chipper and reminded me of a game show host.

“Hi Matt.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at the Keller’s house. Working.” It annoyed me that he asked. He knew where I was.

There was a pause. “So, Elizabeth, I’ve decided I’m leaving for Seattle tomorrow instead of Monday. I just wanted to let you know.”

“Oh. Well thanks for telling me.”

“I figured you’d be busy there anyway, so it wouldn’t really matter,” he said. “Listen. About today.” He paused and I waited. “I could tell you were upset. I just don’t understand why.”

“Really? You don’t?”

I didn’t want to have this conversation. I had a ton of wallpaper to get off the walls. I needed to have both rooms primed and painted by Monday so the floors could be put in. And it bothered me that he didn’t know what was wrong. He was a smart guy. He should be able to figure this out. It wasn’t molecular biology to know that taunting me about this job was mean. And dangling the renovations of his bookstore in my face when he never had any intention of letting me do it was even worse.

“Listen Elizabeth. Don’t make me guess. Just tell me what you’re upset about.”

“I honestly can’t believe you don’t know,” I said.

Matt laughed. “Well I don’t. So let’s just eliminate the guessing game and tell me.”

“It isn’t just one little thing, Matt,” I said.

“Uh oh. I must really be in trouble.” Matt laughed again but I didn’t. “Elizabeth, I can’t fix anything if you don’t tell me.”

“All right, fine. If you really want to know, I’ll tell you.” I stepped off the ladder and went to the kitchen to get my sandwich. “I don’t like that I can’t even talk to you about this job because if I do, you get all weird and moody about it.”

“But Elizabeth, you have to admit, the job is a little unusual. And it’s an old boyfriend who arranged it. Any guy would be bothered.”

“I don’t think that’s true and it doesn’t matter who arranged it. This is important to me and it would be nice if you were supportive about it.”

“Okay, I’ll do my best to give you my support.”

“And I don’t like that you pretended you’d give me a job helping design your bookstore when you wouldn’t trust me to do it anyway. You just wanted to make a dig about me doing this job.”

“Come on, Elizabeth. None of these things are a big deal. Surely you understand why I’d want to have a professional work with you. That wasn’t meant to hurt your feelings. I’d think you’d like the experience of working with someone else. Besides, you’re already tied up so this is a moot point anyway.”

“No it isn’t, Matt. I graduated from college in this. I know what I’m doing. The Kellers are trusting me and they’re not insisting a professional hold my hand through the whole thing.” I did air quotation marks with my fingers when I said professional, even though he couldn’t see them over the phone.

“Yeah, well, the Kellers may be paying you for this but it isn’t exactly a regular job is it? You wouldn’t have this job if that guy hadn’t set it up for you. Am I right?”

I could hardly speak. If Matt had called to try to make peace, he was doing a bang up job. I shoved the sandwich away from me. “That guy is my friend. And he has a name. All Chad did was set up an appointment for me. It was never a sure thing. I had to put together a proposal they liked and it was handled like a real job. They hired me because they liked my ideas and they trusted me.”

Matt sighed. “This isn’t going well. I called to smooth things over and I’m just making you more upset. I don’t want to leave with you angry at me.”

“I appreciate that you called, but you’re not making me feel better by putting me down and by ripping this job apart.”

“I don’t think I was doing that. I think you’ll do a great job. How about this? I promise, if we open another Pink Salamander, we’ll hire you to do the interior.”

“I’m sure you’ll have to check with your partners on that, won’t you? I doubt Meg would go for that.”

“What’s going on with you and Meg?” Matt asked.

“Meg doesn’t like me,” I said. Oh, I hated the way that sounded—so petty and insecure.

“Meg likes you just fine. She thinks you’re great.”

“Of course she does,” I said.

“She’s told me.”

“Oh Matt, guys are so blind. I’m not crazy about you traveling with Meg because I can tell how she feels about me and I don’t really like you talking about me with her.” I sat down at the granite counter and unwrapped my sandwich.

“You’re being silly. We don’t talk about you any more than we’d talk about anyone one of us was dating,” Matt said.

“Oh really? You talked to her about my tights. And you had her buy me pantyhose. Do you have any idea how weird that is?”

“What’s weird about it?”

“I can’t believe you have to ask that.” We were both quiet for a moment. “Why do you hate my tights anyway?”

“This is a ridiculous conversation.” Matt’s voice sounded frustrated.

“Is it? It doesn’t feel ridiculous to me. I like my tights and you don’t. I’d like to know why.”

“I just think they look childish. I’ve never seen a grown woman wear colored tights. Or tights with flowers and patterns on them.”

“I like my tights,” I said. “And I’m not the only grown woman who likes tights. Tights factories aren’t making them just for me.”

“You know what, Elizabeth. The tights are fine. I can get used to the tights. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings about the tights. If I’d known they were such a big deal to you, I’d never have bought you the pantyhose.”

“Matt, you didn’t buy me the pantyhose. Meg did. It’s humiliating to have someone who I know doesn’t like me discussing my choice of legwear with you. And then she had to figure out the size and the color and then I’m sure she was watching me to see if I wore them or not. It’s embarrassing.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t know it was a big deal. I won’t do that again. But I’m certain Meg didn’t give it a second thought. And you’re wrong about how she feels about you. She thinks you’re really nice.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I didn’t want to talk about this anymore. I didn’t want Matt to leave with things ugly between us and I didn’t want to point out what I suspected was true—that Meg was interested in Matt and wanted me out of the picture. What if I pointed it out and Matt realized he liked the idea. No way did I want to lose him. There had been glimmers of the charming, generous Matt lately. I needed to be nice and accept his apology and leave things alone.

“Well, whether she likes me or not, I appreciate you calling,” I said. “I was pretty upset at lunch.”

Matt let out a laugh. “I could tell. That’s why I’m calling. I want things to be okay with us. I promise I won’t talk to Meg about what you wear and I’ll get used to your tights if they’re that important to you.”

“I like my tights.” I tried to laugh. “I know it sounds silly but I do.”

“I get it. And I’m sorry if I haven’t seemed supportive about this job. I hope it goes really well for you and you’re able to leave the bank and be a full-time designer.”

“Thanks Matt.”

“If I didn’t have so much going on with the Seattle Salamander I’d come and help you.”

“Oh, I wish you could. I’m dying with this wallpaper tonight.” I paused a second, hoping Matt would offer to come over and help me. When he didn’t, I continued. “But I know you have a lot happening. I hope things go well with your trip and the new store.”

“I wish I could see you before I leave,” Matt said. “I wish I could give you a big hug and kiss.”

“Me too.”

“So are we good?” Matt asked.

“We’re good at my end. Are you good?”

“Better than ever. You know I think you’re pretty great.” My heart warmed at the compliment.

“So are you.”

“When you’re through with this job and I’m back from Seattle, let’s plan a nice celebration dinner. You can pick any restaurant you want.”

“Thanks Matt. That’ll be fun. I’m really glad you called.”

“Me too.”

“I’d better get back to work.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow night,” Matt said.

“Goodnight.”

I finished my sandwich while I thought about Matt. Tall, dark, brooding and sometimes arrogant. But he was coming around. Just like Mr. Darcy had. And he thought I was pretty great. I couldn’t help but smile.

It was after eleven and I was exhausted. My arms ached. Removing the wallpaper was a tedious process. The steamer was heavy and after I’d held it up to steam a section, I’d set it on the ladder tray and peel and pull the paper until nothing else would come. Then I’d repeated the process again and again and again.

I still had almost the entire large wall left and my arms were screaming in rebellion.

“Knock, knock.” I nearly fell off the ladder. “Don’t be scared. Oh Lizzie, I’m sorry.” Chad stifled a laugh when he saw my face. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I promise.”

“Chad. Hi. What are you doing?”

“I told Mom I’d stop by and water her flowers and get the mail. I drove by earlier and saw you were here but I didn’t want to bother you. I’ll just put this in the office and get out of here.” He waved a few envelopes in the air.

“Why would you think you’d bother me?” I asked.

“You know. You’re… working and… I don’t know. I don’t want things to be… weird.”

“Don’t be silly. We’re friends, right? We should be able to run into each other without things being weird.” I wasn’t sure I believed my own words even though I wanted them to be true. I wanted us to be able to be around each other without it being awkward. I wanted us to be friends. My mind went back to the last time I’d seen Chad. Hopefully he’d think my flushed cheeks were about the hard work I was doing and not from the memory of the long hug under the streetlight that had just popped into my mind.

Chad smiled. “Friends.” He saluted me with the envelopes in his hand. “You got it.”

“Please don’t avoid me. That would make me sad.”

“All right. No more avoiding. And no weirdness. Just friends. Now I’m going to go put these in the office and water some flowers.”

“And I’m going to continue peeling roses off the wall.”

My hands worked the steamer and peeled paper from the wall, but my ears listened to Chad rustling around in the kitchen. I heard him wander down a hall, opening and closing a couple of doors and then I heard him running water in the kitchen. A few minutes later, I heard the plastic sheeting rustle.

“How late do you think you’ll stay?” Chad asked from the doorway.

“My goal was to have all this peeled and scrubbed down tonight so I could prime it tomorrow morning and paint tomorrow night. I’ve got floor people coming on Monday and we’re celebrating my dad’s birthday on Sunday.”

I peeled a few pathetic wisps of paper. When Chad didn’t say anything I turned to see if he was still there. He was standing in the doorway with a serious look on his face.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“I’m just trying to figure out what to say.”

I laughed. “What do you mean? You can say whatever you want.”

“I know this is important to you and I’m trying to decide if you’d appreciate some help or if I’d offend you by offering. Because I’m more than willing to help, but I don’t want to step on your toes or make you think I think you can’t handle it on your own.”

I quickly turned my head back to the wall and tried to see the wallpaper through the tears that had just filled my eyes. I swallowed hard. Why did Chad have to be so perceptive? And so thoughtful? And so sweet? I knew what I should do. I should send him home and finish the job myself. Matt would be less than thrilled at the idea of me and Chad working late into the night. Alone.

When I could speak with a steady voice, I turned back around. Chad was watching me. His kind face took the words I’d planned to say and mixed them all up. “I’d love the help if you’re not too tired.”

Chad’s smile did something to my heart that I didn’t want to think about. “So I didn’t offend you?”

I swallowed and shook my head. “This wallpaper is pretty stubborn. I could use the help.”

“Just give me an assignment.”

“Do you know how to use a steamer?” I asked.

“No, but I’m a quick learner.”

I showed Chad how to steam the wallpaper and then peel it back with the scraper. He took over that job and I began scrubbing the walls I’d finished.

At midnight, the radio station I’d had playing quietly in the background started playing Delilah’s Love Songs. Delilah started reading a letter from Chester, a man in Minneapolis who was trying to convince his girlfriend not to break up with him. I listened with increasing discomfort as Chester begged his girlfriend to listen to the words of the Bee Gees and “don’t throw it all away.” A minute later, the falsetto trio was singing and pleading that we not throw our love away.

I was dying to change the station. First of all, I didn’t want to listen to a couple of hours of love songs with Chad and secondly, the lyrics to this song were especially uncomfortable given our circumstances. Would my thoughts be too obvious if I changed the station? I didn’t know what to do.

“I think we need something with a little more energy if we’re going to finish this sometime tonight,” Chad said and hopped off the ladder to change the station. Soon we were listening to sets of eighties music. Peeling and scrubbing was much easier and much more comfortable to the sounds of The Thompson Twins and Howard Jones.

“How do you know all these songs?” I asked. Chad had been singing along to most of the songs.

“My parents played this stuff all the time. The eighties had some great music.”

When the walls were all scrubbed and I’d shoved the last dustpan full of wallpaper scraps into a garbage bag, I pulled out my phone and looked at the time. It was just after three.

“I really would have been here all night if you hadn’t stayed to help me. Thank you.”

“It was fun. I’ve got a swim practice in the morning, but I’ll be finished around noon. Do you want me to come back and help you paint?”

“That’s okay. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than paint.”

“Actually, I don’t. Don’t worry. I know this is your thing and I won’t take any credit for it when it turns out awesome. I won’t even tell anyone I came to help. I just don’t want you falling asleep at your dad’s birthday party.”

Maybe it was the late hour or maybe it was Chad’s cute, crooked smile. Maybe it was because we’d spent several hours together laughing and working. Just like friends. Whatever it was, I agreed.

We locked up the house and left in our separate cars. All the way home, I went back and forth between happiness that Chad was helping me paint the next day and caution that I may not be treating him fairly. By the time I got home and fell into bed, the caution had disappeared.

Chapter Twenty

The alarm went off just seconds after I closed my eyes. At least that’s how it felt. I let it ring for almost a minute before I rolled over and hit the snooze button. My arms ached, my eyes burned and the covers felt leaden. For nine glorious minutes, I let my bed cradle my weary body, but when the alarm sounded again, I pushed aside the warm, heavy covers and headed for the shower.

“I didn’t think you’d be up this early,” Janessa said in the kitchen a few minutes later. “You got home so late.”

“The wallpaper was a nightmare. It came off in pieces the size of confetti.”

“Ugh. That stinks. You should have called me. I could have come and helped you after work last night.”

“Thanks, but I ended up with some help the last few hours.”

“Really? I didn’t picture Matt as a manual labor kind of guy.”

“It wasn’t Matt. It was Chad.” I didn’t look at Janessa but I could feel her eyes on me. I pulled my bagel out of the toaster and slathered strawberry cream cheese on it.

“That’s… interesting?” Janessa was testing the waters.

I sat down at the table with my bagel and orange juice. “It wasn’t a big deal. He stopped by to pick up the mail and water his mom’s plants. He could see I was having a hard time and he offered to help. That’s all.”

“That was really nice of him.”

“He’s a good friend.” I took a big bite of bagel. It appeared the conversation was over but Janessa kept glancing at me. I’d known her long enough to see she wanted to say more. “Go ahead Janessa. If you have something to say, just say it.”

“Who said I had something to say?” she asked. “I was just noticing how pretty you look. Mascara and lip gloss. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to look nice.” She smiled mischievously.

“Knock it off,” I said but it took some effort not to smile back.

Janessa finished her bowl of Cheerios and noisily rinsed out the dish. She squeezed my shoulder as she walked by. “Good luck over there today.” She stopped at the door. “Oh, by the way, Ben and I are going out tonight so I won’t be home until late.”

“You might still beat me home. We’re priming and painting both rooms today.” I cringed inside as soon as the words were out. I should have said “I” not “we.” Janessa raised one eyebrow and I could tell she’d caught my mistake. I waited for her smart aleck reply but it didn’t come. She just turned and headed for the door.

* * *

“Many people overlook priming the walls and jump right to the paint. That is a mistake made by amateurs.”

“Professional painters know a primed wall grabs the paint and makes second and third coats less likely.”

“A primed wall guarantees your finished wall will be true to the color you selected.”

I repeated the words of past professors to myself as I worked on the primer coat. It was a real temptation to skip that step given the amount of wall space that needed painted, but I wanted to be sure the colors were exactly what I wanted.

I’d finished in the dining room and had started on the largest wall in the living room when a gust of wind whipped the plastic as the front door opened.

“Sorry I’m late,” Chad said stepping through the plastic into the living room. “Tell me what to do.”

I turned to give Chad some instructions and stopped. This might have been a bad idea. Chad looked way too good in his faded jeans, a navy long-sleeved t-shirt and some old tennis shoes. The wind had left his hair a little messy and brought a ruddiness to his cheeks that made his eyes look bluer than ever. In fact, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever noticed his blue eyes. One corner of his mouth curved into a crooked smile and I realized I was staring at him.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize we’d set a time so how could you be late?”

“I was planning to come as soon as swim practice ended but Carter asked if he could talk to me after practice and we ended up talking for almost an hour.”

“Is Carter the one who’s going to swim for the Ducks?” I asked.

“Good memory. Yeah. He’s got some stuff going on at home—his parents are getting a divorce—and he just needed someone to talk to.”

“I’m glad you didn’t rush out on him. You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know. I want to. Put me to work, oh brilliant designer.”

I laughed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I haven’t earned that title yet.”

“It’s just a matter of time. Hey, I brought my iPod dock if you’d like something other than the radio.”

“Sure, that sounds great.”

A few minutes later we were both priming the walls while the best mix of music I’d ever heard played in the background.

“Where did you find some of this music?” I asked.

“Oh no. You don’t like it?”

“I love it. I’ve just never heard most of it before.”

“I don’t like most of the stuff they play on the radio. When I find a group I like, I plug it into Pandora and find the bands that compare to them. It’s given me a pretty good variety. Let me know if you hate something and we’ll skip it.”

“No, I really like it.”

The afternoon zipped by in a flash. By late afternoon, the dining room walls wore a soft, cozy blue that made me want to sing. I held the Flow Blue plate up to the wall. The contrast in blues was lovely.

We’d painted the wall around the windows when Chad checked his watch. “Hey, do you like basketball?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Do you mind if we listen to the Oregon State game?”

“Of course not. Chad, if you want to watch the game, you should go watch it. I don’t mind.”

“Let’s just listen to it and keep painting.” Chad tuned the radio on to the game and we continued to paint.

“You’re a Beavers fan?” I asked.

“That’s where I went.”

“Really? Me too.”

We soon established that we’d only overlapped one year. What if we’d met in a history class or at the library, I wondered. Would things have been different? Would I have been willing to give Chad a chance if we’d become friends first? Or would I still have held out for Matt?

Timing is sometimes a joker because as these thoughts went through my mind, my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. It was Matt. “I’ll be right back,” I said to Chad and walked through the plastic sheeting into the kitchen.

“Hey Babe,” Matt said.

“Hi. Did you have a good trip?”

“Sure. We got here around noon. We’ve been working all afternoon.”

“Me too.”

“How’s the wallpaper removal coming?”

“It’s finished. I’m painting now.” This time I remembered to use the word “I,” but I noticed the guilty feelings that descended on me. Was I guilty for not giving Chad credit or guilty that Matt didn’t know Chad was helping me?

“We’re leaving for dinner in a few minutes but I wanted to talk to you. I wish you were here.”

“Where are you eating?”

“I can’t remember the name. Alan said it’s one of his favorite restaurants, so we’ll see what that means. It probably means we’re going to a sports bar so he can watch half a dozen sporting events and eat a greasy burger.” It didn’t sound like a place Meg would like but I didn’t ask if she was joining them. With Chad in the other room painting, it seemed hypocritical to pester him with questions about who would be at dinner.

“I wish I was heading to dinner with you. I’m starving,” I said.

“It must have been my reference to a greasy burger that did it,” Matt said and we laughed. “What did you have for lunch?”

“I just realized I didn’t stop to eat lunch.” I sat on a stool at the counter.

“That’s not smart, Elizabeth. I can understand your excitement about the job, but you need to take breaks and eat.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll order something when I get off the phone.”

“Sorry I’m missing your Dad’s birthday.”

“Me too. They were looking forward to meeting you.”

“We’ll arrange that after I get back. Maybe we can all go to dinner.”

“Or you can come to another Sunday dinner.”

“We’ll work that out later. Oh, they’re here.” I guess Meg was with them after all. “I’d better head out.”

“Have a good dinner,” I said.

“You too. Stop working and eat right now.”

“I will. Thanks for calling.”

“Meg, where’s Alan?” Matt said into the phone.

“Waiting in the car,” I heard Meg say.

“Gotta run, Elizabeth. Good night.”

“Good night.”

The phone was dead almost immediately. I sat at the counter, hungry and tired and bereft. What was wrong with me? Part of me wanted to tell Matt that Chad was helping me, but why? Did I want to provoke him? Was I looking for a chance to point out that Chad had been willing to help me when Matt hadn’t? That was silly. It didn’t mean Matt didn’t care. He was just busy with the new store and it was unfair of me to begrudge him that. It was probably that I was bugged that Meg was there with him and I wanted him to feel just as bothered as I felt. Or maybe it was something else. Something I didn’t want to scrutinize too closely.

I couldn’t tell if I was sad, angry, frustrated, or just hungry and tired. I laid my head down on my arms.

“You okay?” Chad was standing at the doorway. I had no idea how long he’d been there.

I sighed. “I’m fine. What’s the score?”

“It’s halftime and Washington is ahead by two.”

“Chad, I’m starving.” My voice had an embarrassing quiver.

“Then let’s eat.”

“How about I order pizza and root beer and we watch the second half of the game,” I said.

“Sounds good to me. Let’s order from Longinetti’s and get some of their cinnamon bread sticks, too.”

It was just what I needed. The second half of the game was close, with several ties and lead changes. The food tasted even better than I’d thought it would. I felt like a new person after eating and even though the game was a nail-biter, it was fun and I felt relaxed.

“I’d better be careful,” Chad said when he jumped out of his seat after a score and his paper plate with two crust ends landed on the carpet. “Whew! We’re safe,” he said when he was sure there was no pizza sauce on the carpet.

Washington held a two-point lead with eleven seconds left and Chad was sitting on the edge of the couch. I sat cross-legged in the corner of the couch, a pillow clutched in my lap. The Oregon point guard brought the ball down and with six seconds took a short jump shot that tied the game.”

“There’s too much time left. We left them too much time,” I said.

“I know. Come on defense,” he said speaking to the team as if they could hear him.

Washington took a time out and when they came out their star dribbled for a few seconds and then drove to the basket. The ball looked like it might go in, but then it bounced out.

“Overtime,” Chad said and sank back into the couch.

“Better than a loss,” I said.

“Except we don’t have time for an overtime. Shall we listen to the overtime while we paint?”

“No, let’s just watch it and then paint.” I smiled at Chad’s obvious relief.

The first two minutes of the overtime looked grim. Washington came out with gusto and soon they had the biggest lead of the game, eight points. But Oregon didn’t give up and during the last two minutes, they whittled it back to another tie. Neither team scored in the last thirty seconds and the overtime ended in another tie.

Chad looked at me and we started laughing. Hours of painting waited beyond the plastic sheeting and here we were, an empty pizza box on the coffee table, a bottle of root beer losing its fizz on the counter and a game neither of us wanted to leave.

“I’ll hurry and clean up dinner during the break and then we can get right to the painting when the game’s over,” I said.

“I’ll help.” Moving quickly, we threw away the garbage, put the root beer in the refrigerator and wiped down the counter. We made it back to the television just as the second overtime began.

Both teams were tired and the only score in the first three minutes was a free throw. During the last two minutes, Washington scored five points and Oregon scored four, leaving the score tied. “No, please! Someone score. Anyone. Not another overtime,” Chad said.

“They obviously don’t care about us,” I said.

“I know. This is our reward for being loyal fans?” The second overtime ended in a tie. “I feel bad,” Chad said. “We really should be painting.”

“I should never have suggested we watch the second half. I’ve totally jinxed us. We can’t give up on them now,” I said. “We must fight with them to the end.”

Chad grinned at me and we started the third overtime.

Thankfully, the game ended when the buzzer sounded. Sadly, it was Washington who won by four.

“Well, that wasn’t worth it,” Chad said as we made our way back to the living room.

“But it was fun,” I said.

“Yeah, it was.”

We had to throw away our crusty paint rollers and replace them with new ones, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t even mind the loss. I’d just had more fun than I’d had in a long time.

We finished the job at about two in the morning. We were both tired but our spirits were good. “You’re a knight in shining armor, you know that?” I asked Chad.

“I know. I’ve been thinking of trading in my Camry for a white horse.”

“And your jeans for some chainmail. Seriously, Chad. Thank you.”

“No problem. Have a fun day tomorrow with your family.”

“I will,” I said.

As I drove home, I replayed the day in my mind. It wasn’t until later I realized that as the day played through my head like a movie, Matt’s phone call had ended up on the cutting room floor.

Chapter Twenty-one

The next few days were among the most exhilarating of my life. I was doing what I’d dreamed of for years. When I met the first contractor, I felt like an imposter as I discussed the floor with him. By the third day, my butterflies were gone as I gave instructions and answered questions easily. I felt like a real professional.

While contractors worked, I unwrapped my order of specialty fabrics, set up my sewing machine on the table in the breakfast nook, and began sewing. The fabrics were breathtaking. The teal dupioni silk was rich and substantial and when I turned it in the light and it caught the subtle orange shot, I stifled a giggle. It was fabulous.

For three days I sewed while contractors contracted. While a crew put in the wood floors and built a surround for the fireplace, I made drapes for the windows. While the electrician installed two beautiful chrome and glass light fixtures and two wall sconces, I sewed pillows. One of the design finds that made me happiest was those wall sconces. They were frosted glass half orbs that had tiny orange veining running through them. Such a perfect little hint of orange. It made me want to squeal.

I loved the drapes and laid the long panels carefully across the guest room bed. In the subdued lighting, the teal was darker and the hint of orange was indiscernible. I liked how the colors would change as the lighting shifted throughout the day.

I made two pillows of three different fabrics. The two biggest pillows were a nobby, solid orange. Two more were a large print, orange and cream houndstooth. My favorite two were cream linen with leaves embroidered in orange. Once I’d stuffed them with the down pillow forms and plumped them up, they looked like they belonged in a magazine. I was so proud of them, I wanted to show them off, but I was pretty sure the tattooed electrician and his long-haired, overly pierced, toothpick-chewing assistant probably didn’t care much about pillows. I put them in the guest room to await their placement on the chairs and couch.

I’d installed a glass tile backsplash while I was in school, but as I stood in front of the fireplace, my stomach knotted up. I didn’t miss the white painted brick that had been there before. The carpenter had built a beautiful surround. The mantle was made of a solid slab of wood twelve inches deep and three inches thick that was mounted into the wall. When I was finished with the tile work, I’d give it a coating of glossy, ecru paint. I knew how I wanted it to look. I could picture it in my mind. But I’d never tackled such a big tile project before—floor to ceiling glass tile strips in random shades of teal and cream.

I held up one of the mesh squares. Strips of glass stuck out of the sides and it felt heavy in my hand. Some of the glass was frosted and some had a shiny finish. I loved it. I couldn’t wait to get started.

I laid out plastic to protect the dark wood floor from the adhesive and carried in the heavy boxes of tiles. The last box I brought in held the shorter strips I’d use to fill in the ends. The bucket of adhesive felt like it weighed as much as a small horse, but after stopping a few times to rest my trembling muscles, I finally got it to the work area. Three hours later, I had the sides of the fireplace up to the mantle covered in the gorgeous tile.

I carried the ladder in from the garage and began on the wall above the mantle. This part was both harder and easier—harder because of climbing up and down on the ladder, but easier because there was no fireplace opening and there were only two edges to cut for instead of four. By late afternoon, the tile was up.

I moved the ladder to the other side of the room and stepped back to look at the wall. It was beautiful, even breathtaking. I was so proud of myself. Tomorrow was Saturday. I was halfway to the deadline and all the contract work was finished. I’d add the grout to the tile and paint the mantle and the fireplace would be complete. I’d clean the rooms out and have them ready to begin furnishing next week.

I felt good—tired and dirty but wow, look what I’d just done. I locked up the house and drove home to take a long, hot bath.

* * *

I let the warm tub water soothe my aching muscles. When the water cooled down, I’d nudge the hot water faucet with my foot until a hot trickle poured in by my feet. When my shins couldn’t stand it anymore, I’d nudge the tap and turn it off. I’d nearly fallen asleep when my phone rang. The water sloshed as I reached over the side of the tub and pulled my phone out of my pocket. I hoped it was Matt since he hadn’t called last night.

It was Janessa.

“Hey, Lizzie, are you still working?”

“Nope. I’m napping in the tub.”

“I’m glad I called you. Ben and I are at Paco’s. We’re just picking up some fish tacos and heading home.”

“I guess I’d better get out of the tub then. I’d rather not be stuck in the bathroom all evening.”

“Ben wants to watch the newest Mission Impossible. I know it’s not quite like BBC but you’re welcome to join us.”

“Maybe I will. I could use something that doesn’t make me use my brain. Thanks.”

“Sure. Do you want us to pick you up something to eat?”

“Fish tacos sound great. Could you get me a couple?”

“Sure thing. We’ll be home in ten or fifteen minutes.”

Reluctantly, I left the warmth of the tub and pulled on some flannel pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt.

Janessa and Ben came home with a whirlwind of activity and enough noise for ten. A cheerful energy surrounded them as they talked and laughed and banged noisily through the kitchen gathering plates, glasses for lemonade and napkins. They teased each other, interrupted each other and finished each other’s sentences. I loved watching them. If only Las Vegas were posting odds on whether Ben and Janessa would get married. If they did, I’d have a pretty good chance at making some money.

We ate crunchy fish tacos while we watched Tom Cruise pretend to be smart and athletic and twenty years younger than his actual age. The movie was just so-so but Janessa and Ben’s observations kept me laughing.

“I’m heading to bed,” I said when the credits began to roll. I left them debating over whether there was any discernible difference between this movie and the first three.

I thought about calling Matt since he hadn’t called me, but then decided I wasn’t in the mood to hear Meg laughing in the background, so I plugged my phone into its charger on my nightstand and went to bed.

Sometime after I fell asleep I had a bad dream. In the dream I was unrolling the rug for the Keller’s living room. Somehow I unrolled it with all the furniture in place. I was horrified to see that the rug was purple. It looked terrible with the rest of the room. Mr. Castinello, the instructor who’d taught about colors said, “These colors are not complimentary, Elizabeth. I’m afraid I have to fail you on this project.” I tried to pick up the rug but I couldn’t get it out from under the furniture.

The sound of my phone chirping brought me happily back to reality. Even better, it was Matt.

“Hi, stranger,” I said, rubbing my eyes to remove the haze of sleep.

“I know. I’m so sorry. By the time I finished working last night it was after midnight and I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“That’s okay.”

“Oh no. I just woke you up, didn’t I?”

“I don’t mind. I want to talk to you.”

“You do? Is everything okay?”

I laughed. “Yes. Everything’s fine. I just want to talk to you.” I sat up a little and adjusted the pillow behind me. “Tell me about your day.”

Matt laughed. “I’m not sure you want to hear about today.”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, today we nearly came to blows. Meg didn’t like what the designer was doing in the Women’s Fiction room, and she wanted Alan to fix it. He told Meg if she didn’t like it to fix it and talk to the woman herself. When the designer left for lunch, Alan and Meg started arguing and even started calling each other names. I tried to get them to work it out and the next thing I knew, they were both turning on me.”

“Oh no. You all must need a break from each other,” I said.

“That’s for sure. I told them I was heading home and left.”

“Did you come home?” I asked.

“No. I ended up going back and luckily things were calmed down but I was tempted.”

“Too bad,” I said.

“I know. I wish I was home. I’m coming home the first part of next week.”

“Oh good. It seems like you’ve been gone so long.”

“How are things at your job?”

“Much better than yours since I don’t have anyone to argue with.”

“What did you do today?” Matt asked.

“Today I tiled the fireplace. Tomorrow I’ll grout it. You should see it. It’s so pretty. It’s glass tile and it goes from the floor to the ceiling. I love it.”

“You did it yourself?”

“Yep.”

“That’s pretty impressive, Elizabeth.”

“I’d love for you to see it. Do you think you can stop by sometime after you get back so I can show you what I’ve done?”

“I’d like that. Just text me the address and when I have a few minutes I’ll stop by.” I felt a surge of pleasure. I wanted him to appreciate what I was doing and once the fireplace was grouted, there was no way he’d be able to look at it and not be proud of me. “I miss you, Elizabeth. I’m not just saying this to make you upset, but I wish I’d have hired you to be our designer just so you could have come up here with me. I’ve been thinking about you all week.”

“I’m glad,” I said.

“I hope you’ve missed me.”

“Of course I have. I’ll be glad when the bookstore is finished and you’re home for good.”

“Me too. I guess I should let you go back to sleep. Sweet dreams.” Then Matt did something totally out of character. He made a kissing sound into the phone. I laughed. “I know. Silly, huh?” he said.

“Yes. Very silly. But sweet.” I made a kissing sound back and we said goodbye.

* * *

I forced myself to remove the plastic sheeting before I let myself gaze at the fireplace. Painting was finished, carpentry was complete and all that was left after grouting the fireplace was hanging rods and drapes, bringing in rugs and furniture and then the finishing touches. The dirty work was nearly over.

When the sheeting was down, I stood in the archway between the entry and the living room. Morning light bounced off the tile. I could hardly breathe it was so beautiful. I took the powdered grout and my pail into the kitchen and mixed up the grout at the sink. When I walked back into the living room with the grout and the rubber float, I stopped short. There on the floor was a sheet of lined notebook paper. Written on the paper was a message:

“Wow! Just wow! I think I can safely call you a brilliant designer. This is going to blow Mom and Dad’s mind. I can’t stop looking at it. It’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

I read the note three times before I folded it up and put it in my pocket. I took it out a couple of times during the day and reread it. When I got home later that evening, I put it in the drawer of my nightstand.

Chapter Twenty-two

I decided to take a breather from the renovations on Sunday. Mom was excited when I showed up just as she and Dad were leaving for church. I attended services with them and then enjoyed grilled salmon and asparagus for dinner. When I told them about the fireplace, Dad suggested we go take a look, so we drove to the Kellers’ house and I gave my parents a tour of the job. Mom’s enthusiasm and Dad’s obvious pride made me giddy.

I was sitting in bed, thumbing through one of Janessa’s fashion magazines when the door slammed and Janessa ran squealing down the hall like a greased pig being chased at the fair. My bedroom door flew open and Janessa stood in the doorway, a grin on her face and her left hand extended toward me.

“No. Are you serious?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, jumping up and down.

I knelt up on the bed and patted the mattress. Janessa jumped on the bed and we held hands, bouncing like children on a trampoline. We screeched and jumped for at least a minute and probably would have continued much longer if the grouchy man in the apartment beneath us hadn’t pounded on his ceiling. At the sound of his displeasure, we collapsed onto the bed, out of breath and holding hands.

“Tell me everything,” I said between gasps.

“Oh Lizzie, it was perfect. Ben said he wanted to go for a drive to the coast, so we drove out to Haystack Rock.”

“Ooh, he knows you so well.”

“I know. I’d told him my family went there all the time when I was growing up and I told him I loved it there and he remembered.”

I squeezed Janessa’s hand. “Keep going.”

“Okay, it was cold but we decided to go for a walk anyway. We walked quite a ways and I kept wondering how far we were going to go and then I saw Ben watching the rocks along the cliff like he was looking for something and all of a sudden, he turned and walked straight over to the rocks. There was this little place where big rocks almost completely surrounded this quiet area of the beach and there was a little fire pit with everything ready for a fire. Oh, and there was a picnic basket with sparkling cider and everything for s’mores.”

“What did you say? Were you surprised?”

“I was shocked. I asked him when he came and set everything up but he didn’t tell me until we were on our way home. He had his brother, Ethan, do it. Anyway, once the fire was going, Ben made me a perfect s’more. I had chocolate and marshmallow all over my mouth and he was laughing at me. I asked him if he had a napkin and he said, ‘I’ve got something better than a napkin.’ I thought maybe he had a baby wipe or something, but no. That’s when he put his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out this!”

She flopped onto her back and held her hand above her face, looking at the ring. I lay down beside her and together we admired the sparkling diamond.

“I’m so happy for you,” I said. “You know, just Friday night, I had the feeling he was going to propose soon. I’m always right.”

“Oh brother.”

“Seriously, I thought that.”

“I’m not doubting you did. I’m groaning about you always being right.”

“Fine. I’m not always right. But I was right about this.”

Janessa sighed happily. “Ben is so great. He’s perfect for me.”

“Did you talk about a date?”

“Yeah. Don’t think we’re crazy.”

“Why would I?”

“’Cause we’re going to get married at the end of April.”

“April? That’s only three months.”

“I know, it’s crazy, isn’t it? But Ben is starting his residency in May and we want to have time to get settled in. My mom said, ‘If you have a year to prepare, you’ll take the whole year. If you have a month to prepare, you’ll be ready in a month.”

“You know I’ll help you.”

“You’d better. You’re going to be my maid of honor, right?”

“Of course.”

We stayed there and planned Janessa’s wedding until the early morning hours. When I woke up the next morning, my bedroom light was still on and Janessa was laying there on the bed beside me, smiling in her sleep.

* * *

Three delivery trucks came during the day. One brought a beautiful dining room table and chairs. Another brought the rugs for the two rooms and tables for the living room. The last truck brought the couch and three chairs—two to be positioned with the couch and an extra wide chair to sit beside the fireplace. The big pieces ended up haphazardly in the two rooms and smaller pieces were unloaded into the garage so I’d have room to work.

It was evening by the time I’d mounted the chrome rods on the wall and hung the drapes. I was back at my apartment eating a grilled cheese sandwich when my phone buzzed with a text from Chad.

Chad: I stopped by to water the flowers but you were gone. When are you going to start arranging furniture?

I felt a little disappointed I hadn’t stayed longer.

Lizzie: Tomorrow.

Chad: Do you have help?

Lizzie: I think I can get it.

Chad: no way. Find something else to keep you busy until three. I’ll come right after school.

Lizzie: you don’t have to do that.

Chad: I know. I’m a grownup. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to.

Lizzie: HaHa

Chad: Some of that looks heavy. Promise you’ll wait for me.

Lizzie: if there’s some left when you get there, you can help me.

Chad: not good enough. I’ll take the day off and meet you first thing if you don’t promise you’ll wait for me.

I smiled and shook my head. It would be good to get some laundry caught up. I hadn’t washed a single load since before I started on the remodel.

Lizzie: fine. I’ll see you at three.

Chad: promise?

Lizzie: promise.

* * *

After a nice, relaxing morning of laundry and reading, I drove to the Keller’s. I was so excited to see the finished product that it had been hard to wait out the day. By the time I headed home tonight, the job would probably be finished. I’d already called Delia to let her know I’d be back at the bank on Thursday. Matt would probably be happy to learn I’d saved two of my vacation days.

“You’d better not be lifting any heavy furniture,” Chad said when he entered the house.

“I’m not. Don’t worry.”

“I hope you’re hungry. I know it’s early for dinner, but I only had a sandwich at lunch, so I needed some fuel.”

I’d eaten a late breakfast and hadn’t even realized I was hungry until the tangy smell of sweet and sour wafted toward me. “Mmm. What did you bring?” I asked. The bag was enormous.

“I wasn’t sure what we’d want so I got several things.” I followed Chad into the kitchen where he unloaded carton after carton of Chinese food.

“You must have been starving,” I said.

“Maybe we’ll eat now and then we’ll eat again when we’re finished.”

When we’d finished off two of the cartons of food, we got to work. Most of the furniture was wrapped in plastic foam and then shrink-wrapped or taped. Getting some of the pieces unwrapped was nearly a surgical procedure. We listened to music and talked as we unwrapped each piece. I put the legs on the side tables while Chad carried in the dining room chairs. With some difficulty, we positioned the sisal rug under the dining room table and the buffet against the wall.

With the buffet in place, I stood on a stepstool and hung Mrs. Keller’s collection of plates on the wall, meticulously planning out the random placement. I stepped back to take in the wall and then moved a couple of the plates to other positions. I folded my arms and eyed the wall again.

“You know Mom’s going to cry, right?” Chad asked.

“She already did at the consultation.”

“Imagine what she’s going to do when she sees this. I can’t believe this is the same room we were ripping wallpaper out of ten days ago.”

“I know. It’s so different.” I looked at the wall for a moment longer. “Well, one room down, one to go.”

We resumed our work in the living room. “Why is this rug so thick?” Chad asked as I cut the tape off the huge rolled rug.

“Wait ‘til you see it. I couldn’t resist it when I saw it. I was so glad your parents liked it.”

When the last of the tape was off, we slowly unrolled the rug. “Wow,” Chad said.

“Do you like it?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The rug was eleven feet long and eight feet wide. It was called shag but it wasn’t like any shag I’d ever seen. It was made of thousands and thousands of beige “petals” of wool felt. They were long and soft. The rug was thick and luxurious and unusual. Perfect.

“Wait ‘til you see how it feels,” I said.

The next thing I knew, Chad was sprawled across the rug. “Yeah, I could sleep here. You tired?”

“No.”

“You sure? We could take a quick nap.”

I stood over him shaking my head. “Are you really going to make me step over you to get the room set up?”

“No. Help me up,” he said putting out his hand. I reached down to pull him up. The next thing I knew, I was down on the rug. “See, you are tired.” I laughed and started to get up. “At least enjoy it for a second. You should know how plush the rug is if you’re the designer.”

It did feel soft. I stayed there for a few moments, my hands playing with the petals. “It’s nice. Now let’s get to work.”

We each took an end of the couch and moved it to the right spot and then moved the chairs. “Next time I stay overnight, I’ll just tell mom to make up the living room rug instead of the bed,” Chad said and I laughed.

And then the smile left his face, replaced with a look of concern.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

I turned to look toward what Chad had seen and there stood Matt. Tall, handsome, imposing Matt. I was used to his brooding, arrogant carriage but right now, he looked angry.

“The door was open,” Matt said as if that explained why he was here.

“Matt? I didn’t know you were coming.” I said.

“I can tell.”

“I’m just helping Lizzie with the heavy furniture,” Chad said. “I’m Chad, by the way.” He stepped forward and held out his hand. Matt waited a long, awkward second before he shook Chad’s hand.

“You said I should come by and see what you’ve done,” Matt said. His voice dripped with indictment. I knew things looked bad, but the first thing that popped into my mind was how glad I was he hadn’t walked in while we were both stretched out on the rug.

“I didn’t even know you were back from Seattle,” I said.

“I drove home this morning. I thought I’d surprise you.” Matt spoke to me but his eyes were fastened on Chad’s face. I braved a glance at Chad. He was looking at me with a concerned expression. I was sure my cheeks were flaming. I didn’t know what to say to fix this. Matt’s anger, Chad’s concern, my embarrassment. Or was it guilt? Or was it anger? I wasn’t sure what I was feeling.

“Can I talk to you in the kitchen for a minute?” I asked Matt. He didn’t answer me but he followed me into the kitchen.

I realized my mistake as soon as I walked through the door. There on the counter were the remains of our meal—empty Chinese containers. Two paper plates and two glasses, one empty, one half filled with water. Matt stared at the counter, his jaw clenched. “Did you want to tell me something?” he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

“I think you have the wrong idea about what’s going on here,” I said.

“Please, enlighten me.”

“I couldn’t set up some of the furniture by myself. Chad offered to help me. That’s all.” My voice faded as I finished.

“And?” Matt said looking at the remains of our meal.

“And Chad was hungry and I hadn’t eaten lunch, so he got us something to eat.”

“Well, that was very thoughtful of him. The more I hear about Chad the more I realize what a gentleman he is.”

“Matt…”

“I suppose I should be thanking him for taking such good care of you while I was gone. How else did he take care of you?”

My repentant feelings were suddenly overtaken with anger. I hadn’t quizzed him about working for more than a week with Meg. In Seattle.

“Excuse me. Lizzie?” Chad leaned his head through the door.

“Yes?” I said.

“I think I’ll just take off. Unless you need any more help.”

“I can help her if she needs help,” Matt said, watching me.

I just wanted to get Chad out of this uncomfortable situation. “That’s fine, Chad,” I said. “Thank you.”

“No problem. It was nice to meet you, Matt.”

“Likewise,” Matt said, barely glancing at Chad.

I listened as the front door closed. Suddenly I realized the leftover Chinese food was in the refrigerator. That’s what he got for coming to help me? Glares and hostility and no leftovers.

“That wasn’t fair, Matt. I needed the help. Nothing else happened except that we ate some food and he helped me.”

“He’s an old boyfriend, Elizabeth. Or should I say Lizzie?”

“We only went out a few times, Matt,” I said. Immediately I felt guilty. It was true we’d only dated a few times but it was also true that except for Matt, Chad was the closest thing I’d ever had to a real boyfriend. He was the only other guy who’d ever kissed me or made my heart pound.

Matt must have sensed my ire because his tone softened. “I don’t want to argue with you, Elizabeth. I wanted to surprise you. I wanted you to be excited to see me.”

“Matt, I am. It was just awkward timing. And it wasn’t fair to Chad. He was just trying to be nice.”

Matt clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Then let’s forget about that and you can give me a tour. And I’ll help you with whatever needs finished up in there.”

“Okay,” I said.

“But first, I’ve been looking forward to a kiss.” Matt smiled and took me in his arms. “I’ve missed you,” he said and kissed me on the lips. Not once, but three times. Then he pecked my forehead. “Lead the way.”

I tried to show enthusiasm and excitement as I showed him what I’d done, but I felt self-conscious and even a little phony. Matt oohed and ahed at all the right things and complimented me on my choices of furniture. After the tour, he helped me move the last pieces of furniture into place and then we brought in the lamps and artwork. Our conversation was pleasant as we worked but I didn’t feel comfortable. I didn’t know how to reassure Matt without feeling dishonest.

I put a pewter vase and a family picture on the mantle, careful not to look at a fifteen-year-old Chad, smiling at me from a sandy beach somewhere.

“It’s finished,” I said, looking around at my hard work.

“You did a beautiful job. They’re going to be thrilled.”

“Yeah. I think they’re going to like it.”

I went to the kitchen and cleaned off the counter. Matt didn’t follow me. “Are you going to take pictures?” Matt asked when I returned.

“Yes, but I’ll need to come back when the lighting’s better.”

“Of course,” Matt said. “Would you like me to bring you tomorrow?”

“That’d be great. Thanks.”

Matt kissed me goodbye at my car. It felt like he was a homesteader staking his claim. My emotions were at war. I was glad he felt possessive. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to want me. I just hoped he’d feel that way all the time, not just when he felt threatened by my friendship with Chad.

“Keep tomorrow night open?” he said.

“Sure.”

“And you pick the restaurant. Anywhere you want.”

“Ooh, I’ll have to do some research,” I said. Matt laughed and held me close.

“Man, I missed you,” Matt said.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Matt rested his forehead against mine. “I love you, Elizabeth.”

Tears stung my eyes. I pulled him close and kissed him. I didn’t want to talk.

I was brushing my teeth before bed when my phone vibrated.

CHAD: EVERYTHING OKAY?

LIZZIE: YES. THANKS. YOU LEFT YOUR FOOD.

CHAD: I KNOW. I’LL GET IT TOMORROW.

LIZZIE: HOPE THAT WASN’T TOO AWKWARD FOR YOU.

CHAD: I’M FINE. I CAN HANDLE ANYTHING.

LIZZIE: BRAGGING?

CHAD: OF COURSE. I WAS WORRIED ABOUT YOU. DO YOU NEED ANY MORE HELP?

LIZZIE: NO. MATT HELPED ME FINISH UP. THANKS FOR ASKING.

Several minutes elapsed and I decided our conversation was finished. Then the phone vibrated again.

CHAD: YOU DID A FANTASTIC JOB.

LIZZIE: THANKS. I HOPE YOUR PARENTS LIKE IT.

CHAD: THEY’RE NOT GOING TO LIKE IT.

CHAD: THEY’RE GOING TO LOVE IT.

LIZZIE: WHEW! YOU HAD ME NERVOUS.

CHAD: YOU’VE GOT NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT.

LIZZIE: MATT’S BRINGING ME BY TOMORROW SO I CAN TAKE SOME PICTURES. I DIDN’T TAKE THEM TONIGHT CAUSE I WANTED BETTER LIGHTING.

CHAD: THANKS FOR THE WARNING. I’LL STAY AWAY TOMORROW DURING THE DAY.

It all felt a little clandestine and my heart was racing. It was hard to breathe. I wasn’t sure what to say.

LIZZIE: I DIDN’T MEAN THAT AS A WARNING.

CHAD: I KNOW. I’M JUST TEASING YOU.

LIZZIE: THANKS AGAIN FOR YOUR HELP. SORRY AGAIN THAT YOU HAD TO ABANDON YOUR FOOD.

CHAD: IT WASN’T MY FOOD I FELT LIKE I WAS ABANDONING.

Oh crap.

CHAD: I JUST THOUGHT IT MIGHT BE BETTER FOR YOU IF I LEFT.

LIZZIE: I UNDERSTAND.

CHAD: LET ME KNOW IF YOU NEED ANYTHING.

LIZZIE: THANKS. GOOD NIGHT.

CHAD: GOOD NIGHT.

Chapter Twenty-three

It was snowing when Matt picked me up for dinner. Snowflakes the size of nickels floated slowly to the earth. I’m sure Julie Andrews was singing about snowflakes like these in “My Favorite Things.” The giant flakes landed gently, clinging to their shape a few seconds before giving up and dissolving into a damp spot on the sidewalk.

Matt was smiling mischievously when he got in the car. He reached over and squeezed my hand before he pulled away from the curb.

“What are you so happy about?” I asked.

“A lot of things.”

“Would you care to share?”

“Well, first of all, I’m smiling because I have my favorite girl all to myself for the entire evening. And secondly, it looks like we’re going to be able to open Seattle on schedule.

“Congratulations,” I said.

“And I’m starving and we’re going to a delicious restaurant—great choice, by the way.”

“Is it? I’ve never eaten there, but after I read about their signature halibut dish, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“You can have the halibut, but I’m looking forward to the mushroom risotto. I’ve had that a couple of times and it might be the best vegetarian dish I’ve ever had. I’m glad you chose The Heathman.”

“Good. Then I am too.”

“And…” Matt smiled and looked at me sideways. “I have a surprise for you.”

“What kind of surprise?”

Matt laced his fingers through mine. “A good kind. And I think you’re going to like it.”

“Can you give me a hint?”

“I could. But I’m not going to. I’ll tell you at dinner.”

Matt was in great spirits. Any anger he’d felt about finding Chad and me working together the day before seemed to be gone. His face was relaxed and he smiled easily. His affection felt natural and unforced. I sighed happily and settled back into the heated, leather seat. The evening promised to be pleasant.

“Do you want to tell me what the surprise is?” I asked when we were seated at our table and dinner was ordered.

“All right. But first I have to tell you what happened today at the bookstore. Do you know who Bradley Oakmont is?”

I thought for a moment. “I don’t think so.”

“I didn’t either when he called, but after I talked to him, I looked him up. He’s the author of a series of children’s books called Super Nerds. He’s written about ten books where these nerdy kids with secret superpowers save the world. His books are best-sellers. He’s sold the rights to Disney so they can do a series based on his books.”

“Wow.”

“Anyway, his agent called me today and they’re lining up a spring book tour and they want to include a stop at The Pink Salamander.”

“That’s great. How does he know about The Pink Salamander?”

“He said he prefers to stop at independent bookstores instead of the big chains. He googled Portland bookstores and thought ours was the best option.”

“Matt, that’s fantastic.”

“This is where you and your surprise come in.” Matt’s enthusiasm was obvious. He shifted in his seat and leaned across the table toward me. “You’ve seen the Children’s Room at the bookstore, right?”

“Yes. It’s by the Women’s Fiction room upstairs.”

“Right. But it’s too small. Way too small. I want to move it. Right now we use the big sun porch in back for storage. It’s really a waste of a beautiful room.”

“I’ve never even seen it.”

Matt grinned. “You’re going to. I hope.” Matt looked hopefully into my eyes and I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s got windows on three sides but I want you to take a look at it and see if we can figure out a way to get enough shelf space. And I want it to be really cheerful and fun and child-friendly. The room upstairs doesn’t have enough space for any seating or for a gathering larger than a few kids. It hardly has enough room for the books. The new room will be much better. Oh, and I want you to be the designer.”

Matt leaned back in his chair, a satisfied expression on his face.

“Really? All by myself?”

“Yes. Well, with me.”

“Of course. I’d love to.”

“I’ll pay you, just like I would a real designer.” He suddenly looked chagrined. “Sorry. You know what I mean.”

“And I don’t have to shadow another designer?” I was teasing him but he didn’t realize it.

“No. I saw last night that I made a big mistake not using your talents on the Seattle store. I’m humbly repentant.” His attempt at a humble face made me laugh. If there was anything Matt wasn’t good at presenting, it was a humble countenance. But he was trying and that stirred my heart.

Was this move more like Mr. Darcy inviting Elizabeth and her aunt and uncle fishing and to dinner? Or was this more like him saving Lydia from social ruin? Hmm. I’d have to think about that.

“Elizabeth?”

I think I’d missed some of what Matt had said. “Yes?”

“Will you forgive me and take on this job?”

“I’d love to.”

“I figured we could work Saturdays and evenings since you’ve used your vacation.” I looked closely but couldn’t see any trace of sarcasm or bitterness about my vacation. “It’ll be fun to work together.”

“My mind is already going crazy trying to come up with ideas,” I said.

Matt raised his glass. “There will be time for that. Right now, let’s just enjoy dinner. Here’s to working together to make the best Children’s Room Mr. Oakmont has ever seen.” I raised my glass and we shared a toast.

It was one of the most pleasant evenings I’d ever spent with Matt. My halibut was delicious with its candied lemon and salty picholine olive confit. It was difficult not to lick the plate. Matt was extra cheerful and sweet.

The snow had become more energetic while we were eating. The roads were black and shiny but snow was collecting on everything else. Matt paused just outside the door and wrapped my scarf around my neck before he took my hand to walk to the car.

“Do you want to see the sun porch?” he asked when we reached the car.

“Right now?”

“Sure. Unless you’re too tired.”

“No. Yes. Let’s go see it.”

The Pink Salamander was dimly lit by a few outdoor lights. From somewhere inside, probably the parlor, a dim light glowed. Matt unlocked the door and quickly punched a code into a pad behind the counter to disarm the alarm. Then he turned on a few more lights. At the back of the store, just beyond the parlor, was a set of French doors. I’d never paid any attention to them before because they were always closed and covered with curtains.

Matt walked ahead of me and turned on another light. It was hard to see the details of the room. It was big but cluttered. A television and a treadmill were set up on one side. Boxes were stacked randomly around the room. Two bicycles leaned against one wall. There were two Christmas trees, one still decorated and a car tire.

“What’s that doing in here?” I asked, pointing at the tire.

“I don’t even know. It’s going to be a lot of work just getting this cleared out.”

It looked like the sun porch had been added onto the house. One wall was clapboard siding that had once been the exterior. The other three sides of the room were drywall up to about my waist and then windows up to the ceiling.

“Do you know the dimensions?” I asked.

“I think it’s about thirty-four feet long by sixteen feet. Maybe that’s not exact, but it’s close.”

“This will be a big room. You might have to stock more children’s books.”

“I’m already planning on it. This will be good. I’ll expand the women’s fiction section into both of the upstairs rooms.”

“Ooh, I can’t wait to get started,” I said. “I’ll probably be up half the night drawing out ideas.” Matt smiled and pulled me into his arms.

“It looks like I’m hiring the right girl.”

“It’s about time you realized that,” I said.

Matt kissed me—long and slow—until my knees were weak and my mind wasn’t anywhere close to thinking about bookstores and places for children to read. “It’s good to be home,” Matt said as he took my hand and led me out of the bookstore.

* * *

It wasn’t easy going back to work at the bank. I tried to keep my mind on my work but all I wanted to do was draw up plans for the children’s room. The only bright spot was when Matt came through my line.

“I started cleaning out the sun porch this morning,” he said as I counted out his cash.

“I’ll help you during lunch,” I said.

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. Just get me a sandwich I can eat while we work.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“With meat,” I said, and Matt smiled.

“With meat.”

We cleared and sorted and cleaned through our lunch hours, after work each evening, and on Saturday morning. We would have worked all day, but Matt had to quit about noon—he was meeting with some people over the weekend—but by the time we quit, the room was cleared out. It was a bright, cheerful room. We took the final measurements and Matt kissed me goodbye. Secretly, I was glad he had a meeting. I couldn’t wait to get home and start designing.

* * *

I’d just ended a call with Sam Vaseedo. He’d been an art major and I’d had a couple of classes with him. While I was trying to train my artistic eye, Sam was the real deal—an artist who could do just about anything. I had an idea for a mural and I knew Sam was the perfect artist to pull it off. I circled the number several times as I thought about how to present the idea to Matt. The mural wouldn’t be cheap but if I could help Matt see my vision, I hoped he’d want to go ahead with the idea.

When my phone rang, I thought it might be Sam again. I was surprised to see Chad’s name.

“Hi Chad.”

“Lizzie, how are you?”

“I’m really good. Thanks.”

“You sound good.”

“You’re partly to blame for my good mood. Because of the job you helped me arrange with your parents, Matt is hiring me to design the children’s room at his bookstore.”

“Smart move on his part,” Chad said. “Hey, I talked to Mom this morning. They’re flying home tomorrow.”

“Oh wow. I’m so excited for them to see the rooms.”

“That’s what I’m calling about. Mom wants you to be there when they see them. In fact, she told me if you weren’t there, they’d just have to stay at my house tomorrow night.”

“Ooh, threats.”

“Exactly. I don’t want to have to make up the bed in the guestroom, so I’m hoping you can come tomorrow.” I thought of what Matt would think and I must have stayed quiet a little too long because Chad continued. “I’m picking them up at the airport at three. I could come and pick you up before that if you want and we could go over together.”

I wished I was imagining the hopeful sound in Chad’s voice. The thought of spending time with him sounded way too good. If it were up to me and me alone, I’d say yes. But I needed to stop being selfish. I needed to think about Chad.

And Matt.

But this was a job and I was just going over to meet with the clients. Right? I berated myself for my pathetic attempts to rationalize.

“Thanks anyway, Chad. I think it would be better if I just drove myself over and met you.”

“Oh.” Barely a pause. “Of course. That’s no problem. We’ll probably be back at the house at about four.”

I congratulated myself for saying no the same way an alcoholic congratulates herself for declining the wine menu. Then I rolled my eyes at my melodrama. But all the way to the Keller’s’ home, I felt sorry for alcoholics.

* * *

I parked in front of the house just before four. Chad’s car wasn’t in the driveway so I waited, my hands a little clammy and my heart rate a little erratic. I knew I’d done a good job but I so wanted them to love it.

A few minutes later, I saw Chad’s car down the street. Chad waved and pulled into the driveway. I wiped my hands on my jeans and got out of the car.

“Are you as excited as I am?” Mrs. Keller asked.

“Excited and a little nervous, to be honest,” I said.

“She’s got nothing to be nervous about. She did a great job.” I returned Chad’s encouraging smile with a weaker one of my own.

“You want to open the trunk?” Mr. Keller asked Chad as he gave the trunk a knock knock.

Mrs. Keller grabbed his hand and headed for the front door. “We can unload the car after we look at the house,” she said.

“She’s the boss,” Mr. Keller said as he shrugged and gave me a helpless look.

Chad fell into step beside me. “Don’t worry. You killed it.”

“Thanks. I hope they think so.”

Mr. and Mrs. Keller were waiting just inside the door with their backs to the living room.

“Oh no,” I said. “Did I forget to turn off the lights in here?” I hadn’t been here for a few days now. They’d think I was terribly irresponsible.

“No. I stopped by on my way to the airport and turned them on so they’d have a great first impression.” I looked at Chad in surprise, but he didn’t look back at me.

“Can we go in now?” Mrs. Keller asked.

“Of course,” I said.

Mr. and Mrs. Keller turned around and faced the living room. “Oh my,” Mrs. Keller said quietly. They walked into the room slowly, taking in everything around them. Mr. Keller bent down and ran his hand over the rug. Mrs. Keller touched the silk drapes before moving on and picking up a bright orange pillow and clutching it to her.

Mr. Keller walked over to the oversized chair by the fireplace and sat down. “I think I’ve found my new favorite place to sit,” he said and then before he’d settled in, he sprang back up and examined the glass tile fireplace. “This is phenomenal,” he said. He turned to me. “Did you do this?” I nodded. “It’s fantastic.”

Mrs. Keller had moved to the dining room where she stood looking at the plates scattered on the wall above the buffet. She still clutched the orange pillow in her hands. I walked in and stood beside her.

“Oh Lizzie,” she said and hugged me, the pillow between us. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. I turned to see if Chad had seen his mother’s tears but Chad wasn’t there. I stepped back into the living room. He wasn’t there either.

“I knew you had a good plan,” Mr. Keller said, his hand on my shoulder. “But I’d be lying if I didn’t say you exceeded all my expectations. This is extraordinary.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Mrs. Keller said. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Did you see the rug?” Mr. Keller asked his wife.

“No.”

“Well, come see it. It’s something else.”

“Chad said that’s where he’s going to sleep when he comes to visit,” I said.

“Well, I don’t blame him,” Mr. Keller said. “He might have to shove me aside first.”

For the next ten minutes the Kellers examined every detail of the rooms, gushing and admiring every new discovery. They sat on each piece of furniture and pronounced them all comfortable. They thanked me so many times I began to feel self-conscious.

At one point I saw Chad carry in a couple of suitcases but I didn’t see him again. I waited a few minutes longer than was comfortable so I could say goodbye to him, but when he didn’t reappear, I finally gave up.

“I really should go. I’m so glad you like it.” I shook Mr. Keller’s hand but when I put out my hand to shake Mrs. Keller’s she pulled me into a warm embrace.

“You’re a talented girl, Elizabeth. No wonder Chad thinks you’re so special.”

I felt the color rise in my cheeks. I managed an embarrassed thank you before I left.

I was proud of what I’d designed and glad they had liked it. So why did I feel like crying?

Chapter Twenty-four

I felt different as I walked up to The Pink Salamander. I’d decided if Matt was going to pay me like a “real” job I was going to treat it like a real job. In my left hand was my portfolio case and in my right hand was my sample board. I tucked the sample board under my arm and opened the door.

Meg was standing behind the counter. I hadn’t seen her for nearly two weeks and was surprised again at how stunning she was. She smiled but it didn’t seem to reach her eyes. “Hi Elizabeth.” Why did her voice sound so insincere? “Matt’s on the phone.”

“I think I’ll just head back to the sun porch,” I said.

“Matt says we blew it when we didn’t hire you to be our designer.”

There was no good answer to that statement. “Well, I’m excited to do the Children’s Room. Will you tell Matt I’m back there?” I walked past Matt’s closed office door and continued back to the sun porch. A few minutes later, he joined me.

He laced his fingers in front of him and smiled. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I showed him the floor plan and began pointing out the features. There were six-foot wide shelves at each end of the full wall. “I don’t want them to go all the way to the ceiling. That would be intimidating to children. I thought we could leave about three feet at the top. Look at these big blocks with letters and numbers.” I handed Matt the picture. “They’re each a square foot, so we could stack them. The colors are perfect with the rest of the design.” Matt nodded.

The shelves would continue around the sides. Along the long wall of windows, the shelves would be broken up every ten feet by low box seats for children to sit in. A low table and these painted wooden chairs would be placed on one end of the room and an assortment of beanbag chairs in the same colors would be scattered throughout the rest of the room.

“Look at this great carpet,” I said. “It’s bright without being obnoxious. I like how speckled it looks. It’s really durable and it wouldn’t show everything, so you guys wouldn’t have to be vacuuming it every night.”

“You’d go with carpet instead of wood?” Matt asked.

“Yes. It will help keep down noise and there’s less chance of a child being hurt on carpeting than on a hard floor.”

“I hadn’t thought about the sound.”

“I also like the colors in this because I’d like to paint all the bookshelves these old-fashioned colors— pistachio green, vermillion red, maize yellow, and then this cornflower blue. They pick up all the specks in the carpet.”

“I like the colors.”

“Me too. They’re child-friendly but they’re also sophisticated and a little more subdued than something like primary colors would be.”

“What is your plan for this empty wall?”

This was the part I was most excited about. “We have two choices. We can either put more shelving or…” I pulled out a rough sketch of the mural I’d discussed with Sam. It wasn’t good. I’d drawn it myself and I was afraid Matt wouldn’t see what I was envisioning. I held it up to my chest, hiding it from him. “Now promise you’re not going to laugh at my bad artwork. I promise I wouldn’t be doing the mural.”

Matt was smiling at my enthusiasm. “Now I’m really curious,” he said.

“I have a friend from college who’s an amazing artist and I’d like to have him paint a mural on this wall,” I said, still clutching the drawing.

“Are you going to show me?” Matt asked.

I reluctantly handed over the drawing, embarrassed at its sloppiness. “It’s five children in a row. They’re all sitting cross-legged and holding a book in their laps. Adventures are flying off the pages. For this boy, it’s airplanes. This girl could have princesses dancing. This little girl would have Dr. Seuss characters. This girl would have all kinds of animals and this boy would have a variety of Harry Potter things. Like Harry on a quidditch broom or whatever. Really, the adventures could be anything we want. The point is that reading takes us to new places and lets us have all kinds of adventures.”

Matt was nodding. “And your friend is better than this?”

I punched Matt in the arm. “He’s amazing. But don’t make fun. It’s a good idea even if I’m not a great artist.”

“I agree. I really like the idea. How much does he charge?”

I cringed. “It’s not cheap, but have you seen the mural on the side of the Tres Hombres Cantina?”

“I’ve seen it.”

“Sam did that. He’s really good.” I told him the price Sam had quoted. “He said he could have it done in time if he could start in the next couple of weeks.”

Matt continued looking at my amateur picture and then nodded. “Let’s do it…”

“Really?” I asked.

“This whole plan is great. I like it so much better than the Children’s Room in Seattle. Alan’s going to be jealous.”

I threw my arms around Matt. “I’m so excited.”

“It’s really good, Elizabeth. But I’m not sure this reaction, or this hug, is very professional.” He laughed. “And neither is this.” Then he kissed me. I’m sure it was a good kiss but I could hardly think about it. My mind was already starting the job.

“Ahem.” I stepped away from Matt. Meg was leaning against the doorframe looking way too sexy in her tight, gray skirt and three-button-unbuttoned silk blouse. Did she really need to look like a high-priced escort to work at a bookstore? Matt’s bookstore?

“Did you need something, Meg?” Matt asked.

“I just wondered if you’d talked to your mom since she got home,” Meg said.

“I’ll probably talk to her later tonight,” Matt said. He suddenly seemed uncomfortable.

“Be sure to tell her thanks for including me at dinner Saturday night. It’s always so nice to see her.” Meg gave me a pointed look.

Saturday night? He’d had meetings Saturday. Suddenly it dawned on me. Matt hadn’t ever said it was a work meeting. He’d just said he was meeting with some people. Had those people included his mother?

“I’ll tell her,” Matt said. He turned back toward me, dismissing Meg.

“I’m so glad she could come see my condo. Now she can tell my mom how great I’m doing here. Maybe my mom will finally come and visit.”

Matt looked frustrated. Or was it guilty? I’d been trying for weeks to arrange for Matt to meet my parents. I assumed he’d want me to meet his family, but his mother had just been in town and he hadn’t introduced me. But Meg had been invited and they’d even taken a tour of Meg’s condo.

“Have you already closed out the register?” Matt asked.

“Yes. I’m just getting ready to go. Have a nice evening.”

I turned around and leaned over my portfolio, putting all the pictures back inside in a haphazard way. Tears were stinging my eyes and I blinked furiously. “I’ll give Sam a call and tell him we want to go ahead,” I said when I could trust my voice.

“Elizabeth,” Matt said. I couldn’t look at him. I took the drawing from Matt’s hand and shoved it into my case.

“This should be fun. I’ll start placing the orders. Did you want to give me an expense account or a credit card?” I lingered over my papers, not wanting to look at him.

“Elizabeth.” Matt pulled me up and turned me toward him. I still couldn’t look at him so I focused on the third button of his blue shirt.

“I’ve got to go,” I said.

“I think we should talk.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.” My voice broke. Matt tried to pull me into his arms, but that was too much. I wrenched myself away and started toward the door. I forced myself to walk, refusing to create extra drama. “You can tell me later how you want to handle the money,” I said.

Matt moved quickly. Before I was even to the door, he was standing in front of me. “Please let me explain.”

“I don’t want an explanation.” I really did, but I didn’t want one now. I wanted one when I was in control and I wouldn’t cry in front of him. I tried to move past him but he put out his arm and held the doorframe. Now my choices were to either stand there or wrestle my way past him. I didn’t like either option but since I didn’t want him to touch me, wrestling was out of the question. “What Matt? What do you want? You want to explain? Explain. Tell me why you told me you had meetings over the weekend when it was really your Mom. Tell me why you and your mom would have dinner with Meg but not me. Tell me why, even though we’re dating exclusively, you don’t want to introduce me to your family.”

There was silence for a moment and then we heard the front door of the bookstore quietly close.

Meg! Meg had just left. She’d just heard every word I’d said. Hot red anger swirled together with my hurt feelings, creating a wildly combustible mix. I could imagine her smug expression. I wanted to call her every name I could think of. I wanted to slap Matt in the face for letting me go on like that while she was still here. Humiliation and rage and hurt were boiling up and threatening to explode.

“I want out of here. Let me past right now.” Matt didn’t move. “RIGHT NOW!” I yelled.

Matt slowly moved aside and let me walk past. The door hit the wall when I threw it open.

“Can I call you in a little while?” Matt asked. “When you’ve cooled off?”

“Call Meg,” I yelled over my shoulder.

I cried all the way home. I left the sample board and portfolio in the car. The last thing I felt like doing was working on a project for Matt. I felt like Janessa as I banged around the kitchen noisily trying to find something to eat. Nothing sounded good. There was nothing I wanted to do so I did what I always did when I was spitting mad. I put on some sweats and my running shoes and went for a run. I didn’t care that it was dark. Janessa wasn’t home to give me motherly advice and at the moment, I’d have enjoyed beating the crap out of someone trying to hassle me.

After twenty minutes my lungs were burning. I either needed to get angry more often or start running no matter my mood. I turned around and headed back home, even angrier that I felt so awful and out of shape.

When I got home, I took a long, hot shower. Slowly the anger melted away leaving only the raw, savage hurt of what Matt had done. My tears flowed down the drain until I couldn’t cry anymore and I turned off the water.

I rummaged through the cabinets again but nothing sounded good. The only thing left to do was go to bed.

I’d been in bed with the light off for about twenty minutes when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number. It was probably Matt, thinking I’d ignore a call from his regular number. I answered the phone.

“Hi Lizzie, this is Lola Keller.”

“Oh. Hi, Mrs. Keller.”

After a minute of small talk, Mrs. Keller continued. “Every year, Dave and I host a little get-together for the partners at his law firm and some of their best clients. It’s not a formal thing, more of an open house and mingling thing. Dave has a client whose wife is Emma Cho.”

“From Emma Cho Interiors?” I asked.

“That’s the one.” I suddenly felt even more humbled. They knew Emma Cho and had hired me to be their designer. “The Chos will be invited so I was thinking you should come. I’ll introduce you and she’ll be able to see the beautiful job you did here. I don’t know if anything will come of it, but it can’t hurt.”

“It sounds wonderful,” I said, “and I appreciate the thought, but…”

“Please don’t turn me down. If you’re worried about your boyfriend, don’t be. Chad said you were dating someone and I should invite both of you.”

I knew it would be awkward for Matt. He wouldn’t want to go. Of course, maybe since it was for Mr. Keller’s work, Chad wouldn’t be there. That would make it easier on both Chad and Matt.

But wait. Why was I worrying about Matt’s feelings? He hadn’t worried about mine. And besides, this was for my career. This was a big opportunity. Emma Cho’s design company was one of the most sought after in all of Portland. Matt could deal with it. Or he could not go. At the moment I didn’t really care whether he came with me or not.

“I’d love to,” I said.

“Oh good. I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll put you down for two.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Keller.”

The phone rang again a half hour later. This time it was Matt and this time I wanted to talk to him.

“Hello.”

“Elizabeth, don’t hang up. Please.”

“I knew it was you, Matt. If I wanted to hang up, I’d have just ignored the call.”

“You have every right to be upset, but please let me explain what happened.”

“I’m listening.”

Matt sighed and began. “My mom called a couple of weeks ago and said she was flying up for the weekend. She said I was so busy with opening the Seattle store she was tired of not hearing from me. She was only going to be here for a day and a half. It wasn’t like it was a long trip.”

Matt paused but I didn’t speak. “Are you still there?” he asked.

“I’m here. Just listening.”

Matt sighed again and I was glad this was hard for him. “I haven’t told her about you,” he said quietly. I waited. “I’ve wanted to but every time I start to, I just… I don’t know. It just seems like the wrong time or something.”

“Why?” When Matt didn’t say anything, I asked him again. “Why, Matt? Why is it so hard to tell your family you’re dating someone?”

“Because of how they are. They’ve always had some pretty strong opinions about who I date.”

“What kind of opinions?”

“Man, I hate this,” Matt said.

“Just tell me.”

“There’s an expectation that I should date people who… people that… girls that come from the right families or have the right careers or connections.”

I felt like I’d been slapped in the face. “And I guess I don’t fit the bill.”

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth.”

“They sound like charming people,” I said.

“I know it sounds like they’re terrible, but that’s not true. They just worry about me. They want me to be happy.”

“And we all know it’s impossible to be happy with a lowly bank teller who went to a state university instead of an Ivy League school.”

“You have no idea how much I wish I’d have hired you to do the Seattle Salamander. Then I could have introduced you as our interior designer.”

“And that would have made everything better?” I couldn’t believe this conversation. I was a nice, middle class girl and suddenly I was feeling like a peasant. Like scum.

Like Elizabeth Bennet! I was so familiar with this story. Matt’s mother was Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I’d have to stand up to her someday, but Matt hadn’t even given me a chance.

Matt’s voice was quiet. “I know how it sounds, but yes. It would have been easier to introduce you as an interior designer than as a bank teller.”

I could hardly believe this kind of prejudice existed. I thought it was only in old England that these distinctions were made.

“Why did you invite Meg?”

“I didn’t. Mom did. I told you before, our families have known each other for years. Mom likes Meg.”

“How nice for Meg,” I said.

“She’ll like you too when she gets to know you.”

“You have to introduce us for that to happen, Matt. And you’re afraid to. You’re too ashamed of me.”

“Elizabeth, I love you. I’m not ashamed of you. I wish your circumstances were different, but I’ve shown you I can overlook that. I think you’re smart, and beautiful, and talented. Except for your drawing of the mural.” His attempt at a joke fell flat. I just didn’t feel like laughing.

“I know I hurt you and I can’t even begin to tell you how bad I feel about that. I will tell my family. And they will love you. I was a coward and I’m sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?

I knew what I was going to ask him to do and I knew he wasn’t going to like it. “You can go with me to a party at the Kellers. They’re hosting a party for the partners at Mr. Keller’s firm and some of their best clients. Mrs. Keller invited me and said I could bring you. Chad said you should be invited.” I don’t know why I threw that last part in. I really wasn’t trying to make him jealous. I guess I wanted him to know Chad was a good guy.

“Why would she invite you to a party for his office?”

“Because one of his clients is married to Emma Cho and she’ll probably be there. Mrs. Keller wants to introduce us.” I almost stopped there but the hurt, sarcastic side of me would not be silenced. “Maybe, if I’m lucky, she’ll offer me a job on the spot and then I’ll be worthy to meet your mother.”

Matt caught his breath. “I’m sorry Elizabeth.” The line was quiet for a moment. “Of course I’ll go with you.”

Well, that was easier than I thought it would be.

“Will you forgive me?”

My body must have had time to replenish its supply of tears because they started flowing again. “I don’t know what to say, Matt. It isn’t that I don’t understand. I do.” I’d watched Pride and Prejudice enough times that I understood him perfectly. “But that really hurt.”

“I know, Babe. I promise, I’ll make things right. I’ll get on the phone right now and call my mom if it will make you feel better.”

“You don’t have to do it right now, but you know if we’re going to keep dating, you’re going to have to tell them about me. Even if I’m a bank teller.”

“I know. And I will. I will because I love you.”

“I love you, too.” It was the first time I’d said it. I was pretty sure I meant it but I wasn’t happy it had been uttered in such an unromantic situation.

I couldn’t sleep for hours. My restless mind kept playing through scenes from Pride and Prejudice. I was surprised at the similarities between Mr. Darcy and Matt. I smiled at the irony even though I didn’t feel like smiling. For the first time, I realized that Matt had failed to live up to Mr. Darcy’s courage and character. I hoped that someday he’d be able to measure up.

Chapter Twenty-five

Two busy weeks passed. I worked at the bank during the day and I worked at the bookstore most evenings. I’d primed and painted all the walls a creamy eggshell. A carpenter had built in all the bookshelves and now I was painting them. I’d also bought the low table and chairs in unfinished condition and I was painting them, as well, to ensure the colors matched. At the last minute, I decided to go crazy on the little set. I used all four colors on each piece but no two were the same. The table had four different colored legs and each of the chairs was a whimsical rainbow of colors. I loved how cheerful they looked.

I saw Sam some days at lunch, but mostly I watched the mural come together a chunk at a time. One day there was a little girl’s body, the next she had a head. Day by day the mural grew and it was even more spectacular than I’d envisioned. Sam was a genius.

Matt had been kind and attentive. I don’t think he’d mentioned me to his family yet, but I could tell he was trying to make up for it by being extra sweet. That was fine for now. I didn’t want to argue with him, but I was a little wary. At some point he’d have to let his family know about me. I didn’t want to be his embarrassing secret.

The night of the party at the Kellers arrived. Nerves and concerns crisscrossed through my body. I worried about Matt. I hoped Chad wouldn’t be there and yet, I hoped I’d see him. I was excited to meet Emma Cho but was scared she’d see things about the Keller’s house that I’d done wrong. Janessa had suggested I dress simply with one “wow” statement. I wore a simple black A-line dress with elbow-length sleeves. It hit right at my knees. It felt very fifties. My shoes were flat ballet Mary Janes. My statement was a pair of black and white houndstooth tights. Janessa had snagged me a pair when they came into the boutique. They were fantastic and I loved them.

Matt looked good in a pale blue button-down shirt and charcoal slacks. A buttoned vest and a silk tie finished the look. He could have been photographed for the cover of GQ he looked so stylish.

The party turned out to be a bigger affair than I’d expected. I’d pictured a couple dozen people milling around the living room and dining room, but the house was teeming with people. February had been cold and wet, but the first week of March had been dry, if not warm. The French doors in the dining room and the door from beside the breakfast nook were opened out onto the spacious back deck. Yard lights twinkled and two radiant heaters warmed the deck. Tables of food were served in the dining room, the kitchen and the deck.

Mrs. Keller hurried over to greet us. “I’m so glad you could come,” she said with a hug before she looked at Matt.

“Thank you for inviting us, Lola. This is Matt Dawson. Matt, this is Lola Keller.”

Matt greeted her kindly.

“Emma isn’t here yet, but they RSVP’d to say they were coming. I’ll come and introduce you at some point in the evening. In the meantime, just eat and relax and get to know some of these people. I’ll bet there are quite a few who will want to hire you before the night is out.”

“Maybe I need to hire you to be my publicist,” I said.

“Silly girl. You don’t need me. You just need people to see what you’ve done.”

The rooms did look beautiful. The lighting was soft and the colors rich. It almost boggled my mind to think it was my design and I had pulled it all together.

“You like what you did, don’t you?” Matt said, his arm around my waist.

“I’ve got to stop gawking at it like it’s such a big deal, don’t I?” I said and laughed.

“Maybe when Emma gets here, but until then, go ahead and gawk.”

We made our way to one of the tables of food and filled a little plate with finger foods. Two middle-aged women in black pants and white shirts were handling the food. It wasn’t nearly as fancy as the food served at Meg’s New Year’s Eve party, but it was tasty and presented nicely.

I looked around for Chad but he wasn’t there. I felt both relief and disappointment. An older woman in a pale blue suit walked toward us. “Lola just told me you’re the designer who redid her living room.”

“I am.”

“My dear, you worked a miracle. I told Lola at last year’s party that she couldn’t host another gathering until she got rid of those awful roses. I was thrilled when she said she’d hired a designer and my, oh my, did you work wonders.”

“Thank you. It was a lot of fun.”

“Well, I can’t wait until I’m ready to make some changes. I know who I’ll be calling. My name’s Gwen, by the way. Gwen Spielman.”

“Does your husband work with Mr. Keller?”

“Yes, he’s one of the partners.”

“It’s nice to meet you. And yes, please call me.”

“I will. It’s great to meet you, too.” Mrs. Spielman patted my arm and moved to another guest.

“You’ll be a full-time designer before you know it,” Matt said.

I was excited by Mrs. Spielman’s reaction to my design and I was sure Matt was just trying to be supportive, but I bristled a little anyway. Part of me wanted him to have to introduce me before I became a successful designer. I wanted his family to have to like me, even as a bank teller. I was the same person no matter which job I had. But tonight wasn’t a night to bicker and stew about that. I smiled at Matt and put my arm through his.

And then Chad walked in. And not alone. He had a cute strawberry blonde with him. She was laughing at something he’d said just before they walked in and I suddenly felt sick. He looked my way and our eyes locked for just a moment. He nodded and turned away first.

I braved a glance at Matt, hoping he wouldn’t be upset. Thankfully he hadn’t even seen Chad walk in.

“We should go mingle a little,” Matt said. “You might as well talk to as many people here as possible. You know, ‘network.’”

I smiled and we moved out onto the deck where we joined a lively discussion about the Trailblazers. Matt didn’t pay much attention to basketball, but he knew enough to offer a comment here and there. The dining room was visible from where I stood and Chad and his date were laughing and filling their plates. They moved through the kitchen and into the family room. I could still see them through the window. In fact, I seemed to be aware of where Chad was no matter where he went.

A short time later, Mrs. Keller reappeared. “There you are, Lizzie. Can you come with me? I’d like to introduce you to Emma.”

We followed Mrs. Keller through the dining room and into the living room where a beautiful Asian woman was talking to another couple. At an appropriate break, Mrs. Keller inserted herself into the conversation. “Emma, this is the young lady I was telling you about. This is Elizabeth Barrett and her friend, Matt. This is Emma Cho.”

Emma extended her hand to shake ours. “I’m delighted to meet you,” she said. She was an adorable woman with a quick smile and an unusual smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose. I suddenly realized the only other Asian I’d ever seen with freckles was Lucy Liu. “Do you have a minute to talk? I’d love to pick your brain about how you came up with this beautiful design.”

I glanced at Matt who nodded and we sat down, Emma on one of the chairs, Matt and me on the couch. “I have to say I’m really happy to meet you,” I said. “I’ve heard so much about you. I even came in to see if you had any openings right after I graduated but the man who I met said you weren’t hiring.”

“Yes, it’s a sad thing. I’m sure you know what a toll it’s taken on most of the designers the last few years. A hard economy hits everyone but designers get hit especially hard. So many people just decide they’ll wait another year or two to make any changes.”

“That’s what I found as I was interviewing,” I said. I was thrilled to have this time to talk to Emma but I felt very self-conscious having this conversation in front of Matt. I knew he was pulling for me, but I felt like I was being scrutinized.

He must have sensed my discomfort because he shifted after a moment, leaned forward and interrupted. “If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you two to talk design.”

After he’d walked away we continued. “How did Mrs. Keller find you?” Emma asked.

“Her son, Chad, is a friend of mine.” I was so glad Matt had left. “I was very lucky.”

“I’d say you were all lucky. Tell me how you came up with this plan.”

I started by explaining that they wanted something very different than the shabby chic they’d had for so many years. I also told her that Mr. Keller had wanted something a little less feminine, but I knew Mrs. Keller would need it to have pretty details or she’d be disappointed. I described our meeting and how I’d been inspired by the plates.

Emma asked questions and we talked for more than thirty minutes. She was excited by various details, especially the rug and the fireplace. “You know, some designers aren’t brave enough. They keep things very safe and when they’re finished, you have a perfectly adequate room, but it doesn’t sing. That fireplace sings. This rug sings. These orange pillows sing. You have so many things singing in here, you’ve given them a choir.”

It was hard not to get excited by her analogy.

“Thank you. I’m so flattered that you like it.”

“I don’t flatter, Elizabeth. I design and when someone does it right, I get excited.”

“Thank you.

“I really can’t afford to take on a new designer. It’s been about all I can do to keep the three I’ve had for several years.” My heart sank a little but I did my best to keep a pleasant look on my face. “At the same time, I’m not sure if I can let talent like this turn into competition.”

She paused and looked around. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. I didn’t come to this party looking to interview perspective designers. In fact, I came expecting to get a little chuckle at the overdone roses. But…” She shook her head. “Let me think on this and then let’s talk.”

“I’d love to. Thank you, Mrs. Cho.” My insides were singing along with the rest of the room.

“Please. Emma.”

“Thank you, Emma.”

Emma was leaving town and so we arranged a time to meet for lunch in two weeks and Emma Cho joined her husband on the deck. I sat there for a few moments soaking in my excitement before I realized I needed to use the bathroom. I looked for Matt. His back was to me and he was talking to a couple of men, so I walked down the hall to the half bath. The door was locked so I waited in the little hallway.

“Is everything okay, Elizabeth?” It was Mr. Keller.

“Oh yes. I’m fine. Just waiting for the restroom,” I said.

“You’re welcome to use the one at the top of the stairs. Second door on the right.”

The stairs were dark and the only light in the hallway was from a lamp in one of the bedrooms. Thankfully, the bathroom was available.

When I stepped back out, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Sorry,” Chad said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I laughed. “That’s okay. It’s just pretty dark and I didn’t expect anyone to be out here.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I followed you. I wanted to say hi and see how your visit with Mrs. Cho went.”

“I’m supposed to call her Emma,” I said.

“Oh, it went that well, huh?”

“I was just hoping I’d get to meet her. I wasn’t planning it to be a real job interview.”

“What did she say?”

“She said I made the room sing.” Chad smiled. “We’ve got a lunch date in two weeks. She wants to talk. She said she can’t really afford to hire another designer but she can’t really afford for me to become her competition.”

“Wow.”

“I’m sure she was just trying to be nice.”

“So she’s just meeting you for lunch to be nice? I’m not buying it.”

“She wanted a few days to think things over,” I said.

“Well, I’m really proud of you.”

“Thanks.”

It was quiet for a minute. Chad leaned his shoulder against the wall. I was glad he didn’t seem in a hurry to leave. I didn’t want to ask but I had to know. “Are you here with a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Oh. I saw that woman so I just thought…”

“That’s Bethany. She’s my cousin.”

“Oh.” I laughed a little when I realized how close I’d come to saying, “Oh, good.” I felt the color rise to my cheeks. I hoped the dim lighting would spare me from my traitorous blushing.

“I wasn’t going to come, but Mom insisted.”

“You weren’t going to come because of me?”

“Well, yes. But not because I don’t want to see you.” He was quiet for so long I looked up at his face. He was watching me so closely. I held his gaze. “I always want to see you.”

I looked back at my hands.

“Sorry, Lizzie. I shouldn’t have said that.” My stomach was twisting into knots that a boy scout would be proud of. I almost couldn’t breathe. “I thought it might be easier for Matt if he thought I was here with a date.”

I smiled. “You’re right, of course.”

“I thought so.”

I looked up at him again. “Why are you so nice to me?” I said softly.

Chad wasn’t touching me, but I could almost feel his arm close to mine. I clasped my hands together to keep from touching his arm. The silence stretched out for several seconds. “You’re easy to be nice to,” he said.

I knew Matt was downstairs. Matt loved me. I loved him. So why did I want Chad to close that last couple of inches and take me in his arms. Why was I aching to touch him? Why did my heart feel like it was caving in? And why couldn’t I breathe?

I took a ragged breath and finally spoke. “I’m not sure I deserve a friend like you.”

And that did it. I’d broken the spell. Chad took a step back and I wanted to cry. “You deserve whatever you want, Lizzie,” he said.

I wanted a do-over. I wanted to handle things differently. I wanted to wipe away the word friend. I wanted to touch his arm. I was horrified when I realized I wanted him to kiss me. What was wrong with me?

“You’d better go back down. Matt’s going to wonder where you are.”

“Chad…”

“It’s okay, Lizzie. Just go. I’ll wait up here for a few more minutes.”

I turned and hurried down the stairs. I needed air. And space. I looked around at all the people, but couldn’t see Matt. The thought of searching for him or being forced to speak to anyone was overwhelming. I walked quickly to the front door and let myself out. The air was cold and brisk and chilled my lungs as I gasped it in. I sat on the porch step and leaned my head on the rail. I closed my eyes and let the cold air wrap its arms around me.

I’m not sure how many minutes I sat there before Matt opened the door. “What are you doing, Elizabeth?”

“I needed some air.”

“You look so cold. Let’s get you back inside.”

“Can we just leave? I’m ready to go home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Matt reached down his hand and pulled me up. “You’re hands are like ice.”

Matt turned up the heater in the car but it didn’t warm me. I felt cold from the inside out. Matt tried to tell me about his talk with a real estate agent who thought the market was starting to turn around. Matt thought that was good because he’d been thinking about selling his condo and buying a house. Later, as I thought back on the conversation, I wondered if Matt was trying to tell me something important. If he was, I missed it. Because all the way home, I missed Chad.

Chapter Twenty-six

“It’s sorta nice getting a Christmas present that I can look forward to for almost three months,” I told Janessa.

“And you’ve wanted to see Wicked for forever,” Janessa said.

“I just didn’t know things would be so crazy right now. I wish the play was in June. It almost feels irresponsible to get all gussied up for dinner and a play when there’s so much to be done.”

“You need a night to relax,” Janessa said. “You’ve been going non-stop since Christmas.”

She was right. It didn’t usually take me long to get moving in the morning but the last little while, it had been harder and harder to face the day. I worked at the bank until five, or six if I had to run the drive-through, then I put in another several hours each evening at the bookstore. Add to that my determination to be a good maid of honor and I felt like my tank was nearly empty most of the time.

I tried to ignore it, but I think part of my weariness was a nagging feeling of discontent. Something felt off kilter and I knew that at some point I’d have to do some soul-searching to make it right.

But right now I was too busy, so I stomped down any feeling of unease and shut out wayward thoughts. I had two jobs to do, a boyfriend to keep happy, a job interview to look forward to, and a best friend getting married. That was enough for now.

“Are you sure this looks okay?” I asked Janessa.

“You look fantastic,” she said.

“I don’t know about this,” I said, turning and looking at my reflection.

“Metallics are totally in. I promise.”

“I’m not doubting you. I’m just not sure I can pull this off the way you can. I’m so… shiny.” The dress was gold metallic brocade. It had three-quarter length sleeves, a classic boat neckline and a slightly full skirt. It was a gorgeous dress. Janessa’s boss had picked it up for her at a sample sale the year before and Janessa had only worn it once.

“Matt is going to die. I’ll bet Meg’s never worn anything like this.” I figured she probably had something like this in the back of her closet, but I didn’t want to think about Meg or her closet. “You look amazing,” Janessa said standing beside me and looking at my reflection in the full-length mirror. She fluffed up my curls. “He’s going to want you to wear this when you meet his family.”

I smiled at Janessa’s reflection and then turned and hugged my friend. “Let’s just hope I can walk in these shoes,” I said. Tonight I’d traded in my tights and flats for a pair of strappy gold heels. Not high heels. That would be a disaster. But these were higher than I usually wore. I hardly recognized myself and I knew I’d have to concentrate as I walked so I wouldn’t take a tumble. “Thanks for sharing your fantastic wardrobe.”

I had to smile at Matt’s reaction. “Wow, you’re stunning,” he said when I opened the door. “Let’s skip the play and I’ll just look at you.”

“Knock it off,” I said.

“You look like you just stepped out of a magazine.”

“It’s not mine,” I said. I felt a little embarrassed at the lengthy inspection.

“Well, it should be.”

“Oh brother. Let’s go.”

Dinner was Italian food at a little restaurant a block from the theater. The weather was cool and dry and we walked from the restaurant to the play. My feet were killing me by the time we reached our seats and I carefully slid off Janessa’s shoes and tucked them under my seat.

I was familiar with the play. James’s wife, Laura, loved musical theater. Before she and James got married she’d been in regional productions of Phantom of the Opera and Evita. Three years ago she’d given me the soundtrack to Wicked for my birthday and I’d learned the words to every song. “When are they going to make a musical of Pride and Prejudice,” I’d asked her one night as we watched the movie.

“Oh, they really should. Frank Wildhorn has done Jekyll and Hyde and Alice in Wonderland. He should totally do a musical version of Pride and Prejudice.

“I wonder if Keira Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen can sing,” I’d said. “If they can, he should hurry so they could play the parts.”

Laura had rolled her eyes. “You and Matthew Macfadyen.” What would she think if she saw Matt? Surely she’d see the resemblance. Janessa had noticed it.

“What are you thinking?” Matt whispered in my ear and kissed my temple.

“I was thinking they should make a musical of Pride and Prejudice,” I said.

Matt laughed. “Don’t you think that would spoil it?”

“Not if it was done by the right people,” I said.

“I think most of the time people should just leave the classics alone.”

“This is a classic,” I said, gesturing toward the stage.

“A classic of what?” Matt asked.

“Wicked. It’s a take-off of The Wizard of Oz.”

“It is?”

“Yes. It isn’t exactly the same story but you’ll see. It borrows the whole setting from The Wizard of Oz.”

“Hmm. I didn’t know that.”

“Hopefully that won’t ruin it for you since you think the classics should be left alone.” I elbowed him. “The music is just so good.”

“I’m sure I’ll like it fine. And I’m here with you, right?”

I smiled at him and he kissed my hand before holding it on his lap.

The lights dimmed and the orchestra began playing and I snuggled into Matt’s arm. This was a wonderful Christmas present.

The play was excellent although the blonde that played Glinda didn’t compare to Kristen Chenoweth on the soundtrack. That made “Popular” a bit of a disappointment, but when Elphaba sang “Defying Gravity,” I thought I might float away.

One of my favorite parts of the evening happened behind us when the man on stage held up the green baby. A little boy behind us started to giggle. “Look Mom, it’s a green baby.”

“I know, honey. Shhh,” his mother said.

He giggled again. “I’ve never seen a green baby,” he whispered. “It’s so cute.”

The mom shushed him again but a moment later he giggled again. “I want to see the green baby again,” he whispered. I couldn’t help but smile. A short time later, his mother had to quiet him when he started singing along to “Dancing Through Life.”

“Maybe he’s too young to be here,” Matt whispered in my ear.

I shook my head. “I think it’s great. Listen to how much he’s loving it,” I whispered.

* * *

I sighed happily and sat contentedly in my seat when the lights came up at the end of the play. “Thank you, Matt. It was even better than I expected it to be.”

“I’m sorry if Kael bothered you during the play,” the little boy’s mom said.

“He didn’t bother me at all. It was fun to see how much he was enjoying it.” The woman smiled. “Do you know all the songs?” I asked the little boy.

He nodded.

“Which one do you like best?”

“My favorite is “One Short Day” but I like them all.”

“It must have been hard not to sing along. You were a good boy.”

He smiled and tucked his head into his mother’s side.

“Thank you,” she said and they left.

Slowly the audience spilled out of the theater. We sat in the crushed, red velvet seats and waited, watching the finely dressed people leave. Some raved about the show, others were quietly lost in their thoughts. Finally Matt stood and reached his hand down to me. He was smiling.

“What are you smiling about?” I asked.

“How nice you were to that little boy. He knew more about the play than I did. I shouldn’t have been so hard on him.”

I smiled back and took his arm. “He was pretty cute, wasn’t he?”

“You like kids a lot?”

“I love kids.”

“No wonder you’re doing such a good job on the Children’s Room.”

* * *

The conversion of the sun porch from a cluttered storage room to a haven for book-loving children moved along steadily. I finished painting the shelves and the table and chairs. I hired the tattooed electrician and he and his embellished apprentice installed recessed lighting in the bookshelves. Hanging from the ceiling down the middle of the room were four clusters of pendant lights. Each cluster had seven lights with shades in different shapes and colors. I’d seen a similar look, all done in white, on the website for a nightclub in New York. Theirs looked pretty. Mine looked fun and I was happy with the outcome.

Sam finished the mural and even Meg had to admit it was stunning. The children were so realistic and their expressions reflected the wonder of the adventure of reading. The pages were alive and the characters and places floated into the air with a feeling of abandon.

Two days after Sam completed the mural, the carpet layers went to work. The day after that, I brought in the furniture, the beanbag chairs and the blocks. It was finished.

* * *

I took two pain relievers on the way to see Emma Cho. My head was aching and I wanted to be at my best.

“Elizabeth, thanks for coming in,” Emma said.

Emma Cho Design had its own building. Surrounding it was a strip mall, a gas station and a McDonalds. It seemed out of place with the rest of the businesses because it was such a beautiful building. White walls, glass and columns opened up into a large showroom filled with exquisite and expensive furnishings and accessories. Just walking through the showroom to Emma’s office made me want to redecorate the world.

“Thanks for seeing me,” I said.

I sat down in a low backed chartreuse armchair. The office was done in shades of gray and black. The only color came from the two chairs and the framed artwork. It was bold and elegant.

Emma jumped right in with questions about my education and my design aesthetic. It felt comfortable and friendly and not at all like an interview.

“This is difficult for me,” Emma said. “I can tell you’re a real talent and I don’t want to let you get away, but at the same time, no matter how I look at things here, I can’t hire someone right now. I’d like to make a proposal, however, and see what you think. I understand if you find a better situation, but we’re one of the best design houses in Portland and I’m crossing my fingers you’ll see the advantage of what I’m going to suggest.”

“I’m open to anything that will let me design instead of being a bank teller,” I said.

“I’d like to call you one of our designers. You’d probably have to keep working your second job for the time being, but we’d call you ours. The advantage of that for you is that any business you come up with will be yours and you’ll be able to use this showroom and our connections to get discounts and special orders. You’d keep all your own business and I wouldn’t take a percentage of what you charge. I think being able to use our name would help you if you want to generate business and I’m sure our connections could make any job you do more profitable. The reason I’d do this is because in exchange for that, I’d want to have first chance at having you work full time for us. If someone else offers you a job, I want the chance to meet their offer. What I’m hoping for is that some time down the road, business will have picked up enough that I can just hire you outright.”

“That sounds like a reasonable offer,” I said.

“I want you to take a few days and think about it. I don’t need an answer immediately. I want this to be mutually beneficial.”

“It would have been nice to have your connections on my first two jobs,” I said.

“I didn’t realize you’d done another job besides the Kellers,” Emma said. “I’d love to hear about it.”

“I just finished The Children’s Room at The Pink Salamander.”

“The bookstore?”

“Yes. By the college.”

“So you do residential and commercial design?”

“I guess technically, I do. I hadn’t really thought of it that way.” I laughed. “I just do whatever I can.”

“I’d love to see it sometime.”

“I’m sure you could stop by any time,” I said.

“I’d rather see it with you, if there’s a time we could stop by together. Do you know if they’re open evenings?”

“They’re open until seven.”

“Do you have time to stop by when we leave here?”

And so Emma Cho followed me to The Pink Salamander. At the sound of the bell, Meg glanced out from the parlor but when she saw it was me, she disappeared.

Emma liked what I’d done and loved what Sam had done. “He’s brilliant,” I said.

“And you’re brilliant for commissioning him. Once again, I’m really happy with what I see.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Emma left a short time later with the understanding that we’d talk about her offer in the next week or two. When she had gone, I pulled out one of the little chairs and sat down. I didn’t feel well. I was so tired. I rubbed the back of my neck. The headache had returned—it had never completely left—and a dull ache was settling into my joints. I leaned over and rested my head against the cool table. It felt so good not to move. I knew I should go home. Several times I thought about leaving but lifting my head off the table was too difficult to think about. So I stayed there.

Matt found me forty minutes later—asleep and burning up with fever.

Chapter Twenty-seven

“Elizabeth?”

I heard Matt’s voice but it was too hard to respond.

“Elizabeth? Are you okay?”

It took all my strength to slowly lift my head off the table. Matt was kneeling beside me, his hand heavy on my arm. “I don’t feel good,” I said.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” Matt’s voice was gentle but his hand felt so heavy on my arm. He was crushing it.

“Everything hurts. I’m so tired.”

“Meg. Can you come in here?” Matt yelled.

“Shh. It hurts.” I rested my head back on the table.

“I’m sorry. Just relax. We’ll get you home.”

“Did you call me?” Meg asked from across the room.

“Elizabeth is sick. I’m going to drive her home. Can you follow me in my car and bring me back?”

“I guess so,” Meg said. “Do you think it will take very long? I’ve got a nail appointment in less than an hour.

“I’ll get you back for your appointment.” Matt sounded exasperated.

“I can drive myself home,” I said weakly. I dragged myself to an upright position and slowly stood up. The crown of my head felt like tribal drummers were beating a war dance inside it.

“I’ll drive you home,” Matt said. “There’s no way I’m sending you off feeling like this. Let’s get you home and to bed.”

I pulled my car keys out of my pocket and handed them to Matt. I leaned against the door while he got his car keys, too weary to hold myself up. Matt tossed his keys to Meg, put his arm around me and walked me to my car.

I leaned my head back on the seat and closed my eyes.

“Just relax. I’ll have you home soon.” Matt squeezed my hand after he started the car, crushing the bones together until they felt like they were sawdust. “How long have you felt sick?”

“My head started hurting this morning but I took some Tylenol. I’m just so tired.”

“Hopefully you’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep,” he said.

Matt parked my car and walked me to my apartment. He used my keys to unlock the door and turned on the lights.

“Do you want to go get ready for bed?” Matt asked.

“I’ll just wait here until Janessa gets home,” I said.

I curled up on one side on the couch. Matt tucked a pillow under my head and covered me with a throw. “I’d wait with you for your roommate, but I’d better get Meg back for her appointment. Just try to get some sleep,” he whispered and kissed me on the forehead. I heard him drop the keys in the bowl before he locked the door from the inside and left.

I must have fallen asleep. I moved my head to look at the clock on the DVD player. My skull felt thin and fragile and I thought it might shatter if I moved it too quickly. I delicately lifted it until I could see the numbers. 2:47. I carefully laid my head back down and tried to think.

Had I really slept that long? Where was Janessa? Had she come home and gone to bed? With slow movements, I lifted myself back up and looked around the room. Every joint felt tender and brittle. I slowly made my way to Janessa’s door and peeked inside. The glow of the streetlight outside illuminated her untouched bed. Janessa hadn’t been here.

And then I remembered.

Janessa had left this morning for her buying trip to New York. She wasn’t coming home for four more days. I shuffled to the bathroom where I took two Tylenol with several swallows of water. A few minutes later, I was under my covers. I’d taken my shoes off but I was still in the skirt and blouse I’d worn to see Emma Cho.

I missed Janessa. I wanted my mom. Scorching tears burned down my temple and into my ear. I hadn’t felt like this for years—not since I was a junior in high school and had missed six days of school with the flu. It didn’t take long to fall back asleep.

My clock said 10:06 when a quiet chirping woke me up. Why didn’t I have my phone with me? It had stopped by the time I made it to the living room, where I found my phone beside my purse and keys on the entry table. It took me a minute to remember how I’d gotten home the night before. Then I remembered Matt had driven me.

I looked at the missed call. It was the bank. I was supposed to be at work. I hit the return call button and a moment later Delia answered the phone.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Is this Elizabeth?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I should have called.”

“You sound terrible. Are you okay?”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I just got really sick last night. I’m pretty sure I have the flu. I don’t think I can come in.”

“Of course not. We don’t want you sharing the flu.”

“I’m sorry, Delia. I’ll try to come in tomorrow.”

“No, sweetie. That’s not a good idea. You stay home until you’re well.”

I took my phone with me and went back to bed and slept until the late afternoon sun was slanting through the blinds, making bright stripes on the bed. Matt called sometime before it got dark. “Hey Elizabeth. How are you feeling?”

“Crappy. I think I have the flu.”

“Have you been able to get some rest?”

“That’s all I’ve done today.”

“Good. I was worried about you last night.”

“Thanks for bringing me home.”

“No problem. Is your roommate there?”

“She’s in New York.”

“So you’re alone?”

“It’s okay.”

Matt let out a long breath. “Elizabeth, I’d come over but with the Grand opening next weekend, I don’t want to catch anything.”

“I hope I’m better by then.”

“Me too. I want you to come.”

I don’t know if Matt said anything for a minute. I think I dozed for several seconds.

“I think I’ll go back to sleep,” I said.

“Of course. Good idea.”

“Goodnight, Matt.”

“Elizabeth, be sure to call me if you need anything.”

“Good night.”

* * *

My sleep was restless and filled with strange dreams. When I’d stir, I was so disoriented I didn’t know if I’d been asleep for several hours or a couple of days. When I had enough clarity I’d use the bathroom and take more Tylenol. Sometimes I woke up sweaty and hot. I’d throw my covers off and go back to sleep only to wake up sometime later shivering and cold. My phone showed I’d missed three phone calls—one from Janessa and two from Mom.

I dialed Mom’s number.

“Hi Lizzie.”

“Hi mom. I saw you called twice.”

“I did, but it was last night. Dad and I called to see if we had time to run over and see the room you did in the bookstore.”

“You called last night?”

“When we didn’t get an answer, we just stayed home and watched some television. We saw the best documentary about Abraham Lincoln.”

“That’s great, Mom. Sorry I didn’t answer.”

“Where were you?”

“I was here.”

“You don’t sound good. What’s the matter?”

“I’ve been sick. I think it’s been a couple of days.”

“Why didn’t you call me? Do you need anything? Would you like me to make a doctor’s appointment?”

“That’s okay, Mom. I’ve just got the flu. I’ve had it a couple of days so I think I’m probably on the mend.”

“Honey, I can come pick you up and bring you home, if you want.”

“No, Mom. That’s okay. I’ve just been sleeping. I’ll be fine.”

“Just call me if you change your mind. I’ll come right over and get you.”

“Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Be sure to drink plenty of water and get plenty of rest.”

I looked down at my crumpled skirt and blouse. How many days had I been wearing them? Was this the second day or the third? I checked the date on my phone. Ugh. Three days in the same clothes and there was no way to know how many times they’d been soaked with sweat and then dried.

My stomach rumbled and I realized I was starving. Had I eaten anything?

I rummaged through the kitchen trying to find something that looked good. Nothing did but I knew I needed to eat something. I was weak with hunger. I threw away an overripe banana and drank a glass of orange juice. When I couldn’t find anything I wanted to eat, I dropped one of Janessa’s strawberry Pop Tarts into the toaster and laid my head down on the counter while I waited for it to pop back up. I forced myself to finish it even though the cloying sweetness made me want to gag.

The crumb of energy the Pop Tart provided and my crusty blouse were enough to drive me to the shower. I stood under the water, keeping my balance with a hand on the wall. I managed to wash my hair and soap my body before exhaustion made it almost too difficult to rinse myself completely. I tried to brush my hair but my arms ached at the effort so I went back to bed without finishing.

A little after five, my phone woke me up.

“Hello.”

“Hi Lizzie. Can you talk or are you still at work?”

“Chad?” My mind was muddled and foggy.

“Is this Lizzie?”

“It’s me. I didn’t work today. I’ve been sick for a few days.”

“A cold?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s just the flu.”

“Just the flu?”

I smiled. “Just the flu.”

“You don’t even sound like yourself,” Chad said.

“I promise it’s me.”

“You poor thing. My mom swears a bowl of hot soup fixes everything. Tell Janessa to make you a bowl of soup.”

“I’ll tell her when she gets back in town.”

“She’s not there?”

“She’s in New York.”

“Have you been alone this whole time?”

“It’s okay. I’ve just been sleeping.”

“Have you eaten anything?”

“I had a Pop Tart earlier today.” Chad was quiet for so long I finally asked, “Are you still there?”

Chad sighed. “I’m here.”

I was suddenly afraid he was going to hang up. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to hear his voice until I fell back asleep. Somehow I had to keep the conversation going. “Did you need something?”

“No, I don’t need anything,” Chad said.

“Well, you called so I thought…”

“Oh, right. I wanted to see how your appointment with Emma Cho went.”

“It was pretty good. I’m supposed to think about her offer and let her know in a week or two.”

“She made you an offer?”

“Sort of.”

“I’m sorry, Lizzie. You sound tired. You can tell me about this another time.”

“No! I mean, that’s okay. I don’t mind telling you now.” I told Chad about the meeting with Emma.”

“She must really be impressed.”

My thoughts were coming slower. “I’d really like to work with her.”

“Lizzie, I’m going to let you sleep now.”

“Oh.” My mind was too fuzzy to think. “Are you sure?” That was a dumb thing to say.

Chad laughed. “You sound tired.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s not quite five-thirty.”

“Okay. Thanks for calling Chad.”

“Take care, Lizzie.”

I turned off my phone and rolled over.

I’d been asleep for about an hour when a knock at the door woke me. I thought about ignoring it but then the knock came again. By the time I reached the door, whoever was on the other side was knocking a third time. Or was it a fourth?

I looked through the peephole.

It was Chad!

I cracked the door a few inches. “You should have told me you were coming. I look like death.”

Chad laughed. “Lizzie, I don’t care what you look like. I’m here to keep you from starving to death. Can I come in?”

I swung the door open for him and stepped aside. Chad walked through holding two bags.

“What is that?” I asked.

“In this one is chicken noodle soup and rolls from the Soup Pantry. In this one is a chocolate cake.”

“Mmm. That sounds delicious.”

“And,” Chad said as he reached into the second bag. “I thought you might be bored so I asked myself what movie would make you feel better. How did I do?” He held up a DVD of Pride and Prejudice.

I smiled. “You did good.”

“You go sit down. I’ll bring this in to you.”

Instead of sitting down, I went to the bathroom. Horrified, I looked at my reflection. I looked ready for Halloween. My skin was sallow with dark circles under my sunken eyes. My hair looked like a clown wig from the bottom of a box, flat in places and a disheveled, frizzy mess in others. My sweatshirt and flannel pajamas hung loosely on my hungry body.

I tried to tame my hair and then gave up and pulled it into a messy bun instead. I considered a little makeup but the effort I’d exerted on my hair left me weary. I gave up and went back to the living room.

Chad walked in just after me. “You don’t have any trays so I used a cookie sheet,” he said.

On the cookie sheet was a bowl of steaming soup, a buttered roll and a glass of ice water. “This looks so good,” I said.

“Eat up. There’s plenty. I bought a gallon of soup.”

“Are you having some?”

“I’ll get mine in a minute. I wanted to get you all situated.”

Chad put the cookie sheet on the coffee table and covered me with a throw before placing the tray on my lap. “Don’t wait for me. Just eat.”

The first bite of soup tasted like a spoonful of heaven. The noodles were thick and substantial and the broth was rich and flavorful. I moaned in delight.

“You like it, huh?” he said walking back in the room with his own bowl of soup.

“I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything so delicious.”

We ate in silence. I was glad. I was too tired to talk and I didn’t want to stop eating anyway. I felt like a survivor on a desert island who hasn’t tasted real food in months. That wasn’t that far from the truth.

“Do you want more?” Chad asked as he took my tray.

I shook my head. “Maybe later.”

“What about cake?”

“Maybe a little piece if you’re having some.”

“I’ll eat cake with you,” Chad said.

A short time later he walked in with two slices of cake. I’d only planned to eat a couple of bites but it was so delicious I couldn’t stop, even though each bite was an effort to lift my fork to my mouth.

Chad took my dirty plate. I snuggled back on the couch and pulled the throw over my shoulders. I drifted in and out of sleep to the sound of Chad washing dishes in my kitchen.

“Lizzie,” Chad whispered and I opened my eyes. “I’m going to go.” I shifted to sit up and he patted my shoulder. “You don’t have to get up,” he said.

I didn’t want him to leave. “No. Please. I want to watch the movie.”

“Sure. I’ll put it on.” Chad put in the DVD and hit the play button before putting the remote on the table in front of me. “There you go.”

“Can’t you stay and watch the movie with me?”

“I should probably get going.”

It was a crazy reaction but suddenly tears filled my eyes and I was saying words I didn’t mean to say. “Please Chad. Please stay and watch the movie with me.”

Chad looked tormented. A tear escaped my eye and I quickly brushed it away. He reached down and touched my hair. “I should…”

I reached up and held onto his wrist, as he touched my cheek. “Please.”

Time hesitated, suspended between seconds. Piano music melted around us smothering thoughts of whether Chad should be here. I still held Chad’s wrist. Another tear spilled down my cheek and Chad wiped it away with his thumb.

Without a word, Chad sat down beside me. He tucked the throw under my feet and patted my knee. I put my arm through his and rested my head against his shoulder. He felt stiff and uncomfortable at first but finally he relaxed and his breathing became even.

Somewhere in the back of my tired and lonely mind a warning voice sounded in my ears. You’re a fool. You’re going to hurt someone. You’re so selfish you can’t even decide what you want. Matt loves you and you’re sitting here hugging Chad’s arm. Stop being so cruel. What’s wrong with you?

Another voice answered back. But I’m sick. I’m lonely and tired. And Chad’s so kind and generous and thoughtful and he cares about you.

Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. On the screen, Mr. Darcy was at the assembly ball, looking at Elizabeth with arrogance and curiosity. All I could see was Matt looking at me with a hurt and puzzled look.

Confusion filled my mind. I tried to sort through my jumbled thoughts and emotions but it just made me tired. Thoughts slowly fell away and I relaxed, floating in and out of balls and dinners and thoughts of Chad and Matt.

“He looks like Matt, doesn’t he?” I asked.

Chad tensed beside me. “Yeah, I guess he does.” There was a long pause and I closed my eyes, nearly asleep. I don’t know how much time passed. “Lizzie, is that why you’re with him?”

I hesitated. “I guess so.” I shivered under the throw as a chill settled over me again. “That’s bad, isn’t it? I’m a terrible person.” Chad put his hand over mine. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Shh. Wait ‘til you’re feeling better to worry about this.”

The movie ended and the same twenty-second clip of piano played three times before Chad turned it off with the remote. “I’m going now,” he said and I nodded. He scooted to the front of the couch and put his hands on his knees, turning to look at me.

“Thanks for everything,” I said.

Chad’s eyes held mine. He leaned toward me and I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead his lips lightly touched my hair. “We’ll talk soon. Get well, Lizzie.”

I stayed there on the couch, snuggled in the blanket. I tried not to think of the past. I didn’t want to think about the mess I’d created. I tried not to think of the future because no matter what future I chose, the path looked perilous and painful.

Chapter Twenty-eight

If I was going to get sick, I picked the right week to do it. Before being leveled by the flu, I had the deadline on The Children’s Room and my interview with Emma Cho. The weeks after my malaise would be filled with the grand opening of the Seattle Salamander, the unveiling of The Children’s Room and Janessa’s bridal shower, rehearsal dinner and wedding.

The flu had weakened me and stripped me of several pounds but I felt much better when I went to work on Monday. Weariness weighed down on me by the end of the day and all I wanted to do was eat dinner and sleep.

“I have good news,” Matt said when he called that evening. He was in Seattle for a couple of days but would return Thursday or Friday to take me back with him to the big celebration.

“I like good news,” I said.

“My parents are coming.”

Tenseness gripped my stomach. This was not good news to me. My feelings were all over the place and I’d hoped the weekend would give me a chance to enjoy Matt’s company and pull myself back together. Throwing Matt’s parents into the mix would only make the weekend stressful. I was surprised at my reaction. For years I’d daydreamed and planned and hoped for someone just like Matt. A year ago, I’d have been ecstatic to know that the man I’d dreamed of since I was a girl was in love with me and wanted to introduce me to his parents. Instead, the news filled me with dread.

“That’s nice,” I said, trying to sound happier than I felt.

“Don’t worry, Elizabeth. I told them all about you.”

“What did you tell them?” I asked. I wasn’t digging for compliments or being coy. I needed to know what I was walking into. Did they think I was just a girl he was casually dating or did they think things were serious?

“You really want specifics?” Matt asked.

“Only if you want to tell me,” I said, offering him a way out if he wanted it.

“I told them I was dating a beautiful girl that I wanted them to meet. I told them you’re smart and talented. I told them you’re working with one of the best interior design houses in Portland.”

“You didn’t mention that I’m a bank teller?” I shouldn’t have let it bother me, but it did.

“No. I don’t think of you as a bank teller. I think of you as a designer.” That was a nice thing to say but it didn’t ring true. I hated my cynicism and I told myself to stop doubting him. “I also told them I love you and that I’m planning for you to be part of my life for a long time.”

This was the place I was supposed to swoon as my teenage fantasies came true.

Instead, I was overcome with panic. Perhaps it would have been better if I’d been sick during the grand opening. How was I supposed to spend the weekend acting like the love of Matt’s life when my feelings were so muddled.

“Elizabeth? Is something wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Matt. I was just thinking.”

“They’re excited to meet you.”

“It will be nice to meet them, too.”

“You sound tired and I am, too. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Sweet dreams, Matt.”

I was brushing my teeth when my phone chirped.

CHAD: ARE YOU IN BED YET?

Why did I have to be so happy to hear from him? Why couldn’t I be happy with the happily ever after that was practically in my grasp?

LIZZIE: JUST BRUSHING MY TEETH.

CHAD: GOOD. I DIDN’T WANT TO WAK YOU. HOW ARE YOU FEELING?

LIZZIE: MUCH BETTER. I WENT TO WORK TODAY.

CHAD: HOW DID IT GO?

LIZZIE: I’M PRETTY TIRED TONIGHT BUT IT WENT WELL. IT CERTAINLY WASN’T DESIGNING BUT OH WELL.

CHAD: SOON YOU’LL BE ABLE TO GIVE THEM YOUR NOTICE AND DESIGN FULL TIME.

LIZZIE: I HOPE SO. MATT TOLD HIS PARENTS I’M AN INTERIOR DESIGNER. DIDN’T EVEN MENTION THE BANK.

As soon as I mentioned Matt I felt guilty. As long as I was dating him, I needed to put him front and center. But doing that made me feel unkind, like I was dangling him in front of Chad’s face. I had to make some decisions before I went crazy. I felt like I was betraying both of them.

Chad took longer to respond after that and I wondered if I’d upset him.

CHAD: I WANT TO TALK TO YOU.

CHAD: ACTUALLY, I NEED TO TALK TO YOU.

LIZZIE: YOU DO?

CHAD: YOU KNOW I DO.

The gravity of Chad’s words traveled through the phone and squeezed my lungs. I could hardly take a breath. I wanted to put off this conversation until I was sure of myself but that wasn’t fair either. It couldn’t always be about what was easiest for me. Sometimes it had to be about what someone else needed and right now Chad needed some answers. I just wasn’t sure I had them.

LIZZIE: I KNOW.

CHAD: CAN I COME BY TOMORROW? MAYBE WE COULD GO FOR A WALK.

LIZZIE: SURE.

CHAD: 6 OKAY?

LIZZIE: 6 IS FINE.

CHAD: SEE YOU TOMORROW.

I was a little sad at the abrupt end of our conversation but what were we going to do? Talk about the sand in our shoes when the Sahara was stretched out between us?

Chad was right on time. He smiled but his smile seemed tighter than usual.

“Do you want to come in?” I asked.

“Let’s just walk.”

The evening was mild and pleasant. The smells of spring filled the air. We walked in silence for the first block and I began to think we weren’t going to talk at all. Finally, Chad shoved his hands in his pockets and spoke.

“I’m not sure where to start, Lizzie.”

“You can start wherever you want,” I said.

Chad took a deep breath. “The other night you said something and I don’t know if it was because you were sick and delirious or if I actually understood you right.”

“I was sick. But I wasn’t delirious.”

“So you really are with Matt because he looks like Mr. Darcy?” Chad sounded incredulous.

“That sounds so shallow and silly,” I said. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Can you explain?”

I didn’t know how to start. At least a minute passed as we walked silently. Chad waited and I knew eventually I’d have to speak. Might as well get started. “Chad, when I was sixteen my mom took Janessa and me to see Pride and Prejudice. The one I’ve watched with you twice. I didn’t think I’d like it.” I sighed, feeling foolish. “But from the moment Mr. Darcy appeared on the screen, I was smitten.”

“You do realize he’s a fictional character, right?” There was an edge in Chad’s voice I’d never heard before.

“Of course, I do.”

“Are you sure?”

“I know he’s fictional, Chad, but most fiction is based in reality.” Chad looked dubious but I barreled ahead. “I decided after that movie that I wanted to find someone just like him.”

“You wanted to find someone just like the fictional man Jane Austen imagined in her mind?”

“Yes,” I said. I knew it sounded insane but I wanted him to understand so I kept going. “But I didn’t want just any Mr. Darcy. I wanted someone like the one in the movie.” We walked a couple of minutes in silence. “I know it sounds crazy but Chad, he’s nearly perfect and I wanted that.”

“Lizzie, he’s not nearly perfect. He’s arrogant and self-centered and hurtful.”

“But then he makes it up to her. He sacrifices for her and he does things to help her and the people she loves. And the way he looks at her. He adores her.”

“So you met Matt and he looked like Mr. Darcy and that was all it took?”

“I know it’s hard to understand.”

“I don’t understand at all,” Chad said. His face was unreadable. His eyes stayed focused ahead of him and for a moment he didn’t speak. “So did he turn out to be what you wanted?” he finally asked.

I sighed. “I thought so. He was brooding and arrogant. He was even wealthy, just like Mr. Darcy. But when I got to know him better, he started becoming a kinder person.”

“Just like Mr. Darcy.” I nodded but I don’t think he saw me. “And does he adore you?”

“He says he loves me.”

Chad stopped but kept his eyes trained on the sidewalk ahead of us. “What about you? Are you in love with him?”

“I’m not sure.” My voice was barely a whisper.

Chad turned toward me his eyes searching mine. “So why me? I don’t look like him. I don’t act like him. Why did you go out with me?”

I knew I couldn’t lie to him. “Because Janessa made me promise I’d go out with the next guy who asked me.”

“But if I didn’t fit the right mold, why did you keep going out with me?”

I pulled my eyes away from his intense gaze and looked at a tricycle tipped over by a porch. “Because she made me promise to give the next guy ten dates before I dumped him.”

Chad’s laugh was short and pained. “And I was the lucky next guy.” Chad shook his head. “So you went out with me against your will because you’d made a promise.”

“It wasn’t like that at all, Chad. I promise. I had fun with you. I really started to like you.”

“And then you met your Mr. Darcy and that was it.” Chad started walking away. He was right. That was exactly what had happened. But that wasn’t all that had happened. I hurried to catch up to him.

“That wasn’t it,” I said. “Things would be so much easier if that was the end of it, but it wasn’t.”

Chad’s abrupt stop surprised me. “Lizzie, I think you know how I feel.” I nodded. “But I can’t compete with a fictional character you’ve been in love with for years.”

“Matt’s real.”

“I know. But he isn’t Mr. Darcy and that’s who you see him as. I can’t compete with that.”

“That’s not true.”

Chad looked confused. “What’s not true?”

“You are competing. I can’t stop thinking about you,” I said quietly. I didn’t dare look at his face so I stared at his shoes. And then his shoes took two steps toward me and his hand lifted my face until our eyes met.

“Then what are you doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh Lizzie, you’re killing me.” He pulled me into his arms and held me tightly. “You have to decide. This won’t work. I can’t be your friend when every time I’m near you I want to kiss you. And I can’t be the guy who tries to steal you away. If you love him, go be happy. Live your dream. If you don’t love him, change your dream.”

My arms went around him, my face buried just below his chin. “Please don’t hate me.”

“Silly girl.”

“And please don’t think I’m a fool,” I said.

“I don’t. I think you’re a funny, charming, adorable girl with a crazy stubborn streak.” His lips touched my temple. “But you have to decide if that stubborn streak is serving you well or if it’s hurting you.”

I nodded. I stood on my tiptoes and pulled Chad’s face toward me. I wanted his lips on mine so badly I ached inside. Instead, I kissed him just to the side of his mouth. Even though I knew Matt wouldn’t agree, the placement of the kiss made me feel a little less traitorous.

“Oh Lizzie.” Chad’s arms tightened around me, nearly lifting me off the ground as he buried his head into my shoulder. We stood there like that for a few moments and then Chad took an uneven breath and stepped away from me. “We’d better go back.”

We walked back to my apartment in silence but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Nothing had been resolved but there was a peace in both of us knowing where things stood. The decision was entirely mine. Now what would I do?

* * *

A good-sized crowd stood in front of the Seattle Pink Salamander. Matt, Alan and Meg stood on the wide porch with a couple of city politicians. Matt looked elegant and handsome in a navy suit and cream-colored shirt. Alan looked a little disheveled in his gray slacks and blue shirt. He’d gone for a more casual look and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. He probably didn’t mean to, but he looked like the hired help next to Matt’s polished management look.

And then there was Meg. She must have spent a year of my bank salary to come up with the perfect cross between the grand-opening-party-girl and the take-me-serious-because-I’m-an-owner look. Her black pencil skirt hit mid-calf and hugged her figure snugly. Her blouse was black and white stripes—not black and white striped fabric, but black and white fabric sewn together to create the stripes. A prim bow at her neck and long sleeves were interrupted by slits in the fabric around the neck and at the shoulders that showed a surprising amount of skin. The bow and the stripes would have looked like a cross between a court jester and a librarian if it hadn’t been so unexpectedly sexy. Her five-inch ankle boots made her as tall as Alan.

One of the politicians—a graying man wearing a yellow bowtie—said a few words about how excited they were to welcome a new independent bookstore to the neighborhood. I glanced around the crowd while he spoke, wondering if Matt’s parents were here. When the politician finished speaking, Alan stepped forward and introduced Matt and Meg to the gathering. Matt waved. Meg blew a kiss.

And then they opened the doors for business.

I held back as the crowd entered. I didn’t see any exceptionally dressed couples. Either they weren’t what I expected or they weren’t yet here.

A plain girl stood behind the counter ringing up customers. I couldn’t help but wonder if Meg was responsible for that hire.

A steady stream of customers made their way through the store. It was a busy day.

I wasn’t sure where I should be so I started browsing the shelves looking for a design book to buy. I might as well help boost their opening day sales. I was looking through A World of Textiles when Matt’s arms slid around my waist and his lips kissed the side of my neck. “What do you think?” he asked.

“I think it turned out great. You guys did a really good job.”

“I think I like the layout of this store better than Portland. Except the Children’s Room, of course.”

“Of course,” I said. “Are you parents here yet?” I tried to hide the anxiety I was feeling.

“They’ll be here this afternoon. We’ve got reservations at The Herbgarden.”

“Mmm. That sounds delicious,” I said.

“I know you really liked it.”

“Who all will be there?”

“Just my parents and us,” Matt said.

I’d hoped to be free of Alan and Meg for the evening but suddenly a larger group sounded easier. Safer.

“Are you okay?” Matt asked.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re so pale. You’re not a hundred percent yet, are you?”

“I am tired,” I said.

“Take my car and go back to your hotel and rest.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

“I want you to go rest. Tonight’s a big night and I don’t want you to be tired. I’ll ride over with my parents to pick you up. Take a nap and relax. We’ll be by at about six.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Matt walked me to his car and kissed me. “Tonight’s going to be good,” he said.

* * *

I stepped off the elevator and paused to breathe. Just around the corner from this little hallway, Matt and his parents were waiting. I let out a slow breath and wiped my hands on the skirt of my black dress. It was the same dress I’d worn to the Keller’s open house but in an effort to make Matt happy, I was wearing plain black pantyhose, black flats and a simple silver necklace.

“Here she is,” Matt said and put his arm around my waist. “Mom and Dad, this is Elizabeth. Elizabeth, my parents.”

Matt’s dad shook my hand. His mom kissed the air over my shoulder. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Dawson,” I said.

“Just call us Paul and Ellen,” Mr. Dawson said.

Paul was tall and elegant, just what I imagined Matt would look like in another quarter century. Ellen was a beautiful woman—perhaps a little too polished and a little too smooth. Her eyebrows were more arched than a woman her age could manage on her own and her lips were a little too plump.

After a few pleasantries, we walked through the revolving door and a valet soon delivered the Dawsons’ car. “You drive, Matthew, since you know where we’re going. Your mother and I will sit in the back.”

The drive was pleasant with most of the conversation centered on the grand opening. The conversation continued after we were seated at the lovely crystal and silver-laden table.

“I really don’t know why you put up with Alan dressing like a peasant,” Ellen said.

Matt laughed. “Alan dresses how he wants. There’s not much I could say that would make him try harder.”

“Well, you and Meg looked stunning.”

“I guess Alan takes after his father,” Paul said. “Jim never did worry about his appearance.”

“Maybe if he had tried harder, Alice wouldn’t have taken up with that realtor.”

“Now we’re sharing Alan’s sordid family life,” Paul said. “And he’s not even here to defend himself.”

“Alan doesn’t need defended,” Matt said. “He knows about his family’s failings. Why do you think he wanted to move to Seattle?”

“Well that might explain why he wanted to move away but I’m still not sure why you and Meg had to leave,” Ellen said. “You could have opened a lovely bookstore in Arizona and then I wouldn’t be without my son and Margaret wouldn’t be without Meg.”

“That’s true, but Portland was calling my name,” Matt said. He rested his arm on the back of my chair his fingers touching my neck just behind my ear.

“And you were calling Meg’s name,” Ellen said. Matt’s hand stopped moving on my neck. An awkward hush fell over the table. Matt and his father exchanged a meaningful glance. “I still don’t know what happened between you two.”

“Mom, not now,” Matt said.

“Not now what? Surely your new girlfriend knows you and Meg were as good as engaged.”

Actually, the new girlfriend didn’t know anything of the sort. I took a sip of water, not sure what to say or even how to act.

“We were never engaged.” Matt’s voice was quiet. Paul coughed behind his napkin.

“Well, there might not have been a ring, but we all expected it any time.” Ellen looked from me to Matt and back to me. When the discomfort had reached its boiling point, she smiled. “But that’s clearly behind us now, isn’t it. Tell us about your family, Elizabeth.”

It took a focused effort on my part to sound relaxed and normal. “My dad is an accountant and my mom is the office manager for a doctor’s office.”

“How nice,” Ellen said but she didn’t sound impressed. “And where did you go to school?”

“I graduated from Oregon State.”

The waiter saved me from elaborating on my schooling by bringing us bowls of wild mushroom soup. It was delicious but I struggled to enjoy it. We ate in silence but it wasn’t a comfortable silence. Judgment and snobbery sat at the table with us and I struggled to keep my hand from trembling. I should have stayed home. Which was worse—a raging fever and chills or enduring this meal with people who thought I was inferior?

The waiter took our bowls and the interrogation continued.

“Matt has been so secretive about this little affair. You’ll have to fill us in on the details,” Ellen said.

“Mom,” Matt said at the same time that Paul said, “Ellen.”

“What?” She looked hurt. “A mother shouldn’t know about her son’s life? We were in Portland just weeks ago and hadn’t heard a word about you,” she said to me. “And now I find out my son is head over heels for you.” She made quotation marks with her hands. “I just want to know more, that’s all. Can you blame me?”

“Of course not,” I said. The storm clouds that blanketed the evening parted just a crack and showed a tiny sliver of silver. Matt had told her he was head over heels for me. That was such a romantic phrase and one I wouldn’t have expected Matt to use no matter how he felt.

Jumping at that, Ellen asked, “So tell me how you two met.”

I looked at Matt. He’d told them I was a designer. Did he want me to tell them he’d come through my line at the bank? Matt put his arm around my shoulder. “We met at work,” he said.

“Your work or his?” she asked me.

I hesitated so Matt could jump in if he wanted. “Mine,” I said when Matt didn’t respond.

“At your design company?”

I glanced at Matt’s face. He was staring into his water glass, his jaw clenched. Surely he didn’t expect me to lie.

“At the bank,” I said.

“You work at a bank?” Paul asked. “I thought you were an interior designer.”

I glanced at Matt again. “She is. She was just waiting for that to become a full-time job,” Matt said. “In the meantime, she was working at the bank.”

Matt’s use of the past tense bothered me and I was tempted to correct him just on principle. Then I looked across at Ellen’s “caught you” expression and I had a sudden realization. Matt wasn’t enjoying this interrogation either. He was barely surviving it and while he struggled not to drown in the ocean of his parents’ expectations, he was trying to hold my head above water, too. If I fought against him we might both go down.

Emma had said I could tell people I worked at her design house. She wanted me. It was just a matter of time. I threw out a life preserver I hoped would save both Matt and me.

“I work for Emma Cho Designs. She’s one of the best-known designers in Portland. In fact, she was hired to renovate several rooms in the Governor’s mansion last year. She’s quite brilliant.”

“And Emma was so impressed with Elizabeth’s work that she practically begged her to come work with her.” Matt barely squeezed my shoulder but it was enough that I knew he was grateful. “If we were smart, we’d hire Elizabeth to redo the house in Carmel before she gets so busy she can’t squeeze us in.”

“We haven’t been to the house in Carmel in over a year,” Ellen said.

“Maybe you’d want to go more often if you had it renovated.”

“We might. I’ve just enjoyed Cumberland Island so much more lately.”

“Then we should sell the house in Carmel and buy something on Cumberland,” Paul said. “It hardly makes sense to rent a house there while the Carmel house sits empty.”

“Would you want to buy something on Cumberland?” Ellen’s mood suddenly lifted.

“If we’re going to go there every few months, it makes sense,” Paul said.

“You know, I adore Cumberland. We should call a realtor and see what’s available.” The thought of another house made Ellen more generous. “If we do sell the house in Carmel, maybe you could do some work on it to make it show better. Stage it or something.”

“Maybe so,” I said.

The waiter brought out a roasted duck dish with a rich plum sauce. “Matt, did you know the Emerson’s bought a second house in Belize?”

“I think it was either a third or fourth house,” Paul said.

“What made them go to Belize?” Matt asked.

“George said it was because he needs a place to get away from the stress of his job but I think it had more to do with the stress of his taxes.”

“I love to travel to those little countries but I’d never want to live there. I’d be afraid I’d die of some disease or some drug cartel would come and murder us in our sleep,” Ellen said.

Paul rolled his eyes. “Always so dramatic.”

“You say that but you don’t want to go there either. Admit it.”

“You’re right, dear, I don’t. But it isn’t because I’m afraid we’ll be murdered in our sleep.”

“Have you ever been to South America, Elizabeth?” Paul asked.

“I haven’t.”

“Have you traveled out of the country at all?” Ellen asked.

“Just to Canada.”

“Well, if you and Matt get married…”

“Ellen, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Paul said.

“I said ‘if.’ I’m not getting ahead of myself. If you and Matt get married, we’ll have to send you to Europe. Everyone should see Europe.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“This duck is delicious,” Matt said. I looked at his plate. He’d hardly had a bite.

“I’m surprised you’re eating the duck,” Paul said.

“Elizabeth is helping me be less of a snob when it comes to food,” Matt said.

“And other things, too, I guess,” Ellen said softly under her breath.

Suddenly I knew I was going to cry. It was the same feeling I’d had as a kid when I’d run over a nail on my bike. I’d seen the nail go into the front tire and I’d hopped off the bike only to find it embedded in the rubber. If I pulled it out the air would escape in one giant gust. If I rode like crazy, maybe I could make it home before it was too late. Either way the air was escaping. I’d pumped as fast as my legs would go and by the time I made it to my driveway, the tire was sad and empty.

“Would you excuse me for a minute,” I asked but I was already out of my seat. I didn’t make it quite to the ladies’ room before the tears started. I sat in the stall trying to make them stop as fresh tears followed the ones I’d wiped away. When I finally felt empty, I splashed some cold water on my face—thank goodness for waterproof mascara—and walked back out to the table. I felt as empty as that flat tire and no amount of assorted treats would fill me up.

Twenty-nine

“LIZZIE, THIS IS fantastic,” Laura said. She and James had brought Jonah to Bradley Oakmont’s book signing, which was also the day of the public unveiling of The Children’s Room.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” I said and gave her a hug. Having some of my family there lifted a cloud I hadn’t known I was standing under.

“Jonah is a little young for Oakmont’s books but we wanted to see what you’ve done,” James said.

“And as long as we’re here, I’m getting a head start. Jonah will be the first kid his age with Super Nerd books in his library,” Laura said.

“I’m so glad you guys came.” I knelt down by Jonah who was sitting in one of the multi-colored chairs I’d painted. “Do I get a hug from my little peanut?”

Jonah looked up from his dragon picture book. “Aunt Lizzie.” He wrapped his chubby arms around my neck. “Will you read to me about the dragons?”

“She can’t right now,” Laura said. “But we’ll buy that book and the next time Aunt Lizzie comes over, she can read it to you.”

“Okay.” Jonah sat back down with his book and I stood up.

“How are you feeling?” I asked Laura.

“Like I’m about to burst. But she’ll be here in the next few weeks, so I’ll survive.”

“You look good,” I said.

“Yeah, right!”

“I’m serious,” I said.

“I feel pretty good. Better than I did with him, that’s for sure.” Laura had been confined to bed for the last month of her pregnancy with Jonah.

“I’m proud of you, Lizzie,” James said. “This place looks great. You turned out way more talented than I expected.”

I rolled my eyes. I saw Matt across the room with Bradley Oakmont. His eyes met mine and he nodded and smiled. A few minutes later he came up beside me.

“Matt, this is my brother James and my sister-in-law, Laura.”

“Good to meet you,” Matt said, shaking their hands.

“And this is Jonah.” I ruffled Jonah’s curly blond hair. He looked up at Matt for a second and then returned to his book.

Matt chatted with us for a few minutes before returning to Mr. Oakmont.

“I see what you mean,” Laura said quietly. “He looks just like Mr. Darcy.”

“This is clearly a conversation not meant for me,” James said. “Jonah, I’ll read you that book.” James sat down cross-legged on the floor by Jonah’s little chair.

“I know. It’s crazy, isn’t it?” I said.

“I guess your dreams have come true.” I shrugged. “Lizzie?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m not so sure.”

“What do you mean?”

I was afraid to say more. I felt like my dreams were a shiny balloon I held in my hand. In my other hand was a pin. If I told Laura the truth about my reservations and my confusion, I’d be sticking the pin into the shiny surface of the balloon. Maybe the balloon would just bend under the pin and would hold up. But maybe it would burst, leaving my dreams in ruins. I wasn’t ready to take that chance yet.

“I’m not sure what I mean. I guess it’s hard to know.”

“Everyone has doubts sometimes,” Laura said.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” James said from the floor, proving he’d been listening after all.

“I haven’t had any doubts since long before we got married,” Laura said.

“That’s what I like to hear,” James said and kissed Laura’s knee.

“How romantic,” I said.

“Hey, it’s all I can reach right now,” James said.

Laura patted my back. “You’ll figure things out.”

* * *

Trees were budding, tulips were blooming and sunshine came to visit every day in April. I crossed my fingers it would continue all the way through Janessa’s wedding. The bridal shower was a small, cozy luncheon at Janessa’s favorite Mexican restaurant with the guests being those who loved Janessa best—our mothers, a few cousins, some co-workers, and me.

I went with Janessa for her final wedding gown fitting and then we celebrated with pecan sticky buns and hot cocoa at Elrod and Evelyn’s bakery, the same bakery where we ate pecan sticky buns when we skipped biology in high school.

I was buckling my turquoise sandals when my phone rang.

“Hi Matt. You almost here?”

“Babe, I’m so sorry. I meant to call you earlier and then I got tied up here and I forgot.”

“So when will you be here?” I looked at the clock. It was almost time to leave for the wedding rehearsal and dinner. If he was running too far behind, he’d have to meet me there.

“I’m in Seattle.”

I deflated on the edge of the bed. “What? Why are you still there? You were supposed to leave this morning.”

“Like I said, I got involved in some things here and I didn’t get away.”

“But Matt, this is a big deal. This is Janessa’s wedding rehearsal. And dinner. And I’m supposed to bring a date.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“What about tomorrow? Will you be here for the wedding?”

“I promise I will. I’m finishing up these books with Alan and then I’m driving home tonight. I promise I won’t leave you hanging.”

A little breeze of sadness blew through my heart. Why was it so easy for Matt to blow off things he knew were important to me? Janessa was my best friend. She was more like a sister to me. This was an important time and Matt was in Seattle helping Alan with some books. Did they really have to be gone over today?

I applied some lipstick and straightened my pink shift dress before putting on a white cardigan. I looked pretty. Matt was missing out.

The rehearsal at the church went off without a snarl. The cheerful mood was like a warm fire on a cold day and soon my disappointment that Matt wasn’t coming disappeared and I joined in on the fun.

Ben and Janessa beamed. I choked back tears when I saw how Ben looked at Janessa. The minister teased them by making them practice their kiss several times and the room became more and more jovial as each kiss became longer and more dramatic. After the last kiss, one that had Janessa bent backward nearly to the floor, she came up with tears of laughter streaming down her face.

“The bride’s crying and she’s not even married yet,” Ben’s father said. “This isn’t a good sign.”

When the minister determined they were proficient enough kissers, the party convened at a private room at Torta-Landia, the site of Janessa and Ben’s first date.

When the meal was finished, Ben’s father stood and tapped his glass. “Don’t anyone think you’re leaving. We’re just getting started.” A few people cheered and he continued. “Before they bring in our dessert, I thought we could share some of our favorite memories of Ben and Janessa.”

I laughed more than I had in ages as stories were told of Ben and Janessa. Some stories were from before they met. Others had happened in the last eighteen months. With each story, jokes and teasing and laughter followed. It was obvious Ben and Janessa’s families liked each other and an easy rapport filled the room. I wondered how they knew each other so well.

When it was my turn, I stood, a little nervous. “Janessa has been my best friend forever. I’ve watched her learn many skills but one she will probably always struggle with is cooking.” Several people voiced their agreement and laughed. “After Janessa had been dating Ben for a couple of months, she decided to cook him a special dinner. She bought steaks and marinated them to grill. She saute’d mushrooms, baked potatoes and even made a salad that didn’t come out of a bag.”

“Don’t forget the banana cream pie,” Ben said.

“Right. She even made a banana cream pie. Just before the steaks were finished, she and Ben were setting the table and suddenly there was a huge explosion. Janessa dropped the bowl of salad and it shattered on the floor. The explosion had come from the oven. Janessa shrieked and said they needed to evacuate the building because it was probably a gas line or something. She almost cried when Ben walked to the oven door and started to open it.”

“I thought he was going to explode, too,” Janessa said.

“When Ben opened the oven, he found the remains of two baked potatoes. They’d exploded and were all over the oven.”

“There’s still potato bits burned onto the roof of the oven,” Janessa said.

“Don’t tell them that. They’ll think we never clean,” I said.

“I had no idea you needed to stick a fork in a potato before you baked it.”

“You know now,” Ben said and kissed Janessa.

When all the stories had been shared, a happy buzz overtook the room as assorted conversations took place over fried ice cream and flan.

“It’s a beautiful thing when two families find each other like this.” Ben’s brother Sam had slid into the empty chair beside me.

“I didn’t think your families knew each other,” I said.

“We didn’t. Tonight’s the first night everyone’s been together. My parents met Janessa’s parents when they got engaged and some of us have met a relative here and there, but this is the first big family gathering.”

“It’s amazing how well everyone gets along. They’re all having so much fun together.” I knew if I married Matt, we’d never be able to have a gathering like this. Our wedding would be awkward and stilted at best. I imagined babies coming and each family trying to avoid the other. I pictured school plays where we sat between two families who had nothing in common. It made me sad and suddenly I was glad I was here to enjoy this alone. Would Matt enjoy the easy banter, the familiar jokes, the sarcasm? I didn’t know and I was glad I didn’t have to worry about it and could just enjoy the evening.

“Janessa said you were bringing your boyfriend.”

“I was. He got held up in Seattle. But he’ll be here tomorrow.”

“That’s good.”

We sat quietly for a minute, both of us watching Ben and Janessa.

“They’re so good together,” I said as they laughed at something just between the two of them.

“They’re lucky to have found each other,” Sam said.

“Hey Sam,” a cousin called from two tables over. “You were on that rafting trip in Idaho. Come settle this bet.”

“I guess I’d better go keep the peace.” He scooted back his chair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

“Sorry Matt couldn’t come tonight,” Janessa said a few hours later. We were sprawled out in her childhood bedroom. Her twin bed had been replaced a few years ago by a queen bed to accommodate company. Tonight we were staying here, our last official sleepover before she became Mrs. Stapleton.

“I’m not,” I said. Janessa rolled onto her stomach to look at me but I kept staring at the star-filled ceiling. “Remember when we hung all those?” I asked pointing at the white plastic stars. When the lights were off, they’d glow, but in the light of the two lamps, they looked flat and childish.

“I remember. Mom didn’t think they’d actually work and she made me promise if they didn’t I’d take them all down myself.”

“How many are there? A hundred?”

“At least. I bought four packages. I don’t remember how many were in each package.” Janessa studied my face. “Why are you glad Matt wasn’t here?” I shrugged. “Not an answer,” she said.

“I don’t know. I just think it was more fun without him.”

“Really? Why?”

I propped myself up on my elbows. “Janessa, tonight is not about Matt. Or me. It’s about you. And you looked beautiful tonight. And so happy. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thanks. And since tonight is about me, I get to decide what we talk about. And I want to know why you’re glad Matt couldn’t come.” She sat up and crossed her legs facing me.

“You’re so manipulative,” I said without any irritation.

“I know. So out with it.”

I sat up and faced her. “It just wouldn’t have been as fun. He doesn’t joke a lot or laugh like that. I just think it was more comfortable this way.” Janessa nodded. “I can’t imagine my family and Matt’s family getting along the way your families do. I can’t imagine a rehearsal dinner that’s so much fun.”

Janessa was quiet for a minute before she spoke again. “Lizzie, you know I love you, right?”

“Uh oh,” I said with a smile.

“You know, right?”

“Yes,” I said. “I know.”

“Then I want to tell you something and I don’t want you to get mad. No storming out and leaving me without a maid of honor. Promise?”

“I promise.”

She took both my hands in hers. “Matt isn’t right for you.”

Where did those tears come from? Tonight was happy and I was with my best friend. Why were tears suddenly streaming down my face?

“You’re supposed to be with someone fun,” she continued. “Someone cheerful and that can make you smile. Not someone stodgy and uptight and worried about appearances. Matt might be a great guy for someone else. But not for you.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“You do?” Janessa’s face looked so shocked I almost laughed.

“I was watching you two tonight and I saw the way Ben looked at you.” And then it hit me like the pin bursting the balloon. “He looks at you like Mr. Darcy looks at Elizabeth,” I said, more to myself than to Janessa.

“That’s because he adores me,” Janessa said matter-of-factly.

“I don’t think Matt will ever look at me like that.” Fresh tears flowed.

“That’s because he’s not the right man for you, Lizzie. Somewhere out there is a man who will look at you the way Ben looks at me. The way Mr. Darcy looked at Elizabeth.” Janessa rolled her eyes as she said that. She was so tired of my obsession with Mr. Darcy, I knew it was only with great effort that she acknowledged him at all.

“I’m such a fool,” I said. “I based my entire life on a in a movie.”

Janessa hugged me. “Lucky for you, you’re only twenty-three and you haven’t married the wrong person. Yet. Don’t let it happen.”

“I won’t.”

* * *

The wedding was beautiful. The mood from the rehearsal dinner carried over, but in a warm and muted way. The men wore cocoa brown suits. The women wore shades of lavender and violet. Flowers perfumed the air and the sun was shining. Matt smiled at me as I walked in ahead of Janessa. I smiled back.

After the ceremony, in which the minister only made Janessa and Ben kiss once, we reassembled at Janessa’s grandfather’s house. His sweeping backyard was trimmed and manicured. A large tent was set up for dinner and dancing. Benches and chairs were placed around the yard for easy visiting.

“Everything is so beautiful,” I said as I stood with Matt at the edge of the tent.

“It’s very nice,” Matt said. “Mom will probably want to have ours at the country club. We’ll probably want to have something here and there.”

I looked at Matt, shocked. He smiled. This was going to be much harder than I’d thought.

The reception dragged on. The atmosphere was fun, the food delicious, and I managed my maid-of-honor duties without a problem, but deep in my stomach, a knot had formed. At first it was just a little slipknot, but as the festivities continued, it became more tangled and bigger and tighter. By the time we danced I could hardly speak.

At some point, Janessa grabbed my hand. “Come help me change to leave,” she said. I was relieved to get away from the reception. I helped Janessa change out of her lacy dress and into a 1950’s looking silk suit, complete with a little veiled hat.

“You look so good,” I said and kissed her cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now listen.” Janessa took me by the shoulders and made me look at her. “You can do what you have to do. Be brave. Don’t mess up your future because you’re afraid to change your dream.”

This was the second time in a month someone had told me I could change my dream. I knew it was true. I knew what I had to do.

“I won’t. Now don’t worry about me.”

“Lizzie, I’ll always worry about you. I can’t help it. I worry because I love you so much.”

We held each other close and then walked down to the driveway, where I relinquished her hand to Ben.

* * *

“I’ll bet you’re tired,” Matt said as he drove me home.

“A little.”

“You should sleep in tomorrow and then let’s go see a movie and get some dinner,” Matt said.

I sat up straighter in my seat and turned toward him. “Actually, can we go somewhere and talk?” I asked.

“Sure. We can do that instead of a movie.”

“No, not tomorrow. I mean right now.”

“Oh.” Matt looked at me with a curious expression. “Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere is fine,” I said. I didn’t want to lose the little storehouse of courage Janessa had given me. “Actually let’s go right there. To that park.”

“It’s getting cold and you don’t have a jacket.”

“We can just sit in the car.”

Matt pulled into the parking lot and turned off the car. “What’s going on, Elizabeth?”

I took a deep breath and jumped in. “I don’t think this is working.”

“What’s not working?”

“This. Us. I don’t think we’re right for each other.”

Matt looked like I’d just sucker punched him. “What do you mean?”

“Matt, we’re not right for each other. We’ll never make each other wildly, gloriously happy.”

“I’m happy, Elizabeth.”

I felt sick inside. I didn’t want to hurt him but I wasn’t the right girl for him and he wasn’t the right guy for me. “Matt, I wish you could have seen the dinner last night.”

“Elizabeth, I’ve apologized for missing the dinner. I should have been here. If I’d known how upset you were going to be, I’d have come home and then gone back later.”

“Matt, it isn’t that. I’m not upset. And I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty. I said it because if you’d have been there last night, you’d have seen what blissfully happy people look like. It’s the way they look at each other and the way they take care of each other. It’s the way their families were together. Matt, we won’t ever have that. No matter how hard we try.”

“Is this because of our families?”

I shrugged. “Maybe a little. But if we felt like Ben and Janessa, our families wouldn’t even matter. If we felt like they do, you wouldn’t care what I do for a living. I wouldn’t care what your mom thinks of me. It wouldn’t matter if every family function was hard and uncomfortable because we’d have each other and that would be all that matters. But that’s not how we are.”

Matt was silent. In just moments his shock was mutating to anger. His jaw was clenched and his hands gripped the steering wheel.

“You’ll be happier with someone else,” I said softly.

“Are you serious?” he asked and I nodded. “Do you realize how angry I’ve made my parents, especially my mother? Do you realize how careful I’ve been to protect you from the wrath of almost everyone in my life? And this is the thanks I get?”

I started to cry. “I don’t want you to have to do that.”

“Well, I did. I was protecting you from my mom. I’ve even had to protect you from Alan and Meg.”

Matt shook his head. I reached my hand over and touched his arm. “I’m sorry.”

Matt pulled away from my touch and shook his head.

“So am I,” he said.

Matt turned on the ignition and peeled out of the parking lot. He drove much too fast and soon we were in front of my apartment. He put the car in park but didn’t turn it off or get out. He didn’t even look at me.

“Matt, I really am sorry.”

“Don’t be. Life just got a lot easier for me.”

I sat there a moment, unsure what to do. I didn’t want to leave things ugly between us but I couldn’t offer any hope. If Matt even wanted any hope. I couldn’t tell if he was more hurt or more angry.

“Get out Elizabeth.”

“Matt…”

“Goodbye, Elizabeth.”

I bit my lip and opened the door. I’d barely closed it before Matt pulled away from the curb. He didn’t look back.

Chapter Thirty

Clouds and rain kept my room dark the next morning and I didn’t awaken until nearly noon. The house was quiet and I missed Janessa, but I felt calm and happy. When I thought about Matt, I felt sad for the way things had ended but I felt no regret.

Thoughts of Chad danced through my mind. I wanted to call or text him. I even considered driving to his house, but decided I should wait. The change in my circumstances felt too new and it seemed important that I take some time. I wanted to move forward with purpose and deliberation, not just run to Chad in a knee-jerk sort of way.

For three days it rained but the rain couldn’t dampen my spirits. The future held the promise of love and happiness and I greeted it with patience and contentment.

A few days after my breakup with Matt, I looked up from my window at the bank and there was Meg. I hadn’t seen anyone from The Pink Salamander in the days since the wedding and I’d been dreading the time when Matt would appear. But it wasn’t Matt who stood at the end of the line. It was Meg and she was watching me.

Meg’s stare unsettled me a little and although I tried not to look at her, my eyes seemed pulled there like they were on a leash. Her gaze didn’t waver and as she moved closer to the teller windows, her mouth curved up in a smile. Or was it a sneer? It was difficult to tell.

When it was her turn, she stepped up to Courtney’s window. I breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t come to mine. I had nothing I wanted to say to her and she certainly could say nothing I wanted to hear.

Meg finished her transaction at the same time as the stooped grandmother in my line finished hers. Before the little old woman had even hobbled away, Meg stepped over.

“Patience, my dear,” the old woman said and patted Meg on the arm. Meg kept her glare fixed on me as she brushed the lady off.

“Hi Meg,” I said.

“You’re crazy,” Meg said and shook her head.

I wasn’t sure what to say to that, especially not knowing what Matt had told Meg. “Is Matt okay?” I asked.

Meg hmphed. “Matt’s great. His life is a lot better without you,” she said. I wondered if she meant her life was better but I didn’t say it. I noticed Delia watching us.

“Can I help you with anything else?” I smiled and kept my voice friendly. No sense creating a scene.

Meg shook her head, her eyes flashing sparks of hate. “I told him good riddance, but you’re crazy. Don’t think you can come back when you come to your senses. He’s through slumming.”

With that, Meg turned and walked away, her high, strappy sandals clicking as she walked.

* * *

My phone rang as I walked into the bank on Thursday morning. I paused just outside the door to answer it.

“Hello Lizzie. This is Emma Cho.”

“Hi Emma.

“Could you come see me today when you get off work?”

“Of course.”

“Wonderful. It won’t take long. I just want to talk to you about something.”

It was difficult to concentrate the rest of the day. Two weeks earlier I’d told Emma I’d like to accept her offer. I hadn’t spoken to her since. With the busyness of the wedding and no potential jobs in sight, there hadn’t been much to say. I hoped she wasn’t already unhappy with our arrangement.

A couple was looking at lamps when I walked into the showroom.

Seth, one of the designers was working behind the counter. He smiled when he saw me. “Emma’s in her office.”

Emma’s office door was open, so I knocked on the doorframe.

“Lizzie, come in. Have a seat.” I sat across the desk from her. “I have some news,” she said, her hands clasped on the desk in front of her.

“Good news?” I asked.

“I think you’ll like it.” I sat forward in the chair. “Alexis and her husband are moving to Los Angeles.” She smiled.

“Alexis?” I asked.

“One of my designers. She’s been here for a little more than four years. Her husband just accepted a job offer in L.A. That means I have a full-time spot for you.”

“Are you serious?”

Emma smiled. “I certainly am. In fact, Alexis has a couple of clients she’d like to introduce you to.”

“So I’ll actually be working here?” I asked. “Soon?”

“Alexis is leaving in three weeks. If you give a two-week notice tomorrow, you’ll have a week to work with Alexis so she can get you up to speed on all her projects. That is, if you accept my offer of employment.”

“I accept. Wow! Do I ever accept!”

“Excellent. I’m sad to see Alexis leave but I’m delighted to be able to hire you.”

I gave my notice the next morning.

* * *

The teenager at the front desk smiled. “They’re in room 326. Just take the elevator to the third floor and then turn right. It’s straight down that hall.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I carefully pulled the balloons into the elevator. They were attached to a bright pink bag that held a sweet, flowered sleeper, a white dress with pink embroidered tulips across the bodice and a soft, stuffed puppy—also pink.

I knocked softly when I found Room 326.

“Come in.” I pushed the door open and shepherded the bundle of balloons around a hospital curtain. “Hi Lizzie,” Laura said. “James, Lizzie’s here.”

James stirred, making crackling sounds on the vinyl recliner where he’d been dozing. “Oh, hey Lizzie.”

“Hi, you guys,” I said, but I wasn’t looking at them. I was looking at the tiny bundle in the bassinet beside Laura. I handed the gift and balloons off to James and leaned over the bassinet. “Can I hold her?”

“Of course,” Laura said. I carefully picked her up. Her lips were making a tiny sucking motion and her eyes were squeezed shut. I held her close. She smelled wonderful.

“She’s so beautiful,” I said.

“Here, Liz. You can take this chair. I think I’m going to run home and shower and check in on Jonah.”

“He’s been here since yesterday afternoon,” Laura said.

James leaned over and kissed Laura goodbye and then kissed the baby’s cheek before hugging me around the shoulders.

I sat in the chair James had left and gently rocked the baby. “What’s her name?”

“Ava,” Laura said.

“I love it. Pretty name for a pretty girl.” I kissed her forehead. “How are you feeling?” I asked Laura.

“I feel great now. What’s going on with you? Your mom said your life has been crazy lately. Tell me what’s happening.”

I told her about my new job with Emma Cho and about my breakup with Matt.

“Are you doing okay?” she asked.

“I really am. I’ve been feeling for a while like it wasn’t right.”

“I guess it’s too much to expect that everything would work out perfectly just because he looked exactly like Mr. Darcy.”

I sighed. “Not the most rational plans for finding the love of my life.”

“I’m so glad to hear you say that. You know we’ve all worried about you for several years. You were so focused.”

“You mean obsessed.”

Laura laughed. “Yeah. Obsessed.”

“Well, I’m over it. I’m no longer looking for Mr. Darcy.”

“Whatever happened to the guy you were dating before you met Matt?”

“He’s still around.” I smiled as I thought of Chad.

“Okay, I sense a story here. Spill it.”

I told her about Chad and my last conversation with him.

“So he’s in love with you?”

“I don’t know. He might be. He said I knew how he felt about me. I think I do, but he’s never actually told me.”

“How do you feel about him?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him.”

“And what does he think about your break-up?”

“I don’t know what he’ll think. He doesn’t know yet.”

“Why haven’t you told him? He left it in your court. Don’t you want him to know where you stand?”

“Of course I do. I just don’t want to seem too eager.” Laura shook her head. “What?” I asked.

“Lizzie, when something is right, it’s okay to be eager.”

* * *

I didn’t go back to work after I left the hospital. Instead I drove home and changed into a pale gray dress with a yellow cardigan. I wanted to look pretty when I saw him. I called the high school and asked if there was swim practice today and was happy to learn there wasn’t.

The clouds that had obscured the sun all morning had dissipated by the time I left my apartment. I told myself that was a good sign and then laughed at my silliness.

But maybe it was. I wanted to believe it was. It had only been a few weeks since Chad and I had walked and talked together. Surely nothing had changed in that amount of time. Please let him feel the same.

My nerves began playing peek-a-boo and by the time I pulled into the school parking lot, I was having trouble breathing. School hadn’t dismissed yet so the lot was full of assorted high school cars, everything from the fancy cars, gifts from wealthy parents, to the rusted out beaters that had to have limped into the parking lot.

I drove around until I found Chad’s white Camry. There was nowhere to park by his car so I pulled around to the back row where I could see both the back of his car and the entrance to the school.

And then I waited.

I had a book with me but I didn’t want to read it and risk missing Chad walking to his car.

A few minutes after I arrived three buses parked in front of the school, blocking my view of the doors. At three-ten, the bell rang and students started spilling out from between the buses into the parking lot. Some walked alone, others in groups.

Cars started pulling out of parking spaces. A couple of horns honked. I couldn’t tell if they honked to avoid a parking lot collision or because the students were flirting. I remembered Dad telling me a high school parking lot is the most dangerous place on earth.

Ten minutes after the bell rang, the buses released their air brakes and slowly pulled out of the parking lot. The space beside Chad’s Camry was now empty so I started the engine and pulled through to park next to him.

Then I waited again.

A few stragglers exited the building and then there was no one for several more minutes. The next wave of people was adults, probably teachers and administrators. They got in their cars and left.

I debated whether to go into the school or not. I vaguely remembered where Chad’s classroom was but what if I took one way in while he took another way out. I didn’t want to miss him and as long as I had his car in sight, I knew I’d see him eventually.

I wiped my damp hands on my dress and applied some new lip gloss. Every minute that passed left me a little more nervous, a little less sure this was a good idea.

When something is right, it’s okay to be eager. I repeated Laura’s words in my mind.

And then Chad walked out of the school. He was wearing a pair of brown corduroy pants and pale blue plaid shirt. He was walking with a student. It might have been the boy from his swim team who would be swimming for the ducks. The one whose parents were getting a divorce.

They stopped on the sidewalk and talked for a few more minutes. Chad was a few inches taller than the boy. He smiled and patted the boy on the back. Man, he looked good.

I reminded myself to breathe.

The boy started walking down the sidewalk toward a different parking lot and Chad started walking toward me. Well, actually toward his car, but since I was by his car, it looked like he was walking toward me.

I opened my car door and got out. I straightened my dress and stood by the door. Chad saw me when he was about thirty feet away. Thirty feet. Fourteen or fifteen regular steps. Twelve or so steps if you take a slightly longer stride. Eight or nine steps if you’re in a hurry.

Chad made it to me in eight steps. He studied my face, questions in his eyes.

“Hi,” I said.

Neither of us spoke for a few moments. “What does this mean, Lizzie?”

I tried to keep my voice strong and steady. “It means I’ve changed my dream.”

Suddenly I was in Chad’s arms. And then my feet no longer touched the ground as Chad spun me around.

Me feet came back to earth and Chad held me at arm’s length, his hands on my shoulders. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I’m totally and completely sure.”

Chad’s hands moved up to my face. He looked at me for a long moment and then he kissed me with so much intensity I wondered if I’d ever catch my breath. When he finally pulled away, he moaned and held me close. I could feel his heart racing and I didn’t want to move.

“You know, Lizzie, I’m not much like Mr. Darcy.”

I looked up at him. “I don’t care about that at…”

Chad cut off my words with a short kiss. “Shh. I want you to know that in one way, Mr. Darcy and I have a lot in common.” He smiled his sweet, beautiful, crooked smile and I smiled back.

“And what way is that?” I asked.

“Mr. Darcy is madly in love with Elizabeth. And so am I.”

I wrapped my arms around Chad’s neck and kissed him again.

Author’s Note

Thank you for taking the time to read My Own Mr. Darcy. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. With all there is out there to read, I’m honored that you chose my book.

If you enjoyed the book, I’d be ever so grateful if you’d leave a review on Goodreads or Amazon or anywhere else you share your thoughts on books. So many people decide what to read based on the good word of their friends. I’d love it if you’d help share the word.

If you’d like to be notified of new releases, fill out the form on my sidebar HERE.

I love to hear from readers. You can find me on my Facebook author page, Twitter, or you can email me at KareyWhite.com.

Have a happily ever after day!

Karey

Other Works by Karey White

For What it’s Worth

Gifted

About Karey White

Karey grew up in Utah, Idaho, Oregon and Missouri. She attended Ricks College and Brigham Young University. Her first novel, Gifted, was a Whitney Award Finalist.

She loves to travel, read, cook, and spend time with family and friends. She and her husband are the parents of four talented and wonderful children.

Find out more about Karey at KareyWhite.com.

Acknowledgments

My name is on the front of this book, but only because there isn’t room for the names of all the people who have helped me.

Thanks to my first readers—Dad, Mom, Veronica, Savannah, and Lori. You’re the ones who prod me along, asking for more. Thanks for your enthusiasm, your encouragement and your feedback. It helps so much.

Thank you Rachael for helping me polish, for showing me the ropes and for your creative eye. Thank you Kathy for your marketing genius. You amaze me. Thank you to Savannah, Brandon and Natasha for a stunning cover. Thank you Robert for making me look good. Thanks to Cindy, Stephanie and Regina, for always being ready with an answer when I needed it.

Thank you to my brothers and sisters and their families, who give me just the right mix of support, encouragement, constructive criticism, and downright mocking. You always help me know what needs tweaked.

Thank you to Bruce, Veronica, Savannah and Joseph for giving me a reason to demand more of myself and who give me the courage to try new things.

Thank you to Travis for never doubting my abilities and for being my leading man. I can honestly say that if I had to choose between you or Mr. Darcy walking across the meadow toward me, I’d choose you. (But I might ask you to wear a long coat.)

And on behalf of at least half of the world, thank you Jane Austen!

She Owns the Knight

by Diane Darcy

To Grandma Murphy, with love.

And also for Brent, my own knight in shining armor,
who is just as wonderful and clueless as Kellen.

Prologue

England, 1260

“Is aught amiss?” Brows drawn together, Lord Kellen Marshall reached a hand to steady his wife. “Is it the babe?”

Catherine set her goblet on the sideboard, but seemed unable to take her gaze from it. “You switched the cups?”

“Aye. To give you the less cloudy, more pleasing drink. I’ll not have you drinking the dregs.” He gave her a smile, hoping, aching to receive one in return.

Her face turned ashen.

Kellen quickly set his drink aside, lifted her slight weight, and carried her swiftly to the bed to set her among quilts and pillows. He ran to the heavy wood door, threw it open, bellowed for help, then hurried back to where Catherine lay sweating, clutching her swollen belly. In the distance, people scrambled and orders thundered as Kellen lowered himself to her bedside.

“’Tis Cowbane,” she whispered to him.

“What?” Mouth gaping, he shook his head. “No. That cannot be.” Who would do such a thing? Who would dare to poison his wife?

“You have ruined everything.” She turned away from him, pressing her face into the pillows, gagging and shuddering before rolling back to grip his surcoat, her face taut with fear. “Please. You must save me. Please.” She put a hand to her stomach. “The babe.”

Several knights appeared in the doorway, “Find the midwife! Bring the healer!” Kellen roared the words.

A wide-eyed servant rushed out of the chamber as others filled the entrance.

Kellen gripped his wife’s cold hand as her breathing quickened and resignation set her face. “You cannot save me,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “’Tis not possible.”

Her breathing became labored, her throat violently clenched, and her entire body tightened, head thrown back.

Kellen, every muscle in his body constricting with panic, shook her shoulders. “Catherine!”

She took a loud, gasping breath, then relaxed for a moment. Kellen wiped sweat from her brow with shaking fingers. “Catherine, you must be well.” His voice broke. “Perchance the babe comes early?”

“The drink was meant for you.” She breathed heavily, drawing breath an effort.

“What are you saying?”

“My daughter is not of your seed.” Again, she convulsed violently, foam gathering at the corners of her mouth, then relaxed once more, placing a hand to her belly. “Nor is the one in my womb.”

Kellen studied her face, the swelling of her body. He swallowed and gripped her hand. “You are out of your head.” His voice roughened, low, deep, and pleading. “A devil has overtaken your mind.”

“I despise you.”

He tried to convince himself she was not herself, yet saw in her clear eyes she spoke true. And he was well aware the poisoned drink had been meant for him as he’d switched them himself. Why would she dishonor herself this way? It was senseless. “Why?”

“You sicken me.” Her face twisted. “I hate your disgusting, overlarge body. Your vile face. My lover is wonderful, slim and beautiful as a knight should be. Handsome and without scars.” She smiled, her face relaxing. She laughed once, then stopped breathing.

His wife, eyes open and staring, lay dead in his arms. He shook her, rage and despair welling within him. “No!” He clutched her to him. “No!” She’d swallowed poison meant for him? She’d meant to kill him? Surely he’d misunderstood. She was no poisoner. She could not be.

Kellen’s eyes filled with hot tears and he gently shook his wife once more. “Live. Live, curse you. Live!”

She didn’t move.

His wife was dead. His son, as well. His son.

Kellen’s head pounded. He laid his wife gently on the bed, stood, and backed away. His head, suddenly heavy, bobbed up and down as dizziness overtook him.

Air finally filled his lungs and he threw his head back, and howled like a madman. He clenched his hands in his hair and, heart pounding, every muscle constricting to the point of pain, Kellen turned and grabbed the long bench from against the wall.

With a yell, he heaved it into the fireplace and watched as pieces of heavy wood, ashes, and smoke burst into the air.

Next, he gripped a chair and dashed it against the stone wall, once, twice, until the heavy wood shattered. He ripped a tapestry Catherine had fashioned from the wall. He smashed her writing table with his fists. Threw a basket of knitted baby clothes into the fire. Tore and pulled the linen hangings from the great bed and cast them to the floor.

Breathing hard, searching for something else to destroy, Kellen stood still in the middle of the chamber. He looked to the doorway, where only a few of his knights remained, and a few more beyond, out in the hall. The servants had run off.

Only the midwife, Catherine’s old nurse, the one come from Corbett Castle, had dared enter the bedchamber. She covered Catherine’s body with a fur coverlet, knelt on the stairs beside the bed, crossed herself, and wailed.

Kellen watched her wipe foam from Catherine’s mouth, and turned away.

His dream had died with Catherine. With the babe. His marriage, the chance to continue his line, to build a family, was the one thing that had kept him alive through all the petty wars, the politics, the tournaments, and his dangerous allegiance to King Henry.

Who provided her the poison? Who turned her against him? He knew she could not have done this on her own.

Her lover, no doubt.

Kellen’s teeth ground together, and a guttural sound escaped his mouth. The babe was not his? The girl child not of his seed? There lived a man who did not have long for this world.

“Mamma?”

Kellen turned to see his three-year-old daughter lingering in the passageway with her nurse, and pain twisted his guts. She should not be there, and he did not want to look on her. He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Take the girl away from here.”

He would not be cheated this way. His eyes narrowed. He would marry again. He would petition the king and remind him of his loyalty and—

No. That could take years and numerous favors. At a score and ten, Kellen could not wait. Would not. He sucked air into his lungs. Corbett owed him an honorable daughter. He had seven. Six, now. He would demand another, the youngest, and most trainable, or Corbett would pay the price for his daughter’s treachery with a war. Any betrothment on the girl’s part would needs be broken. He would show no mercy. He’d have his heir within the year, or else.

He grabbed the nurse still kneeling beside Catherine, startling her, and hauled her to her feet. “Give me the name of her lover.”

Rigid with terror, the woman gaped. “My lord?”

“Catherine’s lover. His name?”

The woman trembled, shook her head, and her head-cover slid to reveal gray hair as fear widened her eyes. “Nay, my lord. She would never play you false.”

Kellen forced himself to release the woman before he gave into the desire to shake her. “She admitted such. Doubt not that I will find and kill him.”

Teeth clenching, he nodded toward Catherine. “Finish this. After, go home to Corbett. Tell him of his daughter’s infidelity, of her attempt to murder her lord. I want another daughter in reparation, or there will be war. You will leave directly after the burial.”

He would have a wife and heir. But he would never make the mistake of trusting another woman. With one last glance at Catherine’s white face, he turned and strode from the chamber.

Chapter One

England: Present day

The slam of a car door alerted Gillian Corbett to the fact that she was no longer alone. She had a hard time pulling her gaze from the sketchpad and the castle ruin she drew but finally glanced up to see three men getting out of a Volkswagen.

They’d parked beside her rental car, and a tingling at the back of Gillian’s neck suddenly made her aware of the remoteness of the location.

Her mouth went dry, and her stomach hollow.

She glanced around. Thanks to her lousy, cheating, money-grubbing, narcissistic ex-fiancé, she was spending what was supposed to be her honeymoon sitting on a big gray rock, in the middle of a big green field, in the heart of a foreign country. Alone.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Her car sat parked off the side of the road, about a football field’s length away. The rolling grass in front of her, leading to the picturesque graveyard and castle ruin in the distance, didn’t calm her sudden unease. What had seemed so beautiful and interesting only moments ago, now appeared desolate, threatening and… stupid.

What had Ryan said that last day? ‘You’re like a throwback to another time, babe. It’s like you live in La La Land. Going to England to do genealogy? What are you going to do, anyway? Take pictures of headstones? That’s just wrong, Gillian. Disturbed. And drawing castles? Look at yourself. You’re only twenty-four years old and even your clothes are old-fashioned, with your skirts and blouses. You need to loosen up a bit. Unbutton and show some skin. Stop being so frigid and prudish. Cut your hair or something. It’s like you’re an old-timer in a babe’s body.’

Again, the distant slam of a car door seemed loud in the silence, and brought her out of her reverie. There were now four of them.

And one of her.

Gillian swallowed as they headed in her direction. They didn’t talk amongst themselves, and Gillian tried to convince herself nothing was wrong. They were probably just friendly locals who’d spotted her, and wanted to chat. Maybe even flirt.

But her heart hammered in her chest. None of them glanced at her, or each other. They just steadily moved her way and Gillian felt a sense of menace. She hadn’t seen another soul until the men showed up, or noticed any cars driving by. She was staying in the town of Marshall about six miles away, but the river, hills, and trees isolated the area.

She’d been a single woman living on her own in a big city for too long to ignore the caution she felt. She’d taken a self-defense class once, and the instructor taught to always go with her instincts. Hers were screaming to run.

One of the men finally looked up and waved at her, a jerky pointing of fingers, but the friendly gesture didn’t make her feel safe. It had the opposite affect. She felt marked. Hunted.

Her heart pounded against the sketchpad she clutched to her chest. She slipped her pencil inside the pink backpack and fumbled for her cell phone.

It wasn’t there.

She had candy bars, a light jacket, a change of clothes, her wallet, keys, some extra pencils, and pepper spray, but no cell phone.

She suddenly remembered taking it out and sticking it in the convenient car cubby, in case any of her friends or coworkers called to see how her trip to England was going.

It wasn’t going so well at the moment.

She quickly studied the area. Nothing but fields, trees, the graveyard, castle, and river in the distance. Not a soul in sight to help her.

The men moved steadily closer.

Was she being foolish? Paranoid? All she knew for certain, was she couldn’t wait around like an easy target. She’d rather avoid them, and look like a fool in front of strangers and be safe, than stand there like an idiot and get robbed. Or worse.

She quickly stuffed her sketchpad in her backpack, put on her jacket, dug out her pepper spray, pulled the zipper, hoisted her pack, tightened it, and headed quickly for the castle. Away from the men, but also away from her car.

If she were mistaken about their intentions, they’d realize they’d scared her and leave her alone. If she wasn’t, then they’d come after her. Either way, she’d know for sure.

With her heart hammering, she was almost too scared and embarrassed to look back. Would they follow? Leave? Head toward the cluster of rocks and hang out?

The fine hairs on her neck stood on end and she considered running, but was already breathing so hard she was afraid she’d hyperventilate if she tried. Heat suddenly flooded her face.

What if the guys were simply trying to help? Maybe her rental car had a flat, and they were going to offer to fix it? Or perhaps these were their favorite stomping grounds and they simply wanted to say hello? She could be making a total and complete idiot of herself.

Ha, ha! Look at the foolish and paranoid American. What a tourist!

She felt like an idiot. A scared one. She hoped they’d get the hint, realize they’d frightened her, act like gentlemen, and leave. She reminded herself that even if she were wrong, she’d never see these men again, so if she completely humiliated herself, it didn’t matter. Better safe than sorry.

Gillian let her jacket sleeve fall down over the pepper spray in her hand, and finally chanced a glance over a shoulder. The men were still walking toward the boulders, but only talking and checking in her direction, not following.

Relief flooded her but, still uneasy, she didn’t break stride. Maybe they’d just think she was hiking to the castle and leave her alone. They were more than welcome to climb, picnic, or play king of the mountain on the rock, just as long as they left her to go her own way.

Gillian rose over the slight hill, getting a better view of the graveyard in the process. Her stomach sank. She’d hoped to find someone there, but it was completely deserted. Why wouldn’t it be? Old and decrepit, with weathered headstones, and grasses grown up around everything. The surrounding fields were dotted with wildflowers and clusters of trees. Earlier, she’d planned to explore it, now she just wanted to get through it as soon as possible.

She checked out the castle. Didn’t people hang out in ruins all the time? Maybe she’d find someone there. A tour group would be nice. Perhaps visitors came at the castle from the back side. Maybe the castle even had a gift shop, and she could bum a ride to her car.

She glanced at the men again. They’d veered in her direction, and walked toward her, fast. Gillian gasped, and her heart seemed to stop for a moment, before thudding painfully in her chest.

“Hey, wait up there, pretty lady,” one of the men called out to her.

She didn’t answer, only shook her head. Every one of them gazed straight at her now, and fear trilled through her. Forget about embarrassment. She ran.

She glanced over a shoulder to see them chasing her! They laughed and panic and fear flooded her. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt, her feet slipped on the grassy slope. Could she make it to the castle? Surely she’d find help there. For all she knew, there was a city or something on the other side. Or an archeology dig setting up camp.

Or there could be absolutely nothing at all.

Her anxiety level spiked as she rushed through the graveyard. There were headstones, trees, bushes, the road curving up to the castle in the distance. But nothing and no one seemed to offer shelter.

She continued forward, passing markers, flying across the bumpy ground, the castle her only likely goal. Please, someone be there. Please, someone see what is happening and help. If only it weren’t so far away.

The hills and grass gently rose and fell and, not knowing what else to do, Gillian flat out ran for the castle. She glanced over her shoulder and stifled a scream.

She wasn’t going to make it.

Pushing herself, Gillian ran faster, fear overwhelming her to the point of numbness, an unexpected blessing.

Her strides evened out and became almost effortless, and visually, everything sharpened into focus—each clump of grass jumped over, each headstone rounded, each random flower or weed crushed beneath her shoes—every step a dreamlike, measured movement.

Exhilaration surged through her veins, and her mind sharpened to the narrow focus of a straight line to the castle. She could do this. She could make it.

She pumped her arms to increase speed. She couldn’t hear anything other than her own harsh breathing and the dry slash of grass as it buzzed her shoes. She dared to believe she was outdistancing the men.

Or perhaps they’d given up the chase?

Ignoring the sharp pain growing in her side, she finally chanced a glance over her shoulder.

They’d gained on her.

One man, his strides even and his face set with determination, easily jumped a slab and kept right on running, his pace deliberate and eating the distance between them.

Disbelief had her half-tripping on a weed, her body lunging forward, her backpack slipping to one side, knocking her slightly off balance.

Fear came rushing back.

She pulled herself forward by clutching at grass until she regained her pace, but her gait was now frantic, clumsy.

How could this be happening?

She scrambled up a small hill and ran the few steps down the slope, nearing the far side of the cemetery. She could hardly breathe as laughter sounded behind her, close, and a scream rose in her throat.

They were enjoying this! How could they be enjoying this?

She was suddenly shoved forward, and the scream escaped as she failed to regain her balance in time, and fell hard to her knees. She quickly scrambled up and turned to face them, backing away, but toward the other two coming up behind her.

The men, breathing hard, faces filled with triumph, smiled as she halted against a headstone, her heart hammering, her eyes darting for escape. “What do you want? Why are you doing this?” She could hardly get the words out. Gillian pressed a hand to her chest and sucked in air.

The men, younger than she’d assumed, slowly surrounded her, one on either side, one directly in front of her, and another behind the marker where she couldn’t see him. He chuckled and the hair rose on the back of her neck.

She latched onto the idea that they were young, perhaps even teenagers of eighteen or nineteen. Maybe this was just a game to them. Maybe they were simply out for a good time and just wanted to scare her.

If so, it was working beautifully.

Looking into the dark eyes of the young man in front of her, hope slipped away. Those eyes, the color of coffee, were pitiless, ruthless, and mocking. She was in deep trouble.

Her hand tightened to the point of pain on the vial of pepper spray, hidden by the long sleeve of her jacket. Could it disable all four of them? She was afraid if she tried to use it, it would only anger them and have unwelcome consequences for herself.

She swallowed audibly. “What do you want?” she asked again.

The boy took a swaggering step forward, his dark hair half-covering one eye, a smirk spreading on his face. Tall and lean, he wasn’t bad looking, but his intense stare, sharp-boned features, and black wardrobe intimidated.

“That there is an interesting question, isn’t it, lads?” his deep voice, lyrically charming, struck her as incongruous in the awful situation. His smile widened. “What do we want?” His face bent toward hers and the smile disappeared. “Well, what are you offering?”

His friends laughed again, low and ugly.

Gillian choked back a sob and lifted a trembling hand to ward him off. “What are you going to do?” She glanced at the others, hoping for compassion, a hint of pity or disquiet, but could see in their eyes they meant to hurt her.

The sweat on her body chilled, her heart continued its relentless thumping, and her throat tightened. She couldn’t seem to get enough air into her lungs, but her chin lifted defiantly and she straightened.

Come what may, she’d go down fighting, not cowering. If they planned to hurt her, they weren’t going to come away unscathed. Her hand tightened on the pepper spray. She could hurt them. She could leave DNA under her fingernails to convict these men later.

Of course, if they were searching for DNA under her nails, chances were she’d be dead, so it wouldn’t personally do her much good. She’d watched too many Cold Case Files not to be kicking herself right now. Why had she isolated herself? Stupid, stupid, stupid! She knew better. One minute she’d been peacefully enjoying the countryside, and the next, hunted and afraid this might be her last day on earth. Her last hour. And it was her own fault!

“What do you want?” She asked the question again, more calmly this time. “Why are you chasing me?”

The young men snickered, obviously loving the power they held over her. The power of life and death. The man in front, obviously their leader, lifted a hand. “Well, for a start, pretty girl, we want that gold ring hanging from your neck. Why don’t you give us a look-see then, and, after, we’ll talk about anything else you may have that we might be wanting.” As the men laughed, their leader’s gaze dropped briefly to her chest, and there was no mistaking the lascivious intent.

Her hand flew to the ring. “It was my father’s ring. The only thing I have left of him. I-it’s engraved and everything,” she stuttered. “Y-you can’t have it.”

“Bad luck that, because actually, I can.” So quickly she didn’t have time to flinch, he knocked her hand away and grabbed the ring in his fist, scratching her chest with a long, hard fingernail.

Gillian shrieked, sucked in a breath, and sprayed him full in the face with a red stream of pepper spray.

He screamed and her chain pinched the back of her neck as it stretched taut and broke. He dropped to his knees yelling, holding his face, and gasping.

Through squinted, burning eyes, Gillian saw the ring fly through the air, the gold flashing, before it landed on a patch of matted grass behind the man writhing on the ground.

“Get her!” screamed the downed man. She jumped over him, made a dive for the ring, snatched it up, and ran. She shoved the ring onto her middle finger, scraping the skin and cutting herself in the process.

With blood dripping onto the grass, she ran, expecting to feel a hand or two quickly dragging her down. Gillian’s eyes burned and dizziness overwhelmed her. She didn’t remember tripping on anything, but fell for what seemed a long distance. Her knee landed hard on a rock, the pain so intense her vision blacked for a moment.

Fighting the darkness, she crawled, scrambled against a headstone, and tried to pull herself up. She finally stood, and forced her body into a limping run toward the other side of the cemetery where the graves seemed newer, better tended, and mounded with the recently deceased.

Strange she hadn’t noticed those before.

The men hadn’t grabbed her yet, and she didn’t dare waste a second to look back. Blinded by tears, her chest and knee aching, she limped out of the graveyard only to be faced by men on horseback.

A sob escaped her as she stopped, stunned. Where had they come from?

She pivoted to look for the men chasing her, but no one was there. She turned around to see a good-looking blond maneuver his horse to get a better look at her. He leaned forward in his saddle and smiled. “Well, well, what have we here?”

Her face slack with confusion, Gillian whipped her head around again, looking for the men who’d been on the verge of attacking. There was nothing but…

Gillian gasped as a village, and the well-fortified castle beyond, came into focus.

Where was she?

She slowly turned to the men on horseback. They’d completely surrounded her now, every one of them dressed in medieval knight’s garb.

Had these men scared the others off? Had she hit her head? Was she unconscious and dreaming? She looked at a nearby headstone. Was she dead?

“Excuse me, sir. But can you tell me what just happened?”

The blond man’s smile turned into a leer. “With a surety, I can tell you what is soon to pass.”

Gillian swallowed and tried to move away. She glanced at the faces of the men surrounding her, and each sneering, sly, suggestive grin made her wonder if she’d escaped a bad situation, only to land herself in a worse one. What was going on?

Chapter Two

“You goatish, idle-headed, footlicker—”

Kellen’s sword clashed with Sir Tristan’s, cutting off his friend’s familiar insults, and he tried not to laugh as Tristan attempted to force a retreat. Kellen welcomed both the effort and the exuberance displayed.

Sir Owen, as well as most of the other men, stopped training to watch. “Come, Tristan, press forward! You can defeat him! He’s been in a foul mood for months now, and this is your chance to pay him in kind!”

Tristan continued to strain, his face red and damp. As he was one of the few with enough experience and muscle, and therefore a slim chance of beating him, Kellen was having more sport than he’d had in months.

“Aaaahhhhh!” Tristan managed to shove Kellen off, only to fall forward. Tristan’s face went from triumphant to angry as he realized Kellen had moved apurpose, and Kellen laughed aloud at Tristan’s wild expression, reminiscent of battles past.

On the sidelines, Sir Owen’s cheeks became red and he shook a fist. “Come, Tristan, fight harder. ’Tis not our fault his bride is late in coming. Defeat him!”

Off to the side, three young boys commenced cheering for Kellen, and Sir Owen turned to chase them away. Shrieking, they ran out of reach.

Kellen’s smile widened. It was the first time he’d felt alive in months. The first his spirits had lifted since his wife’s death. Tristan, breathing hard, ran at him and they took up the fight again, swords clashing, metal sliding, muscles straining. Kellen snickered at Tristan’s obvious frustration. “Tired?”

“Nay, curse you, you puny, beslubbering wretch.” Tristan hacked like a novice with his sword. “You infectious bunched-backed haggard. You cold-hearted miscreant.”

Swords clashed a few more times, then Kellen slid his sword around Tristan’s, metal slipping against metal, disarming the man. Kellen kicked Tristan’s feet out from under him, and set the tip of his sword against his throat.

Breathing hard, Tristan pounded the dirt with a fist, gulped in air, and finally smiled his usual gamine grin. “Have I mentioned I admire such qualities in you?”

Kellen laughed again and backed away. “Many times.”

Sir Owen groaned, threw up his arms, and turned away. The men moved back to their training.

Tristan threw Kellen a dark look as he surged to his feet and quickly retrieved his sword. “Not so many times as all that.”

“Again?”

Tristan took up his stance and Kellen circled.

Kellen understood the point his men were trying to make. He’d been irritable, bad-tempered, and impossible to live with. Mayhap they’d all needed a good tussle to clear the air, and if it had the added benefit of keeping him from brooding, so much the better.

It had been almost eight months since his wife’s death, and he had yet to wait another five weeks for his new bride to arrive. Corbett had already moved the date back twice. Would Kellen declare war on the Corbetts if they didn’t bring their daughter this time? He was considering it, but wasn’t sure he had the stomach for the deed. But he needed an heir and, to his mind, they owed him one.

Two of his foster boys came running, breathing hard, excited. “My lord, someone is on our property. We can see them from the top of the gatehouse.”

Kellen and Tristan both stepped back, checking their swords. Kellen ignored the fact that the boys had been where they should not. Their fascination with the murder hole was understandable, but dangerous just the same. “Scottish?”

One of the boys, Lord Marlowe’s son, eyes gleaming, shrugged and shook his head. “I do not know, my lord. ’Tis too far away.”

Grimly pleased, Kellen smiled. A real fight was exactly what he needed to take his mind off his problems. He turned to his men still training on the field. “Mount up.”

Excited whoops were followed by a quick scramble toward the stables and, minutes later, Kellen rode out, his men behind him. They quickly made their way through the village, across a vast, wet field, and closed in on the cemetery where a group of riders huddled together. Kellen was disappointed to see it was just his neighbor, Sir Robert Royce, and some of his men.

Tristan, now riding beside Kellen, remarked, “It’s that pox-marked, fly-bitten, eye-offending lout, Royce.”

“I can see that.”

But there was nothing offensive about Royce’s looks other than he’d been born pretty enough to be female. As lads, they’d been companions, taking their training together, fostering with Lord Wallington. But Kellen’s fighting ability caused awe and admiration among their lord, others, and finally the king. That, in turn, caused jealousy on Royce’s part. No doubt it hadn’t helped that Kellen and the other boys had once forced Royce into a gown.

Eventually all had been forgiven and they’d fought side by side in several battles, at home and across the ocean. Afterward, Royce tried his hand in beating Kellen at several tournaments, but of course, had as little luck as any other against him. They’d grown distant in the last few years, and even more so when Lord Wallington died on Royce’s watch, something Kellen could never quite forgive.

“Does this mean we don’t get to fight?” Tristan asked.

Kellen considered. Mayhap they should take this opportunity to rile Royce. Lax as ever, the idiot did not even see them coming, as he and his men looked at something on the ground. They were laughing and Royce appeared vastly amused. Kellen, curious, signaled for his men to spread out.

Royce and his followers finally turned at their approach, and Kellen saw a girl in their midst. She was in a state of partial undress, wearing short breeches that formed to her figure, and in no way hid a beautiful set of legs, and a tunic so tight, it concealed nothing of her body.

If she’d been trying to pass for a lad, she’d failed miserably. She was attractive, curvy, and blonde as his wife had been. Her long hair tumbled about her shoulders.

Fear was evident in the girl’s face, but the beauty’s fists clenched and unclenched and she looked ready to fight. One of the villagers? Kellen hadn’t seen her before and would have surely remembered if he had.

Royce’s men quieted as Kellen moved in, looking between Royce and the girl. “What is happening here?” Kellen asked, his mild tone apparently not putting anyone at ease as their expressions remained wary.

The girl answered before Royce had the chance. “These men are scaring me. They won’t back off. I just want to get back to my car. Could you please help me?”

Not a villager, then. Her speech was strange, but Kellen was able to sort through her words and understand most of them.

He looked around for a nearby carriage, but was unsurprised when he didn’t see one. With spring barely over, flooding had washed the road out in several places, and it wasn’t yet dry enough for cart nor carriage to travel on.

He addressed Royce. “Why are you and your men on my property? Who is this girl?”

Royce lifted his chin. “Some of my livestock went missing, and we were searching out the thieves when we came across the chit.”

“You were thinking to find your cattle on my land?” Kellen’s words were smooth as silk. “Are you making an accusation?”

Royce went still for a moment, then smiled slowly, that smirky lifting of lips that always made Kellen want to punch him in the mouth. Or stick him in a dress. “Of course not. I simply think the thieves used this route. Scottish, no doubt.”

Tristan and Sir Owen moved forward to get a better look at the girl. “She does not look Scottish,” said Sir Owen. “But you never know. As weedy as your cattle are, perhaps she’s hidden the beasts behind her back?”

Kellen’s men laughed. Royce’s did not.

The girl raised a hand to her forehead as if dizzy, and Kellen froze. As impossible as it seemed, the ring she wore looked to possess the Corbett emblem.

Off his horse in an instant, Kellen quickly covered the ground between them, grabbed her arm and lifted her hand. She hit him in the chest with her free fist, but he barely noticed as he studied the ring.

There could be no doubt. The Corbett coat-of-arms, a raven in flight, glinted bright and clear in the sun. Kellen would know it anywhere, having endured Corbett’s insulting missives of excuse in past months, the raven seal always seeming to mock him.

He quickly looked about, but saw no other knights, near nor in the distance, only Royce’s. Could Corbett’s men be hiding? He turned to Sir Owen. “Search the trees.”

Had Corbett simply dumped her here? Was he afraid to face Kellen? Did he truly fear Kellen’s wrath enough to leave his daughter to make her own way to the castle? To leave her vulnerable to attack? It was cowardly and insulting to them both. Kellen had always respected the man in the past, but no more.

Kellen studied his bride’s face. Edith was her name, if he remembered aright. She was lovely, with blue eyes exotically tilted at the corners and fringed with lashes as dark and thick as any he’d seen before. At least her features were nothing like those of her sister. She was even more beautiful, but in a completely different way. “Come.”

“Where are we going?” Her eyes widened when he tugged a blanket off his horse and wrapped her in it, noting the cut at her chest and knee, as well as the way her finger was bleeding as if someone had tried to steal the ring from her.

His anger raised a notch. She’d obviously been abused. It was yet to be determined to what extent. He grabbed her up and lifted her onto his horse before hoisting himself behind her.

“Do you have a phone I could use?”

Ignoring her strange request, he wondered just when Royce’s men had arrived. Had they taken her clothes? Defiled her? He could feel his skin heating at the thought.

He turned to Royce. “If my betrothed has been injured in any way by you, or your men, you will pray for death before I am done. I vow it.”

In the stunned silence that followed, Kellen turned his horse toward the castle. He ignored Royce’s stammered protests that he’d only just come upon the girl, and took comfort in the realization that the men had all been seated on horses. Only the girl had been upon the ground. With a rising sense of protectiveness and satisfaction, he pressed her stiff body closer to his own. He would guard and defend what was his. And she was his. Indeed, he held his future in his arms.

Chapter Three

What the heck was going on?

Gillian, stiff, chilled, and clutching her backpack, sat in front of the knight, silently scared out of her wits. She wasn’t sure what had just happened, and trying to make sense of everything was giving her a headache.

First she’d been chased by hoodlums.

Then they’d suddenly disappeared and she’d been faced by a bunch of different men on horseback. Medieval hoodlums.

Now she was on a huge horse, sitting across hard muscled thighs, wrapped tight in a knight’s strong arms and… and what? He’d saved her? Or claimed her for himself? She wasn’t sure. But if she’d gotten it right, he was the good guy here. Or was that simply wishful thinking on her part?

Now they were headed toward a village that she knew darn good and well hadn’t been there a moment ago. Was she going crazy?

Huts with thatched roofs, close and in the distance, dotted the countryside. The buildings hadn’t been there before. She would have seen them, and certainly she would have noticed all the people milling about. There was no way she could have missed them.

Gillian shivered as the knight’s heat penetrated her back, and he held her a bit tighter like she was a prized possession. She felt claimed and couldn’t help another shiver. She had to stop letting her imagination run away with her. She was going to ask for an explanation, in just a minute, after she wasn’t so intimidated by the scary guy at her back.

Gillian stared up at the castle beyond the village. Strong and rugged, it looked a whole heck of a lot like the one she’d been drawing except for the teeny-tiny little fact that it wasn’t a ruin in any way, shape, or form.

Perhaps there was another castle close by and she’d been taken there? Had she gotten turned around and somehow been moved to another location? Had she passed out? She had no memory of any of that. None of this made any sense. One minute she’d been standing near a deserted ruin, prepared to fight for her life, the next… here. That fast.

She couldn’t help but notice the guy holding her in his arms was also dressed as a knight. Could she have fallen in with some sort of medieval reenactment group? Had they started ad-libbing when she’d shown up? Was this some sort of joke at her expense? Or was it a dream? As they rode on she looked back, searching for her car.

Nothing.

Was it over the hill where she couldn’t see it? Had it been stolen by one of the guys who’d been chasing her?

Taking a breath, Gillian gulped back impending hysteria. This was all going to make sense in a moment. She finally allowed herself to look up at the knight and promptly lost what was left of her breath as she exhaled in a rush.

He’d pushed back his chain mail coif allowing her to clearly see his fierce expression as he returned her gaze. She swallowed and forced herself to breathe again. He wasn’t exactly handsome, as his nose was slightly crooked and had obviously been broken at some point. He also sported scars on his forehead and cheek. But he was striking, heart-poundingly sexy, and very masculine. In a word, magnificent.

She resisted the impulse to reach up and touch his tanned face, his high cheekbones, or his thick black hair, just to make sure he was real.

His gaze was intense, his eyes the warm color of amber, and the contrast to his hard features was startling. Her glance lowered to his massive shoulders, thick with muscle, and she swallowed again and cleared her throat.

“Do you think you could you take me back to my car?” Her voice came out breathless, and she cleared her throat again and laughed nervously. “I’m still kind of shaky after what happened, so I’d appreciate a ride.”

The knight stared down at her for a long moment. “You have no need of a carriage.” His deep voice rumbled, his harsh accent wrapping itself around her in the cool afternoon air. “I am keeping you.”

Gillian laughed shakily.

The knight didn’t so much as crack a smile.

“Ah, okay. I can walk.” Gillian looked down. She was in some sort of trouble here. She knew it but just didn’t know what it was. She didn’t know much of anything at the moment.

“You will stay.”

Okay, the guy was scary, but that comment irritated. “Like a dog? I don’t think so.”

“You will.”

Should she try and slip off the horse and make a break for it?

As if reading her intentions, or perhaps the way her body had tensed at the thought of jumping off the huge animal, the knight’s arm tightened again holding her in place effortlessly. Perhaps that was for the best. She could break a leg or two jumping from that distance.

Turning her head, her gaze slid to the men who’d surrounded her earlier, now riding in the opposite direction, and then to the graveyard. The location and layout were the same as the one she’d run to earlier: but everything else was different and new--pristine headstones and wooden crosses where there’d been none before.

The knight’s large hand reached out and pulled her head back against his chest, forcing her to face forward again. Okay then. Sitting stiffly, and not looking up at him, she tried her best to ignore the guy. She tried to ignore his heat as it burned though his chain mail, tunic, the blanket at her back, and beneath her legs. She had to think.

“Do you have a phone?”

She could feel the knight studying her for a long moment, could feel that she was trying his patience even before he let out a long sigh. “Nay.”

She’d find one up at the castle. She’d call the police and they could try and make sense out of everything that had happened to her. Maybe they’d have a laugh at her expense as she tried to explain the wild things that had occurred. Maybe everyone in the area knew what was going on here and she’d look like an idiot. But surely they’d escort her back to her car? Or find it, if it had been stolen?

Relaxing a little now that she had a plan, she swayed with the horse as they went through the small village full of busy adults and playing children. Simply built cottages lined the streets. Some looked to be businesses displaying wares. Animal pens clustered between dwellings were filled with noisy, smelly pigs, goats, cows, and sheared sheep. Plowed fields and pastures with people working them surrounded the village, but Gillian couldn’t see any farm equipment.

She spied a river, a pond, and what looked to be a mill. A man pounded metal in one of the buildings, and smoke poured from a chimney in the middle of the structure. Several paths led from the village to the castle.

As Gillian and the knight passed, everyone stopped what they were doing to stare. She looked back wondering if she should call out for help, wondering if she needed help, only most of these people didn’t look as if they would, since they were bowing and dipping as the entourage moved by.

Every person was dressed in medieval clothing. The women in loose dresses with their hair covered, the men in belted tunics and tight pants. Most of the children were barefoot. Could this simply be a new style in England?

She gazed up at the castle dominating the landscape, again searching for differences, but nothing had changed since the last time she’d looked. She’d stared at the ruin for hours while she’d sketched. There was the turret in the correct location, the parapets, the bay windows, and the tower. Did they make identical castles back in medieval times? Sort of like medieval tract housing without the subdivisions? Cheaper to make the same type over and over again? Had she been moved to a restored version?

The gatehouse, with its twin towers jutting skyward, caught her attention. According to the brochure, they were completely unique, with no other in England or anywhere else like them. This had to be the same castle, only now it stood in its full glory, strong and rugged not a crumbing stone in sight.

She shook her head. How could that be? What was going on? Had she fallen into a fairy ring? Moved through a worm hole and into the past? Entered a time machine without noticing?

She looked for electric lines, anything that would establish this as the twenty-first century, but found nothing.

She closed her eyes. She was a logical person; she could figure this out. If she took away all the illogical things she believed she was seeing and remembered back to the last thing she remembered for sure, it was obvious that none of this was even happening to her. That only left one explanation.

She was dreaming, delusional, or out of her mind. And was there anything that had happened to her that could cause her to be in that state of mind?

She felt the blood rush out of her face. Of course there was an explanation. The hoodlums who’d chased her toward the castle ruins were assaulting her right this minute; she was lying in the graveyard and her mind was taking her to this far-off place, so she could escape the trauma.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and her breathing escalated.

She’d turned the hoodlums into medieval hoodlums in her mind and then conjured up a Knight in Shining Armor to defend her, complete with sword, shield, and strength. She patted her knight’s arm, grateful for his reassuring presence, but ready to let go now and face reality.

Because this was unacceptable. How was she going to fight the violence if she didn’t show up for the event? Had she hit her head? Had her attackers hit her head? Was she unconscious? In a coma? Would she wake at any moment? Or would they kill her when they’d finished, with no resistance whatsoever from her?

Anger built in her chest, sharp and stinging. She had to wake up. She wouldn’t let them kill her. She would survive this. She’d come to her senses and defend herself. She was strong and could handle this.

She had to fight!

She had to live!

She definitely had to wake up.

Gillian tried to will herself back to the scene of her assault and attempted murder. She needed to defend herself before she actually was murdered.

She closed her eyes. Wake up… wake up now… wakey wakey time…

Nothing.

She opened her eyes. All she could hear, see, and smell were the knight, his horse, and the village.

Anger and heat emanated off the knight, as it should. He should be very angry at the way she was being attacked back in the real world. Like any good imaginary knight worth his salt would be.

She glanced up at him, impressed all over again at what a really great imagination she had. Sure, he was a little rough around the edges. His face was hard, all angles and planes, his jaw as rugged as any Hollywood hero’s.

But the possessive way his gaze roamed her face and blanket-wrapped body, lingering on the skin above her tee-shirt, sent a little thrill through her. Her feminine side couldn’t be more pleased with him. He really was her perfect dream knight.

His long, thick, and dark hair stuck to his thickly muscled neck. His chest was hard and seemed to simply bulge with power. She shivered. The better to protect her.

She reached out to lightly touch his chest, wondering if it was the chain mail that made him seem so big; but under a thin layer of chain, it was warm muscle flexing.

Their eyes met, and she barely resisted a fan-girl sigh. His gaze was bright against his tanned face, his lashes and brows as dark as his hair, and the combination was startling. She could feel a sappy smile forming on her lips.

He was really a good-looking guy in a rough-and-tumble sort of fashion. And the possessive way he held her, the way he looked at her, made her feel incredibly beautiful and feminine. Not bad for an illusion. Maybe she shouldn’t be in such a hurry to leave.

As they started to cross the drawbridge, the horses’ hooves struck hollow notes against the wood distracting her, and she looked down into a stream of murky water. “Are you serious? There’s an actual moat around the castle?” The detail in her hallucination was amazing. “Aye. All my fortifications are strong.”

Strong like him. Feeling very safe, she laid her cheek against her knight’s chest and when his arms tightened around her, melted into him.

Why not feel the comfort he could offer before returning to the nightmare her life had become? She hadn’t had a man’s arms wrapped around her like this since… well, she never had. Certainly not like this, and not with a man like him.

Another feminine trill of excitement caught her off guard and she shivered. He was everything he should be. Everything a knight and hero ought to be. And for the moment, he was hers.

* * *

They traveled under the rusted spikes of the raised portcullis; its dangerous teeth pointed menacingly downward. Seconds later they were fully enclosed in the darkened, walled passageway of the gatehouse, and Gillian glanced at the ceiling and spotted a murder hole.

She knew from artistic research it was used to drop boiling water or rocks onto the trapped and unsuspecting. There was a balcony, slits in the walls to fire arrows through, and a well-protected stairwell to maneuver weapons from above. In other words, the place was a death trap to invaders.

One of these days she was going to depict the inside of a gatehouse and make it spooky, dark, and exciting. She was sure the paintings would sell.

If she were still alive.

The sound of the horses’ hooves rang loud in the enclosed space as they moved single file through the enclosure, finally coming out into the huge bustling inner courtyard.

She gazed at what looked like a small city enclosed within the walls. The huge keep in the middle dominated, and buildings were set around the outer edges: barracks, stables, and other outbuildings. People were busy, some carrying trays, others pulling horses behind them, some children playing, but most stopped what they were doing to stare at Gillian.

This was just so amazing. She’d had no idea her imagination was so rich.

Her knight rode his destrier up to the keep; and in one smooth move, dismounted with her still in his arms and easily carried her up a few stairs, through the open doorway, and inside the keep.

Gillian, limp as a wet noodle, enjoyed every moment of it. She laid her cheek against him again, soaking up the tingling, melting, and thrilling sensations he inspired in her.

The muscles in his arms and chest shifted as he moved; and when he came to a stop, he wasn’t even the least out of breath. She, on the other hand, was losing her own.

Wow. Just wow.

Once inside the castle her knight bellowed something, and it took a moment for Gillian to decipher his words.

He was calling for someone and his accent! Fabulous! She wanted to squeal. This was simply the best dream she’d ever had, bar none, in her entire life.

An older woman, dressed in medieval garb, came running; her head covered with a white sheet, a set of keys dangling at her waist. “Yes, my lord?”

The knight set Gillian on her feet and when she stumbled a bit, placed a big, warm hand on her shoulder until she steadied herself.

He didn’t remove the hand as he gave the other woman instructions. He turned Gillian and grabbed her cheeks with one hand; she wondered if he were going to kiss her, right there, in front of all the people who’d started to gather around.

She couldn’t think of a reason why she shouldn’t let him. It was just a dream, after all. Her gaze dropped to his full lips, curved in an inviting smile. She might wake at any moment. This could be her only chance. She wasn’t going to protest and miss out.

His hand firmly on her cheeks, he squeezed them together, forcing her mouth to gape open and looked inside. “Well-formed teeth,” he proclaimed and looked up at the audience.

The servants leaned in for a look, murmuring and nodding their approval; Gillian shrieked as anger, outrage, and embarrassment boiled up inside her. “What are you doing?”

She jerked away and slapped the knight’s hand. “What am I, a horse?” So much for her dream man.

Her response visibly surprised him.

Making sounds of disapproval, the woman with the keys took Gillian’s hand and led her toward stone steps going up the side of one wall. “Come with me, lass. I’ll see you settled soon enough.”

Gillian glanced back at the knight, sending him a dirty look to let him see how disappointed she was in him; but at his bewildered expression, her anger dissipated.

Okay, the guy was sort of a clod. But she was willing to give him a second chance; because the man, as well as the place, was making her romance buttons hum on high alert.

Since she’d no doubt wake to a nightmare, she didn’t want to waste even one tiny moment of this experience.

Anyway, what was the harm in taking a look around the place before she woke up? After all, it seemed real enough that she might be able to use something she saw in her paintings. Imagined or not, the place felt so authentic she considered patting herself on the back for having such a great imagination.

Of course she was assuming she’d eventually snap out of it and wake up in the real world. But what if she wasn’t able to? Was she simply unconscious? Or was it possible she was dead and her version of heaven included castles and knights?

Uneasily, she acknowledged that this particular fantasy could be tailor-made for her. She shrugged off the prickly sensation tickling her shoulder blades. If she saw her parents or brother, she’d know for sure and deal with it then.

As much as she liked the thought of seeing her family again, she liked the version where she was simply unconscious, dreaming, and had a full life ahead of her still. Did people in comas resist waking because they were somewhere nice and didn’t want to leave?

Something else to think about later. Right now, there were tons of much more pleasant things to focus on. The place was amazing. Gillian ran her hand on one section of the wall as she walked up the stairs admiring the rough, mismatched stonework and the way the staircase curved around to form an arch above a window.

She tripped on the uneven steps, not a good idea as she could fall off to the side and to the floor below if she wasn’t careful, so she pulled the blanket from her shoulders and hung it over one arm so she’d have a better view of the steps.

Key Woman, jangling with every step, shrieked, and spilled words so fast Gillian couldn’t catch what she was saying; but the woman was obviously in some sort of distress, her face panicky and screwed up like a lemon.

The woman lunged forward, pulled at the blanket around Gillian’s arm, and tried to cover her legs with it; but the bulk of the material tightened around her arm when Gillian pressed herself against the wall to keep from tumbling over the side.

Eyes wide, heart pounding, Gillian gripped the stones. Was the woman trying to kill her?

When tugging didn’t work, the woman held out her skirts as if to hide Gillian from view. The woman called out to others, serving girls by the looks of them, and they rushed up to push Gillian up the stairs and into a hallway. Gillian, getting the hint, hurried on her own and finally rounded the corner; Key Woman shrieking behind her all the way.

Once in the hallway, the woman calmed down and Gillian, still unsettled by the shrieking and pushing, tried to ignore her and the others.

Spying a colorful wall hanging, flickering wall sconces, and a couple of handcrafted tables; Gillian turned her attention to her surroundings, pausing to study an aqua and white vase, but was firmly pushed down the hallway and into a room where they shut the door behind them.

She hardly had time to glance at the large bed with its heavy wooden frame, comfortable bedding, and linen hangings before the women circled her.

Gillian took a breath and crossed her arms. This was the third time she’d been circled in less than an hour. What was it with this place? Was her subconscious acknowledging that she was still in danger? Couldn’t she simply enjoy this hallucination into another time and place without constantly feeling threatened?

The women talked amongst themselves, reached out, and though Gillian’s instinct was to batt their curious hands away, she refrained.

They felt her clothes, rubbing the material of her shirt and jacket. Gillian nodded. “Old Navy.”

They fingered her cotton shorts. “Macy’s. And I got the belt at a yard sale when I was in college.” One woman ran her hands down one of Gillian’s legs, and Gillian was glad she’d shaved that morning.

Another pushed a finger into an athletic shoe then plucked at the laces. “Adidas.” Gillian finally squirmed away. “May I ask what you’re doing?”

Key Woman gestured at her clothes. “Disrobe, please.”

The woman finally spoke slowly enough that Gillian understood, and she wanted her to strip? Gillian narrowed her eyes. Was this a mental representation of her fear of the assault she was worried about? She shook her head. “No way. That is not going to happen.”

Key Woman crossed to a large chest against the wall and opened it. She took something out, shook it, turned, and lifted a beautiful blue gown for Gillian to inspect. It was similar to the one Key Woman wore only smaller, finer in quality, a better cut, and a prettier color.

Gillian wavered. The dress really was gorgeous, and Gillian loved the color blue. And it would be fun to wear while she was in this medieval castle.

The women noted her expression and nodded to each other. Another walked forward to spread the bottom of the dress and another girl dug a thin gold belt out of the trunk and held it up for Gillian’s inspection.

Again she wavered. The outfit was gorgeous. “Why do you want me to wear the dress?”

They took a moment to decipher her words, then Key Woman answered. “The master desires it.”

The master being her dream knight? “Why would he want that?”

They didn’t respond but simply looked at each other as if trying to understand her words, and then Key Woman shrugged.

Gillian shook her head. It didn’t make sense, but then dreams never did. Why not go with the flow for awhile? It might turn out to be fun. A great adventure to remember if and when she woke up.

She held out her hand for the dress and all the women smiled and voiced their approval. Again they wanted her to take off her clothes.

“I’d like some privacy, please.”

They discussed it then finally all turned their backs.

Good enough. Gillian moved to the bed and laid out the dress, slipped off her athletic shoes, took a shaky breath, and removed her clothes. She ignored the obvious peeking. It was all among women, right?

She was down to her bra and underwear and reaching for the dress when the women turned as one and grabbed her.

Shocked, Gillian tried to wrench her arms free but couldn’t. “What are you doing?” Gillian tugged again trying to free herself from the hands imprisoning her; but collectively, the woman were too strong and easily pulled her across the mattress, flipped her onto her back, and held her there.

Gillian screamed with rage, and one of the women quickly cupped a hand over her mouth. Gillian bucked, twisted, writhed, and screamed against the hand.

It didn’t matter. The women relentlessly pulled Gillian’s legs together and yanked her underwear down her legs and all the way off.

Anger, embarrassment, and disbelief heated her entire body, overriding any fear she might have felt.

Key Woman went to the door and admitted another woman, old and hunched, who shuffled toward the bed to look at Gillian.

Gillian stilled. What was going on? What could possibly be happening?

The old woman scooted a young servant to the left with her hip, dipped her hand into a bowl that Key Woman provided, rubbed her hands with what looked to be grease, leaned forward, and reached out a hand toward Gillian’s privates.

What in the name of all that was holy?

Gillian wrenched her mouth free and screamed her rage and disgust.

That was it.

She was done here.

Now would be a very good time to wake up.

Chapter Four

Another scream—long, loud, and peppered with words no lady should know—drifted down the stairs.

Kellen winced, and his brows rose, as he exchanged a glance with his open-mouthed friend, Sir Tristan of Alnwick.

Kellen looked to a flushed Sir Owen de Burgess, standing straight at attention, fiddling with his sword hilt, something he did when nervous or upset. “Has the girl been raised in the barracks with the foulest of knights?” Owen asked between stiff lips.

Kellen flushed and felt the need to defend her. “Lady Corbett, Edith, is obviously not herself. She has been frightened out of her wits and will recover her delicate nature soon.” At least Kellen hoped for that result.

Tristan took a breath and turned from the stairs. “Er… as I was saying. This is a most unusual situation. Perhaps the girl needs a chaperone until the wedding?”

Kellen was glad to latch onto the subject, to have something to think on, and a decision to make. “A good notion.” He spoke the words too loudly and attempted to lower his voice to a more moderate pitch. “Since her own mother was not sent to prepare for the wedding, I will send for my father’s wife and some of her ladies.”

“Good, good.” Sir Owen stared at the opening to the hallway at the top of the stairs, his cheeks flushed.

Kellen turned away. The girl would be a virgin. She must needs be. He did not want any further delays; and if he refused to wed the girl, he might have a long wait until another bride was granted him. Kellen sank onto a long bench, then moments later was up pacing again, much to the amusement of Tristan.

“Perhaps if you simply went upstairs, you could wait outside the door and receive the news that much the sooner?”

Kellen shot him a narrow-eyed glare. He was trying not to feel disappointed in the girl. He had waited long for an heir and a mending to his alliance with Lord Corbett. And this foul-mouthed girl was the reward for his patience?

Kellen stifled a wince as more language drifted down the stairs; and servants, going about their work in the great hall; and his men, studiously cleaning their weapons at a far table; kept their eyes on their tasks, but no doubt listened intently.

Kellen rubbed a hand over his face and thought on the immodest clothing the girl had worn. She had not spoken overmuch to him on the way to the castle. And now this foul language? With all of Corbett’s daughters, surely he did not send a defective for a bride? Surely he would not dare?

No. Not after Catherine dishonored the family so. He glanced up the stairs as his fury roared to life once more. Fury at himself and at the situation. First, he could not protect his wife from being influenced by a villain, then he could not discover who the villain was, and now his new affianced had been robbed, and perhaps worse?

All on his own property!

His pacing resumed. Pure or not, his wife or not, he would avenge the girl. And protect her reputation. But would he marry her?

Needing to do something, Kellen called one of his men to him. “Leave immediately for my father’s keep, and fetch his wife and her ladies. Ride as fast as possible.”

“Yes, my lord.” With a nod, the man was gone.

It felt good to be doing something. He would also assign a maid to follow the girl about. To keep an eye on her, aid her, but most especially to report back to him. There would be no hint of impropriety with this bride.

Not as there had been with his first.

If he was to even consider this alliance, he would make sure of that from the beginning, starting with proof that she had not been defiled.

Tristan sat and leaned against one table. “She is very fair to look upon. Getting heirs off her would not be a hardship.”

Kellen waved a hand. “One healthy woman is as good as the next.” He ignored Tristan’s laughter. Of course, her body and her mind must be fit. He wanted strong sons. If this bride was not satisfactory, he would demand another of Corbett’s daughters.

But with his goal finally within his grasp, did he care to wait any longer?

Kellen wanted to go outside to train, to work off some of his anger, but must needs wait for the midwife. Spying the pack the girl had brought with her on one of the tables, Kellen grabbed it up.

It possessed a drawstring with an impossibly thin and silky rope, and Kellen opened and shut the pack a few times.

Ingenious.

And the material itself was fine, yet sturdy, the bright color unique and one he’d only ever seen at sunset, or at the edges of a rainbow. He studied the pockets on the outside, filled with an assortment of oddly formed yellow sticks, then dug inside the pack.

First he pulled out a square, silver box and studied the circular markings on the piece. A chunk of fine metal? Perhaps it could be melted into a sword hilt. Could it be a gift from his bride?

Kellen set the piece aside and plucked out a tiny book, finely made. He opened it and gasped. His bride’s picture, so finely drawn it should have been impossible, stared back at him.

The artist was skilled indeed.

His bride was smiling and beautiful in the tiny square, not a hint of insanity in the clear blue eyes that stared back at him. He didn’t understand the writing on the paper, but perhaps the priest would.

Tristan leaned in to look. “The work is amazing.”

“Aye.”

“The artist would not have come cheap. Why have the likeness set on paper in such a way? Why not embed it within gold?”

Kellen could not fathom it.

Owen, finally curious, moved stiffly forward.

Kellen gave the book to Tristan and reached into the bag again, this time pulling out a smaller bag made of paper so fine he could see through it as if it were not even there. It was filled with colorful objects. He pulled one small piece out and studied it. He lifted it to his nose, widened his eyes, and held the object out to his friends. “Smell!”

Tristan took the piece, sniffed once, let out a breath, and smelled again. “Amazing! A spice?”

Kellen shrugged.

Owen snared it, sniffed once, grunted, and placed the object on the table.

Next Kellen lifted out a small metal rectangle, so bright a color as to confound the eye. He had never before seen the color. The object had a white cord even longer and finer than the one that closed the pack but made of a stiffer material. A finely wrought belt perhaps? The colored box would make a pretty accessory against a gown. He’d never seen the like. He needed to travel to London more often.

He dug out a small packet with what looked to be clear gauzy material inside; then a tube of stiffer material with a tie around it came next. Kellen plucked at the tie and the material gaped open; and when Kellen gave the object a shake, the thing shot longer and blew itself wide, as would a bullfrog’s throat.

Startled, Kellen dropped it and it rolled off the table and onto the floor.

“What is it?” Tristan asked.

Kellen shook his head, leaned forward, and plucked the thing off the ground by the stick protruding from its top and lifted it high. “A hat?”

All three men shook their heads in mute horror as Kellen set the thing on the table and they all watched it rock and finally settle.

Tristan let out a long whistle. “Let us hope it does not become the fashion, else there will be no room to sit next to the ladies at supper.”

“Aye.” Kellen nodded his agreement, and reached into the pack and removed a long tube of blue metal that mushroomed at the top. A man could easily grip it in his hand but what of its use? As a bludgeon it was shorter and much inferior to the one he already possessed.

Setting it aside, he reached into the pack once more. Finally, something he recognized. Paper. But the paper was unbelievably fine.

Tristan looked over his shoulder. “Corbett must travel often to find such treasures. And to send them with the girl, as part of her dowry, must be a message of the esteem in which he holds you.”

Kellen nodded. He couldn’t help but agree and regardless of the unexplained way of his bride’s arrival, couldn’t help but feel relieved.

He opened the binding of paper and found a sketch. It was his castle, but it looked to be a ruin, hundreds of years old.

Owen sucked in a breath. “An insult? A threat?”

Kellen could not imagine what purpose there could be in drawing his castle old and decrepit. A shiver raced down his spine; he threw the papers down to the table, stood, and started to pace again. He did not understand any of this. Did Lord Corbett want to incur his favor or his wrath?

“My lord.” Sir Owen followed close behind. “If it is an insult, we should go to war to defend your honor.”

Frustrated, Kellen shook his head. “I will get answers from the girl before making any decisions.”

“But, my lord—”

Kellen sliced a hand through the air. “We will wait and see.”

Kellen had plans. Big plans. And war would interfere with them all. He needed an heir, an alliance, and prosperity for his land and people. Honor and building his family name were all important. He could overlook a slight or two in favor of his goals. Mayhap it was simply a joke in poor taste?

Kellen glanced up the stairs again, the unanswered questions giving him a headache. Did they think to send her unchaperoned so she would be compromised? So he would feel honor bound to marry her? Or so he would not?

Or perhaps she had been ruined before they had even sent her out? Did her knights strip her and dump her at the cemetery so he would find her thus? Was she being punished by her father? Or did Royce attack her then mount his horse again before Kellen’s arrival?

There was no sense in any of it.

Kellen thought of Corbett’s ring on the girl’s finger and of the bag of beautiful treasures. It must needs be a message from Corbett. He was just not sure if it was a welcome one.

He could still hear an occasional rant in the background. Finally, the midwife came down the stairs toward him.

At last.

He strode toward the stairs to meet up with her at the bottom. “Well?” he asked, when she stopped level with him a few steps up, her hand on the wall for balance.

The old woman’s face cracked into a smile, showing missing teeth. “She is a virgin still.”

Kellen’s breath left him.

The midwife came the rest of the way down the stairs and held out a strange article of clothing Kellen recognized as the short breeches the girl had worn.

The old woman pulled on a metal sliver and the front of the short breeches magically sealed themselves.

The hair rose on Kellen’s arms and a nearby servant gasped and crossed herself. Kellen took the clothing and examined it.

“’Tis a chastity belt.” The midwife stated.

Kellen pulled the clasp down and up once more. “Ingenious.”

Owen and Tristan moved forward and Kellen pulled the tab up and down a few times to demonstrate.

Owen was visibly impressed. “A fine trick indeed.”

Tristan was grinning and excited. “And clever. Very clever to my thinking. If one did not know how to work the seam, it would be impossible to peel the garment off without a knife.”

Kellen remembered how tightly the breeches had formed to the girl’s body. Mayhap even a knife would not fit between her and the skin. “One might have to kill her before ravishing her. Very cunning.”

Elation filled him.

She was a virgin.

He would have his bride.

Kellen nodded once to dismiss the midwife. He allowed himself to feel relief and hope as he looked down at the tiny garment in his hand.

Tristan slapped him on the back. “Congratulations.”

“’Tis good news, my lord,” Owen concurred.

Tristan’s grin widened. “She is a comely thing.”

Sir Owen nodded. “And she seemed to like you well enough.”

“That is true,” said Tristan. “She lay her head on your chest. To my way of thinking that showed a level of trust and gratitude for your rescue.”

Owen looked as if he might actually smile. “A fine beginning.”

Kellen did smile. “Yes, it is.” It was good they had started their marriage with his rescue of her. She seemed to have a limited understanding of things, even for a woman; and her speech was strange, but surely she would appreciate having a strong lord. Of course, he would have to break her of her foul language. But perhaps the fault lay with another.

He wondered if her mind were simply damaged by a recent attack, by her father’s knights, Royce and his men, or others he did not know of. He had many questions in need of answers.

Kellen took a deep breath and let it out with a smile. “Better a virago than a weakling to my way of thinking.”

Tristan agreed. “A strong mother produces strong sons.”

“Yes. That is true,” said Owen.

The girl in question came to a halt at the top of the stairs. As her gaze settled on him, she lifted a finger and pointed.

“You!”

She stormed down the stairs dressed in a proper gown that swirled about her in agitation as she moved downward. His bride looked beautiful. And very, very angry.

Kellen guessed he was about to get the chance to voice his questions.

Chapter Five

There he was! The man she blamed for this entire debacle was standing near the bottom of the stairs! Gillian, her face burning hot and her temper flaring hotter, stopped halfway down to wrestle her skirt free of her shoes; as she jerked the caught material, she stopped long enough to point a finger again.

“You despicable, loathsome, creep!”

She was torn between letting him have it and fetching a police officer or two to let him have it. She’d relish seeing the big jerk handcuffed and face down in the dirt… er… was that straw on the floor?

But her heart pounded and her hands fisted to keep them from shaking. She wasn’t sure she could wait long enough to find an officer; and so finally freeing the hem of her skirt, she headed toward him, the material of her sleeves fluttering, and her shoes slapping against stone.

She’d let him have it, and then an officer could let him have it.

She no longer had any doubt that she was wide awake. This wasn’t a dream, and she wasn’t in a coma. There was nothing like a good gynecological exam to snap a girl out of a delusion. She still wasn’t sure where she was. In fact, the day was starting to blur together.

How did she get here? No idea. Someone along the way had probably drugged her somehow. Why did they give her an exam? Why was she wearing a medieval dress? Again, no idea.

Apparently, just because Americans and English people spoke the same language, it did not mean they understood each other’s cultures. She was definitely joining up with a tour group for the rest of her trip. One run by Americans. No more touring foreign countries on her own. What had she been thinking?

As Gillian finally came to a stop in front of the knight she’d trusted her throat constricted and tears burned her eyes. Yes, he was big. Yes, he was fearsome. And yes, he was still mind-numbingly gorgeous even with the confused look on his face.

But she hated him like poison now and wouldn’t be sidetracked. Righteous indignation was on her side. He was going to get it, and she was going to be the one to give it to him.

Gillian lifted her arm and slapped his face as hard as she could, stinging her fingers.

His mouth dropped and he lifted a hand to his cheek.

The other men, and the servants in the cavernous room, gasped.

“Just who,” she poked the knight’s chest hard enough that it hurt her finger which ramped her anger even higher, “do you,” poke, “think you are?”

The guy captured her hand with his and she jerked away, angry that the big, warm calloused hand engulfing hers had reminded her of the ride to the castle and the security she’d felt.

She sucked in a breath. “At your request, I’ve been violated by a group of women. Violated! By women!” Her face burned with remembered humiliation and she swallowed. “Granted, it’s been a very strange day, but who could have expected I’d be given an exam against my will?”

Gillian’s hand flew wildly in the air and the guy jerked back a step, caution and watchfulness in his expression.

“And by a woman with extremely dubious sanitary practices, I might add.” Gillian’s entire body flushed again at the memory. “And not only that, but except for my athletic shoes, my clothes have been stolen; and I’ve been stuffed into a hot, heavy, itchy gown.” Beautiful too, though she’d never admit it now.

“I want out of this loony bin. I’m going to sue every person here. My trip to England, and probably my next vacation, and maybe even my next house is going to be paid for, gratis, by you. And by those women, too. How dare they… they… they… well how dare they!”

The guy continued to look wary and confused, but that was all. She didn’t see a smidgeon of repentance, and he didn’t look intimidated in the least. And darnit, she was still attracted to the guy! Tears sprang to her eyes. When he was down on his knees in the dirt, he wouldn’t be quite so attractive, would he?

Unable to help herself, Gillian gave him a hard shove. He didn’t move and just continued to stare down at her, that slightly baffled expression on his face.

“Oooh!” She hit him in his large chest with both fists. Again, other than his eyebrows raising, no real reaction on his part. The guy didn’t so much as step back. With a scream of frustration, she shoved past him.

She gulped in air. Her face reheated every time she thought about what had just happened. Granted she hadn’t been hurt, but the humiliation kept replaying itself in her mind; and she wanted out of there. She gasped in another breath.

Two men stepped forward and one bowed at the waist. “Lady Corbett, please allow me to introduce myself, I am—”

Gillian looked beyond them and disbelief had her jaw dropping. “You’ve been in my backpack! You’ve looked at my passport! You guys are so dead!” Feeling lightheaded, she strode over, grabbed up her pack, and started stuffing her things inside it. “This is my stuff. Mine. My pencils, my camera, my candy, my iPod, my umbrella, and my pepper spray. Snoopy, invasive, nosy, prying, weird…” She glanced at the knight again--cute, confused--Gillian groaned. Could a person get Stockholm Syndrome in less than an hour?

She finished loading her pack, then slung it over one shoulder. She needed to get out of there. Apparently, she was just not equipped to handle this situation. She needed to find an officer to deal with these cretins. And since she still found the guy attractive, she obviously needed to find a therapist, too.

Spotting a few of the maids peering down at her from above had fresh mortification heating her face; unable to help the pressure building up within her, she turned back to the knight and started to rant. Again.

* * *

Kellen tried to hide his bewilderment. She’d pushed him. Struck him. Some might even say she’d thought to attack him. Without a doubt, the girl was in no wise like her sister. And her speech was odd, but leastways she was talking to him. Shrieking, mayhap, but communicating nonetheless.

He had questions he wanted answered. He needed to find how she came to be there, and what her father’s purpose in sending her in such a way might be.

But she babbled on, and Kellen was having a difficult time understanding her words. She talked very fast, alternately pacing, and pointing her finger at him, at his men, and at the servants peering down from above. He did not understand her meaning, and some of her words were strange to him.

Had she been hit on the head? Had she been injured in some way? She was a beauty, no doubt, her cheeks warmed with color and her eyes flashing with anger. Even the shorter hair fluttering about her face was attractive, but her speech was very odd.

Kellen reached out a hand to pat the top of her head to feel for bumps and search for bruises, but the girl knocked his hand away and continued to blather.

Kellen tried not to feel disappointed. First an unfaithful wife and now a violent and broken one? Was he to have no luck in begetting a healthy heir?

He would take this up with Corbett. The man had seven daughters. Their original agreement promised his best, and instead they’d sent him a murderer. And now a mental deficient? Kellen would hold Corbett to his promise.

But perchance all Corbett’s daughters were so afflicted? Mayhap Kellen was given the best of the lot. Again, he wondered why her father sent her to him in such a manner. Was Corbett really so afraid of him? Perhaps afraid that when Kellen met this daughter he’d be angered by her deficiencies?

Kellen moved toward the girl and tried to keep his tone gentle so as not to upset her further. “Mayhap I could take your father’s ring into safekeeping until your family arrives?”

The girl jerked her hand away as if he were a thief.

Kellen’s impatience grew. “Where are your guards? Your ladies? Your personal maid? Why do you arrive five weeks early?”

She did not answer, did not seem to understand. He was saddened that such a beauty was so damaged.

“You are a jerk!” The girl took a deep breath, swallowed, and spoke in a much slower vein. “You ordered those women to… to… grope me. You are going to pay for the humiliation that’s been inflicted on me. Do you honestly think a pat on the head and a pretty dress are going to pacify me?”

He finally understood that the girl was angry with him about the violation of her privacy. Confounded at her ire, Kellen said, “I own you. You are mine to do with as I will.”

“What?” The girl looked amazed. “How do you figure?”

Kellen’s puzzlement grew. No one ever questioned him, and for this tiny girl to do so was as astounding as the blow she’d dealt him. “We are betrothed.”

The girl’s face reflected surprise, then she glanced quickly around. Kellen looked too but could not fathom for what or whom she searched.

“What is this?” The girl’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “The English version of Punked? An improv play? A medieval weekend in the country complete with command performance?”

Now that she spoke more slowly, Kellen understood her words better but still not their meaning. He tried to explain again, speaking more slowly himself. “You are my betrothed.”

Her face took on a haughty expression, much like the one her sister had always worn. “I see.” She glanced around again, her gaze taking in his knights and the servants staring at her. “As in engaged to be married? To you?”

“Yes, matrimony.” He saw a glimmer of understanding on her face and so tried to explain further. “Your father has paid a dowry, the contract is signed, and we are to be married in five weeks time.”

Her mouth tightened. “And this is your excuse for ordering those… those… women to violate me?”

“I need no excuse to establish your virginity.”

The girl gaped at him for a moment, her face losing its color before flooding with red once more. Then she took a step forward, sucked in a breath, and poked a finger in his chest. Again.

“Now you listen here, bucko. Even if we were engaged, which we are not, do you think engaged means owned? Because I don’t think so!”

She walked away, took several audible breaths, then came back, shaking her head. “So let me just make sure I have this straight. You’re saying we’re engaged, right? Isn’t that what this ad-libbing is about?”

Kellen was getting more befuddled. “What?”

“Betrothed.” She spoke slower. “Are we betrothed, you idiot?”

Kellen stiffened. He did not like her tone nor her name calling, but as they seemed to be making progress, such things could be discussed at a later time. He nodded his agreement.

She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “So my father paid a dowry? Making it all right and tight?”

“Aye. That is true.”

Her smile thinned. “Well, in that case, I am the one who owns you! You are mine.” She lifted her nose in the air and gave him a condescending look. “Not only have you been paid for, but as the woman I am your superior in almost every way.” She held up a fist. “I am the only one who can ask for directions, have children, and cry in public.” Three fingers went up, one at a time.

“And women live longer! Women are smarter!” Holding up five fingers, she lifted her other hand and continued the count. “And they have better peripheral vision and can load the dishwasher without acting like they’ve been asked to eat horse droppings!”

She shot him a look filled with triumph. “And didn’t the girl’s… my father, give you money? A transaction was made, was it not? My family paid for you. I own you. Money is power. The only thing men are better at is peeing standing up! So count them.” She lifted both hands higher to hold up eight fingers. “Eight reasons, and that’s just to start with, so I am the winner; therefore, I own you!”

Kellen could not help the big smile that spread on his face.

“You agree?” she asked.

Kellen nodded slowly, very pleased by the show of intelligence. She could count? Reason? “What about strength? Am I not bigger and stronger?”

Her tight smile was presented once more. “Who do you use that strength for? If we are engaged, that would be me. So I guess I win again, don’t I? That makes nine.”

Kellen laughed, startling many. He was incredibly amused at her reasoning. Also relieved that while she might be angry, and her talk strange, she not only seemed sane, but intelligent. His first impression of her was obviously wrong. Her way of speaking was still odd, but charming, now that she’d slowed her speech and he understood her. “How came you to be here?”

The girl’s shoulders drooped and for the first time she appeared lost. “I was drawing a castle and some men started chasing me.”

She looked so dejected that Kellen softened his tone. “Yes. This I already know. But how did you make the journey from your father’s keep?”

“What do you mean? How did I get to England? I flew here.”

Kellen glanced around. He did not want any accusing her of witchery. Obviously she was being sarcastic and did not wish to answer him, a trait he would soon break her of. He knew she could not have made the journey by herself and suspected her father sent her out for reasons of his own. Her temper? Perhaps she was in love with another? Did she seek to escape the match? Corbett’s reasons were unimportant now.

If her family did not know how to care for her, he would gladly do so.

She might think she owned him, but she belonged to him now.

And he was keeping her.

Chapter Six

This was going absolutely nowhere. With an exclamation of disgust, Gillian turned to leave. She didn’t have to stand around while this bozo questioned her.

She gave the knight one last, long look before heading for the door. The guy obviously wasn’t even the least bit sorry, so now would be a really great time for her to find a police officer to make him sorry!

Feeling uncertain, wondering if she’d be stopped, she left through the open front doors. When no one tried to intercept her, she breathed a sigh of relief and headed down the steps and into the courtyard. She spotted a couple of men nearby dressed as peasants.

Gillian approached, hoping she wasn’t jumping from the frying pan and into the fire by asking a favor from complete strangers. “Excuse me.” She sounded a little breathless and cleared her throat, not wanting to sound like anyone’s victim. “I need to get a ride back into the town of Marshall. Do you think you could help me out? Or at least lend me a cell phone?”

The men looked at each other, at her, then as one they shook their heads, bowed slightly, turned, and walked away whispering and casting glances over their shoulders.

With a sigh, Gillian watched them go.

She was really starting to hate this place.

She looked around, hoping for someone more sympathetic. Everyone was busy. She could see a stable with several men at work, what looked like barracks being fixed by a couple more guys, and some buildings that could be storehouses with some kids playing in the dirt nearby.

There were a couple of workshops, doors open wide, with men inside. Herbs, plants, and roots hung from the rafters of one building; and in the other, what looked to be pieces of wood in various shapes and sizes. What she didn’t see were any friendly faces. People were casting wary glances in her direction or flat out ignoring her.

She looked at some men digging in the dirt on the side of one stone wall. Not one of them would meet her gaze, so no help there. Further on, a cart was being loaded by several men; and beyond them, a tall, rounded structure with a cross over the doorway looked to be a chapel; but its doors were shut tight.

Another building, from what she could see and hear, was a kitchen filled with energetic women coming and going.

She started in that direction when a woman with an armful of material bustled across the courtyard. Feeling a one-on-one conversation might be less intimidating, Gillian hurried to intercept her. As she approached, the woman’s eyes widened, she stopped, and dipped a quick curtsy.

“Excuse me.” Gillian halted in front of her. “I’m looking for a ride into town? Could you help me out?”

“My lady.” The woman stared at the ground then bobbed another curtsy.

Impatient, Gillian said, “Could you at least point me in the right direction for some help?”

The woman pointed toward the keep and Gillian turned to see That Man in the doorway, watching her. She suddenly found it difficult to breathe. She swallowed, turned away, and walked in the opposite direction feeling very much on display as everyone stared as she passed. She was positive she could feel the knight watching her.

She went around to the back wall looking for the parking lot. If someone had left keys or a cell phone in a car, she might not even ask for permission to borrow one or both items.

She came to a stop. There was no parking lot inside the inner walls, which made sense. Spotting a spiral staircase situated at the bottom of a corner tower, she quickly climbed the rough stone stairs getting her second or third workout of the day. Panting, her skirt pulled up to her knees, she finally reached the top and looked over the edge.

There was a huge outer courtyard enclosed within a high stone wall. More stables, a stream, an orchard, and a garden. Some men were fighting with swords in the far corner. Beyond the outer wall, she could see nothing but more fields and trees. Not a car, or anything else for that matter, in sight.

From her high position on the wall, she turned and looked over the castle and its inner courtyard. She had to admit it was beautiful with its imposing exterior and fairy tale flavor.

She noticed three little boys watching her from below. They pretended indifference when she looked their way, and it made her smile. And that, in turn, made them run away.

There were no movie cameras, no overt drama. It looked as if people were simply going about their daily business. No one was wearing modern clothing, and there was nothing to indicate this was the twenty-first century.

She didn’t see any phone wires, electric lines, or anything like that, and she was getting more than a little freaked out. It was almost as if she’d tumbled into the past.

That thought jarred her memory.

Gillian’s college roommate, Sophia, had honeymooned on a western cattle drive with her husband. It had been touted as a ‘heading back in time’ experience and had sounded to Gillian like a very odd way to start a marriage.

Gillian wondered if she’d inadvertently stumbled on a similar vacation package. To the extreme. It would explain why everyone stayed in character. It wouldn’t really explain what had been done to her, but… maybe they truly were die-hard fanatics? What would they have done if she hadn’t been a virgin? Burned her at the stake? Gillian couldn’t help a shiver. She had to get out of there.

She climbed back down and a girl hurried toward her. Breathless, she stopped and gave Gillian a slight curtsy. “I am Beatrice. I am to be my lady’s maid, assigned by his lordship.” The girl actually looked excited at the prospect.

“Oh. Okay. A maid, huh? You’d think that if your parents are paying for this vacation you’d get a better part, but you probably weren’t given a choice.” Gillian waited for the girl to comment, but she simply stared, uncomprehending.

Impatient, Gillian decided to try the straightforward approach. “Look, honey, can we step out of character for just a moment? I need a phone. Do you have a cell?”

The girl looked confused. “I sleep with the other girls and have no chamber of my own.”

“Ah… okay… look, I just need to know if you have a phone I could use to make a local call. I need to call a cab or something. Also, where exactly are we? I’m lost and don’t know where to direct the driver.”

The girl smiled. “I will take you to his lordship, and he will answer your questions.”

Gillian’s mouth twisted. “You’re what, fourteen, fifteen?”

“I am all of fourteen summers.”

“So, you’re fourteen and you’re telling me you don’t have a cell phone glued to your hip? Come on, just let me borrow it. I promise to make the call really quick. No one has to know.”

Beatrice looked around as if seeking help.

“Cross my heart,” Gillian made a crossing motion over her chest and smiled reassuringly. “I won’t tell a soul.”

The girl looked scared. “Perhaps if her ladyship would like to lie abed for a time? Her ladyship’s bedchamber is most comfortable.”

“Yeah, I laid on that bed earlier; and let me tell you, it was not a restful experience.”

The girl looked at the ground and clasped her hands in front of her.

In frustration, Gillian turned. “Fine, if you’re not going to help me, I’m out of here.”

A couple of hours later, with the girl still on her heels, Gillian sighed. She’d studied every inch of the place from the buttery to the barracks, to the blacksmith’s and the brew house, to the dovecote and the garderobes—which Gillian had unwillingly made use of. No one was giving up a phone, and most ignored her.

Even more worrisome, she couldn’t find anything that indicated she was in the twenty-first century. Not so much as a light switch or a pair of athletic shoes. And as far as she could tell, not one single woman wore makeup. Not even mascara. Surely that went beyond fanatic?

Unless she really was in the past?

Again, she went over what had happened before she’d arrived at the castle. She’d been running. She’d almost fallen a few times, but she didn’t remember actually hitting her head or anything. And she wasn’t in any pain.

She’d only sipped from her water bottle and didn’t remember being stuck with any needles. So how had she been drugged and brought to this place?

She tried to think, to remember every single detail. Right after she’d shoved her father’s ring on her finger, the hooligans had disappeared and the medieval guys had shown up. Suddenly, it was as if she were in a different place.

A frisson of fear chased up her spine. Was she in a different place? In a different time? Had she somehow managed to travel through time?

She studied the ring and thought about the engravings on the inside. She knew her father had hired someone to translate the markings, but she couldn’t remember what they meant. She let out a breath. If it had caused the problem, then she could remedy the situation quickly enough. She grasped the ring and pulled.

The ring stuck to her finger.

She spit on it, rubbed the moisture around, and tried to twist it off again. It didn’t budge. Panic bubbled in her chest. She didn’t remember the ring being so small when her father had worn it. Tugging at the ring was making her finger swell and she gave up.

Later she’d find some cold water to soak her hand in. What she was thinking couldn’t be the truth, anyway. “Beatrice. What is the date today?”

Beatrice curtsied, and smiled. “The first day of June, my lady.”

Gillian sucked in air as goosebumps ran up her arms. As far as she knew, it was April the eighteenth. With a shiver she asked, “What year?”

The maid looked confused. “The year of our Lord, 1260.”

Chills ran up Gillian’s back, and the hair on her nape stood straight. But disbelief had her scoffing. “The real date, if you please.”

The girl’s face showed absolutely no understanding. Either she was an incredible actress, or she really was more than seven hundred years old. “Are you telling the truth?” asked Gillian, trying to sound stern.

The girl looked scared. “Of course, my lady. I would never lie to you. If I did so, Father Elliot would serve up bread and water for a sennight!” The sincerity in the other girl’s face sent an icy chill through Gillian.

“What is the name of this castle?”

“Marshall Keep, my lady.”

Suddenly dizzy, Gillian placed a hand to her forehead. When she’d been drawing Marshall Keep, it certainly hadn’t looked anything like this.

She looked toward the keep. It looked like she needed to have another talk with That Man, after all.

And this time she intended to get some answers.

* * *

Kellen, seated at the head table and going over accounts with his steward, was very pleased when Edith finally sought him out. He had marked her whereabouts throughout the day and had waited patiently while Edith explored her new home. He had kept himself busy by performing his duties in the hall on the chance she might need him.

He was proud of his home and wished her to be happy there. He hoped his keep, stalwart and affluent, would sway her into accepting their marriage more readily.

Edith moved toward him and Kellen stood, struck anew at how beautiful he found her. Her gown didn’t hide her curves, and her slight form walked with purpose and allure. She looked to be refreshed and radiant from her afternoon outside. Obligation and duty aside, he found himself glad she belonged to him.

Edith stopped in front of him. “What is the date today?”

Kellen’s brows rose at her abrupt and demanding tone. As his betrothed, she must needs work on her address; but he would let it pass for the moment.

He wondered if she were worried about attending mass. Her sister, Catherine, had been quite devout. It was unfortunate the priest had not the influence to check her murderous inclinations.

But he would not think on that. This was a new girl and a new beginning. Kellen did his best to keep his expression pleasant as he answered with a slight bow. “It is Tuesday, my lady.”

She gifted him a look he did not appreciate. Like he was the idiot she had named him earlier. “The full date, if you please, as in month, day, and year.”

Kellen’s brows rose, and he tried to hide his disgruntlement. Did she now question his wits? “It is the first day of June, 1260.”

Edith’s expression was disbelieving. “Are you sure it isn’t April eighteenth? Are you sure I haven’t simply been kidnapped by a weird medievalist cult or something? I saw the movie The Village. They had all those people holed up in an isolated location thinking they were living in the past.”

Kellen knew not what she referred to, and fearing to look a dolt, he remained silent.

Edith placed her hand on her hips, momentarily drawing his gaze there. “Or perhaps I really did travel through time?”

Again, Kellen was not sure what she referred to but could clearly hear censure in her tone. This she must work on also. He narrowed his eyes in warning but again did not respond.

Edith sighed, and the tension drained from her body. “What exactly is it you want from me?” The belligerence evaporated and she sounded weary and confused.

Ah. This was good. His patience had finally yielded profits. Kellen relaxed a bit, pleased at her inclination to learn her role here. Her distress in coming to him in such a manner had likely frazzled her nerves and made her awkward. Now they could discuss their betrothal in a reasonable manner.

Kellen reached to take her hand, to reassure her. She did not resist, only appeared bewildered as she gazed down at his larger hand engulfing her smaller one, and this pleased him also. She would soon learn to lean on his strength and to trust him in all matters. The softness of her skin made him smile, and the quiver of awareness prickling throughout his body had him looking forward to their wedding night.

Perhaps after they had known one another better she would not make him wait the five weeks until they wed to consummate the marriage? If she carried his heir on their wedding day, he would be doubly pleased.

“You may call me Kellen. May I call you Edith?”

She jerked her hand from his. “Why would you?” Her words were sharp again.

Kellen was taken aback, his pride stung, and he straightened. “That is your name, is it not? Lady Edith Corbett? We are betrothed, so formalities between us can surely be dropped?”

Lady Edith sucked in a breath. “I might not know much about what is going on here, but I am positive we are not engaged and that I am not Edith.”

Kellen struggled to hold his temper, but it was obvious she tried to escape the marriage. She did not like her new home? She did not like him? That was unfortunate, because she would find him unyielding on this subject. They would marry.

Anger hardened his heart. “You are not Lady Edith Corbett?”

Edith folded her arms. “No, I am not.”

Kellen gave her one final chance. “So, you are not Lady Edith and are not my betrothed?”

“I already said no on both counts, didn’t I?” Again, her tone held the sharpness he was beginning to detest.

Kellen sucked in a breath and tried to control his temper. Obviously his betrothed needed instruction on the way of things. “Then how came you to be here? Who are you? If you are not Lady Corbett, you must be a thief and a spy and therefore must be hanged immediately.”

Shock and fear were plain in Edith’s face as she swallowed and stepped back. “I’m not a thief or a spy.”

Kellen did not want her afraid. He wanted his wife to want him. To yield to him. This display of neediness on his part, the fragile hope for a companion in marriage, made him angrier still. When would he learn?

He hit out harshly. “You wear the Corbett ring. If you are not his daughter then you must have stolen it.”

Edith hid the ring under her hand. “No! This was my father’s ring!” Fear laced her expression and voice.

“Then once more, I will ask for your name.”

She studied him for a long moment, and he was well aware of the visage she beheld. Brutal, grim, harsh. Her unwanted future.

She gulped. “I am Lady Edith Corbett, your betrothed.” She grabbed her bag, turned, and ran out the door again.

Kellen let out a breath and tamped back the pain and anger. It was not as he had hoped. But there would be no games played between them. He would not allow it. She would learn her place and keep to it. The marriage would be one of duty, and any tender feelings he felt toward her he would keep to himself.

Eventually those sentiments would expire.

Just as they had in his first marriage.

Chapter Seven

The guy was a… a… a big, scary jerk! Gillian ran outside, finally slowed, and came to a stop. Breathing hard, she looked around.

So the year was 1260, huh? These guys were good. Everything pointed to this being medieval England: the castle, the way everyone dressed, their speech, the way they occupied themselves, everything. There was not one little clue that this was the twenty-first century.

But, of course, that was impossible. Time travel via a graveyard? The idea was ridiculous. She had to look at this logically. Take away the time travel idea and what was she left with?

A fraud of some sort. A trick. And probably drugs and a kidnapping to boot. But for what purpose?

Perhaps this was some sort of English Candid Camera type show that had gone way too far. A give a girl a gynecological exam, then threaten to kill her, type show. It was hard to believe anyone would arrange something this elaborate, but it made more sense than time travel.

They were probably going to feature her on YouTube or something along with a bunch of other idiot tourists who fell for their ploy and were molested by them. British humor? Somehow watching Monty Python would never be the same.

But shouldn’t they have jumped out by now and admitted it was all a joke? Surprise, surprise, we got you. Ha, ha, ha.

Or did they realize they’d gone too far and now didn’t know what to do? Didn’t know how to get out of it? Were they afraid of being sued? Gillian’s mouth tightened. If not, they should be.

She headed toward the front gate. She’d climb to the top of the wall and take a good look at the view from the front of the castle this time. See if she could spot a road or perhaps even her rental car if they’d brought it along.

She still had her keys in her pack, so she could hike out to it and drive away without a backward glance. If she didn’t see the rental, well, at this point she was even willing to take her chances and hitchhike to the town of Marshall. As long as the driver wasn’t an obviously drooling psychopath or dressed in medieval garb, or both.

Ignoring the way everyone continued to stare, she walked to the imposing front gate, located the circular staircase, and started to climb.

When she’d almost reached the top, two men rushed forward blocking her way. Guards from the looks of them, one taller with a bigger nose, one shorter with worried brown eyes. Strong men, stocky with muscle. Both looked uncomfortable.

Big Nose glanced at his friend then ordered. “My lady, you must turn back. ’Tis not allowable for you to be up here.”

Gillian stopped a few steps down and glared as she tried to catch her breath. “Just get out of my way, okay? I’ve about had it with this place, and I don’t need any more men telling me how it’s going to be; so back off, buster.”

Surprise registered on both faces and the brown-eyed worrier positioned himself more firmly in her path but glanced between his friend and Gillian as if unsure which side to take. His voice was gentle. “We cannot let you by, your ladyship. ’Tis high off the ground. Turn back lest you be frightened by the view.”

Gillian smiled tightly. “I was just looking at the view from the back side of the keep a while ago. This isn’t that much higher and I promise it won’t scare me. Just get out of the way, will you?”

Big Nose placed a fist on one hip. “’Tis not allowable.” Arrogance oozed down the steps.

Sudden suspicion had Gillian’s eyes narrowing. “Why not? Is there something you don’t want me to see? A parking lot, perhaps? Or a nearby town? Policemen on patrol? A telephone?”

The men exchanged a confused glance, or was that a guilty one? Big Nose’s brows rose. “Er… no, miss.”

The worrier looked visibly distressed but didn’t move out of her way. “Please miss, this is no place for a lady such as yourself.”

Gillian gave a fake smile. “What’s a girl like me doing in a place like this, huh? I’m asking myself that same question. Now, move it.”

Gillian surged up the few steps and tried to squeeze around the shorter guy. She pushed but couldn’t get much of a foothold from her position on the stairs, and the guy didn’t budge at all. Gillian, hands and head pushing against the man’s stomach, said, “Nothing you can say is going to stop me. Get out of my way!”

Neither guy moved.

Gillian sighed and let up. She moved down a step so she could glare up at them. “Look. The jig is up. I surrender.” She lifted both hands. “You got me. Ha. Ha. Ha. You can show me your tiny little cameras, and we can all laugh together. Okay?”

Both men looked at each other then back at her again. She made another dive, and this time the taller man blocked her way grabbing at her arms as she tried to go around him.

Off balance, upset, and on the verge of tears, Gillian shrank back. “What are you trying to do? Push me down the stairs? If you touch me, if anyone dares to touch me again, you are both going to be in so much trouble!”

The guards looked anxious and uncomfortable, but both held their positions. The worrier looked around as if seeking more help. “Miss. Please. You must not come up here. The height will only upset your sensibilities.”

“Turn back.” Big Nose’s arrogance reared its ugly head again.

Gillian looked down, shook her head, and sighed. Fine. They wanted her to play damsel in distress? She’d play it their way. She tried to look scared as she peeked up at them. “The view is truly frightening?” Gillian tried for fear, but wondered if she’d overplayed when her voice wavered. “I guess you’re right. I’d better go now.”

Brown Eyes looked relieved. “Thank you, miss. That is for the best.”

Big Nose smiled in a superior way. “There’s a good lass. And don’t be coming back up here.” Under his breath he muttered, “Meddlesome female.”

Gillian twisted her body to look down the spiral staircase. “I should just go back this way? I’m not sure how to get down. It’s so steep.”

Gillian’s dress hid her firmly planted feet as she pretended to lose her footing. “Oh… oh, dear… oh, no!” She started to windmill her arms and let out a real scream as her pack pulled her backward. “Help me! I’m falling!”

The shorter guy grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up the few steps.

Gillian clung to him as she looked down the staircase. “I… I can’t. Oh, thank you… I almost… I’m so scared. I could… I could have died!”

The man’s grip tightened protectively. “Fret not. I have you.”

Both men pulled her the rest of the way up the stairs and she collapsed on the stone floor, her heart pounding. She started to laugh as she scooted away, then stood and brushed off her skirt. “Thanks, guys. Now that I’m here, I might as well look around.”

Big Nose’s mouth fell open then his face tightened into an angry mask. “Now, see here.” He reached for her.

Gillian backed away. “I wouldn’t if I were you. I’ll scream the castle down if you so much as lay one finger on me.”

Brown Eyes made frantic motions toward the staircase.

“Mistress, please.”

Gillian skipped a few feet backward out of their reach. “Back off. I’m just going to take a look around, and then I’ll be on my way. Okay?”

Gillian turned, walked to the edge and clung to a stone parapet in case they tried to use force. She looked over the village and the surrounding countryside.

Within moments, her shoulders sagged in disappointment. No car, no sign of a paved road, no sign of civilization at all. She’d expected to see something to convince her she wasn’t in the thirteenth century. If not a car, at least a satellite dish on the side of a hut or a telephone wire. Something.

“Now, miss,” said the worrier. “I told you ye’d feel faint. And now look, you’ve gone pale as parchment. Shall I carry you down, then?”

Gillian waved a hand at them. “No. I’m fine.”

The man nodded reluctantly and the two walked a few feet away to confer. Big Nose’s voice rose as he talked about trickery, women, and guile all in the same sentence.

And then Gillian spotted the cemetery. Could it be the same graveyard she’d run through before? How could she possibly know? She looked beyond it and saw something that made her spine stiffen. In the distance sat a cluster of rocks, one bigger than the rest, in the middle of a field.

Gillian’s heart started to pound. Could it be the same rock she’d been sitting on a couple of hours ago as she’d sketched the ruin? As she’d drawn the castle with the exact same arch as this one had?

At a guess, the rock was located in exactly the position it should be in relation to the castle.

Was she being ridiculous? Was it simply coincidence?

She looked to the left of it, to where the road should be. There was no road in that direction and no car. But there wouldn’t be if she were in the thirteenth century, would there?

She brushed the thought away. She refused to buy into that madness. The rock simply had to be a fluke. Of course, it would be easy enough to put her mind at ease. Her rock had been unique.

Turning away from the men, Gillian dug into her pack, pulled out her camera, turned it on and scrolled through the pictures she’d taken of the ruin until she came to the rock.

She checked it against the one on the outskirts. It did look like the same rock. But from that distance and angle, she couldn’t be sure.

Gillian scoffed at herself. Surely rocks like that were scattered throughout England? But they wouldn’t be exactly the same, would they? It had been unusual with its dips and curves. And up close she could check it against the picture to be sure.

She sprang into action, shoved her camera in her pack, and shrugged it onto her shoulders. She headed for the stairs and pulled the strings tight on her backpack.

“Do you need help going down the stairs, mistress?” asked Brown Eyes.

“Hardly!”

Big Nose sniffed. “A good riddance to ye, then. And don’t come back.”

Gillian’s mouth twisted. “Don’t worry. If I have anything to say about it, I won’t.” Scrambling down the staircase, she hurried to the bottom and then around the corner. She was relieved when no one stopped her from leaving through the huge front gate. She’d go and get a look at that rock and settle her doubts once and for all. And when she was done, she’d just keep on walking.

Chapter Eight

Wearing a dress, and moving across the harsh terrain, it took Gillian about thirty minutes to go through the village, past the cemetery, up the rise, and over the field to the rock formations.

Breathing hard as she neared them, fear constricted her chest. Because the closer she got, the more convinced she became that they were the same group of rocks.

The gray stone, interspersed with green and black markings, the different shapes of the boulders, the way they were positioned, all looked remarkably familiar.

Chills climbed the middle of her back, spread across her body, and had the hair on her arms standing on end. The rock she’d climbed before had vaguely resembled a mushroom, and there it was. Even from the ground she could see the dip in the front that looked suspiciously like the depression she’d been sitting in.

Could a rock remain unchanged over a period of seven hundred years? Was that even possible?

Gillian took off her backpack, retrieved the camera, and scrolled through the pictures until she found the rock. She skirted the boulder until she found the exact location from which she’d snapped the shot.

Shivers raced up her spine as she compared the past and the present. Unless they had lookalike rocks strewn across England, then yes, this had to be the same rock. The shallow depression was there, even the ledge on which she’d set her pencils was right where it was supposed to be. She could even see the other rock formations in the background, both in the photo and in the present.

Could this really be happening?

Encumbered by her dress, she bunched the material in one fist, climbed the backside of the rock, and lowered herself into the hollow.

Sitting in the exact indentation she’d occupied earlier, she looked toward the castle, took a few deep breaths to stave off dizziness, and scrolled through the pictures on her camera.

Looking between the castle ruin on her camera, and the now pristine version of the castle with the village set out in front of it, Gillian’s breath caught. The same arch, towers, arrow slits, everything. Even the graveyard was in the correct location. There could be no doubt.

Gillian felt the blood drain from her face and a whirling sensation had her dropping the camera in her lap and clutching at the rock as she took a few deep breaths, trying to get enough air into her lungs.

This was unbelievable. How could this have happened? Why would this have happened? Somehow, she’d actually traveled through time? Had she stumbled through a wormhole without noticing? Or been snatched up by the hand of God and moved to prevent her murder by those boys?

Did things like that happen?

Gillian rubbed her fingers against the scratchy surface of the rock, making sure it was really there. That she was really there.

She wasn’t unconscious or dreaming and this wasn’t some sort of elaborate set-up to trick her.

Unsurprised, she watched as Lord Kellen Marshall crossed the field on horseback, a few of his men following. She stuffed her camera into her pack, closed it, and waited.

He was without helmet or shield, and his black hair gleamed with shots of mahogany and gold in the sunlight, his tanned face hard and unyielding. He still wore chain, armor, and sword, and his loose tunic sported a coat of arms in red and green, depicting a black bird of prey, claws extended.

As she was feeling slightly hunted at the moment, his crest seemed appropriate.

His men stopped; but Kellen, eyes intelligent, perceptive, and without an ounce of guile, maneuvered his horse around the rock, never taking his gaze from hers.

Her own gaze dropped when he moved behind her, until finally he finished rounding the rock and stopped in front of her. He instructed one of his men to search the other rocks.

“What do you do here?”

Slowly she raised her head and met his dark gaze again. She shivered. A real, live, medieval warrior, and he was looking at her as if he owned her, as if she were his possession. His amber eyes took in every part of her, making the blood rush back into her face. A medieval warrior who believed she belonged to him and who believed he had the right to establish and then claim her virginity.

Gillian swallowed, then pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them. Breathless, and still even a bit dizzy, she thought it was a good thing she was sitting. She tried a smile. “Sightseeing?”

He didn’t smile in return. “Sightseeing?”

Gillian nodded. “Yes. I enjoy sightseeing. I saw these rocks from the top of the castle and wanted a closer look.”

Kellen glanced around. “You were not meeting with anyone in this place?”

Her brows rose. Was that why he’d rounded the rock? Why his man was, even now, searching around the others? Was he looking for someone? “No. How could I? I don’t know anyone here.”

Kellen nodded again, then maneuvered his horse closer and held out a hand. “Might I assist you back to the keep?”

Looking at the large, calloused hand, Gillian thought about going with him, thought about sitting on his lap again with his warmth and solid muscle at her back. She remembered the way his arms had held her tight and how she’d melted into him, trying to absorb his strength.

A part of her wanted to fall into those arms again for comfort; but now that she knew he was real, she was pretty sure it wasn’t such a good idea. He either wanted to marry her or kill her. Since he wasn’t joking about either option, she could really use a bit of time to adjust.

Especially since, if and when he found out she wasn’t Edith Corbett, he might take option number two and hang her as a spy.

She smiled weakly at him. “How about a walk?”

Gillian watched with relief as Kellen gave a brief nod and dismounted. He threw the reins of his horse to a grinning knight, crossed the distance quickly, and held out his arms.

Gillian hesitated. She realized she’d either have to accept his help or turn around and scoot down with her butt in the air. She looked into Kellen’s upturned face, to the four knights at his back, all grinning now, and realized that was not going to happen.

She moved to the edge, took a breath, and fell into Kellen’s outstretched arms. Her hands landed on his shoulders and he caught her under her arms and lifted. She could feel the hardness of chain mail and bunching muscles as he easily hoisted her up and around, then slowly lowered her to the ground. She couldn’t help the way her heart thumped at this effortless show of strength.

The romantic dress she wore, her hands slipping to his chest, the predatory way he looked at her, all combined to make her knees weak. The attraction she felt was stronger than ever and left her breathless.

Realizing her feet were on the ground, that she still gripped him and stared into his eyes like an enraptured groupie, she dropped her hands and turned away. She needed to think, and it was better if she didn’t touch him while she did so.

She cleared her throat. “Shall we go?” Her voice was breathless and, embarrassed, she didn’t wait for an answer.

Keeping her distance, she skirted the men and their horses, then started toward the small village. Kellen fell into step, his long stride enabling him to take one step for every two of hers, his chain mail making a soft clinking sound as they walked. His men fell back, leaving them a bit of privacy; and out of the corner of her eye, Gillian could see Kellen studying her. When she glanced up, the possessive look in his eyes startled her and she quickly dropped her gaze.

And why wouldn’t he look at her that way? He thought he owned her, body and soul. He believed them to be engaged. Betrothed. Whatever. She shivered. She was going to be in deep trouble when the truth came out.

She remembered the hard look in his eyes earlier when he’d threatened to hang her. Would he actually kill her if he knew she wasn’t really his fiancé? She swallowed. Maybe not. Probably not. Did they even hang women? She didn’t know for sure, but this was a harsh time and he was a harsh man.

So the bottom line was, if she didn’t want to die, or end up cleaning medieval bathrooms or something, she was going to be Edith Corbett until she figured out what was going on and found a way back to her own time. And she would find a way. If she could get here, surely she could get back again.

Gillian thought about the physical exam she’d been subjected to and her cheeks heated. What if she hadn’t been a virgin? What if she’d given in to Ryan’s overtures as she’d considered? Would they have thrown her out and pulled up the drawbridge? Poor Edith. What a time to live.

Gillian considered the fact that Edith’s last name was the same as her own. A relative? One of the ancestors she’d come to England to find? She had no way of knowing, but found it funny and stifled a laugh. She’d meant to find their headstones, not meet them in person.

“What amuses you?”

Gillian lifted a shoulder. “Life is just funny sometimes, you know?”

“How so?”

She decided to be as honest as possible. She had no way of knowing anything about Edith, anyway, so couldn’t answer as she would. “One minute I’m alone, and the next,” she shrugged, “on the verge of being married.”

Which reminded her. Earlier, he’d said her arrival was sooner than expected. That meant the wedding party hadn’t arrived and she wondered how long she had. “Let’s talk about the wedding,” she said brightly. “When is it to be, exactly?”

“You were supposed to arrive five weeks hence.” Kellen’s face was unreadable as he glanced her way. “Why are you early?”

“Why do you think I’m early?” she hedged.

“Your father fears my anger. That you wear his ring bespeaks a message from him. If your father has sent such, state it now.”

Gillian sighed. “All right. I’ll bite. Why would my father be afraid of you?”

“Your sister tried to poison me before dying herself, marking her death suspicious. He fears my anger.” He sounded as if he’d hated his wife and she’d obviously despised him.

“You didn’t kill her, did you?” Remembering the way he’d threatened to hang her, Gillian was only half-joking.

“Nay!” Kellen turned her toward him, his expression affronted. “Have you heard such?”

Gillian swallowed. “No.” Kellen’s hands were warm on her shoulders. “I… just the way you worded it. It made me wonder. So, she killed herself?”

He nodded once. “In trying to poison me, she mischanced to poison herself, though rumors spread that suicide was her goal.”

Good grief. And this psycho was supposed to be Edith’s sister? And he wanted to marry her? How very awkward. Gillian lifted her face to the sunlight. “It certainly is a nice day, isn’t it?”

Kellen grunted, and she supposed that was all the response her change of subject deserved. Gillian turned away and they started walking again. So, perhaps she had as long as five weeks before the bride and her parents showed. “Why do you want to marry me, anyway?”

“You bring more land and—”

“What!” Instant anger fired Gillian’s temper. She stopped and turned toward him again, glaring into his face. “Oh that’s nice. Really nice.” Gillian threw up her arms. “First my loser boyfriend turns out to be a user and now you only want what you can get from me. Don’t men think women have feelings?”

Kellen looked surprised. “It is the way of things.”

Looking into his confused face, she sighed, the anger draining away as suddenly as it flashed to life. They weren’t really engaged, anyway, so what did it matter? She turned to walk again.

“Well, at least you aren’t making any bones about it. At least you aren’t sly. But why is it men only want me for what I can give them? Why can’t someone just want me because they like me? Why can’t someone just be attracted to me in the normal boy meets girl, likes girl, and wants to marry girl sort of way?”

Kellen laughed. “I must disabuse you of the notion that money and lands are the only reason I wish to marry you.”

Gillian stopped, her face turning upward.

“I also want an heir.” Kellen looked at her, a masculine smile spreading across his face. “And I plan to be very diligent in the endeavor. It will be my first priority. I look forward to the task and plan to spend much time in the pursuit.”

Gillian didn’t say anything for a moment as she stared into his eyes. Slowly she smiled, then laughed. Which, in turn, surprised a pleased expression from Kellen, which made her laugh all the more.

Strangely enough, the thought that he might want her for her body didn’t offend nearly as much as him wanting her for financial gain. Kellen smiled, looking at her as if she were some sort of temptress. She liked it, and said, “Okay, then. It’s good that we understand each other.”

She started forward again and they soon reached the outskirts of the village. She was accepting this, wasn’t she? Somehow she’d been hurled through time and into the past. This was the castle she’d been sketching, and this knight was born in the thirteenth century. She’d time traveled, and was now engaged to a gorgeous guy who’d rescued her and looked at her like she was dessert. Not a bad setup.

Granted, his real fiancé was scheduled to arrive in five weeks; and when she did, Gillian would be exposed as an imposter and put to death, but why dwell on the negatives? Hopefully Gillian would be long gone by then.

In the meantime, she’d just go with the flow. She’d pretend to be Edith, have an adventure, enjoy the English countryside, and find a way home. She slid a glance up at Kellen and had to admit, his obvious admiration was a much-needed ego boost. When his real fiancé arrived, he’d no doubt forget all about Gillian, but maybe she could have a few great memories out of the deal?

She held out her hand and, looking pleased, Kellen took it, his large, warm grip dwarfing hers and sending tingles up her arm. She smiled again. Nice. Very nice. Who didn’t hope for a holiday romance? And how many people got a chance to visit medieval England?

Gillian was going to buy into the whole fairytale for now, castle, knight, and all, and enjoy the adventure. At least until she found a way to return home.

“You wanted a message from my father? Here it is. The rest of the party is coming as scheduled.”

Kellen looked down at their linked hands and nodded. “That is fine. It will give us time to know one another before the wedding.”

Gillian smiled. “Time indeed.”

Chapter Nine

“He is a dim-witted, softheaded imbecile!” Sir Robert Royce threw a cup across the hall and sprayed wine over the dirty rushes. Next he threw a platter, then a chunk of wood. ’Twas satisfying when three servants scrambled out of the way as the wood exploded against a wall.

“A brainless, half-wit, moron! Everything is his fault. I hate him! I want him dead!”

Robert’s throat was raw from airing his justifiable grievances and he realized he was somewhat in his cups. He’d been steadily drinking since his return home and continued to throw things about as servants rushed out of the way. His own men stood back, wary.

Breathing heavily, Robert looked around the hall for more ammunition. His humiliation by Marshall demanded he do something. But what? Every year that passed saw Marshall with more and Robert with less.

Suddenly weary, he sank to his chair at the head table and picked up the cup of wine a servant rushed to place at hand. He took a healthy swallow.

His men slowly moved forward, righting benches so they could sit. His complaints against Marshall were entirely defensible. Marshall promoted ill will wherever he went, yet somehow retained the king’s ear and married at the highest level in the land, adding to his already vast wealth.

It was not fair!

A servant moved cautiously forward to pour more wine, and another set a trencher of food in front of Robert. ’Twas of poor quality, the bread gritty, the cheese hard and slightly moldy, the meat scarce. Anger welled again for he knew from past visits that Marshall set a much finer table.

An adolescent raced in and bent to one knee, his head bowed. “My lord.”

His spy, ready to report. Robert straightened. “Well?”

The youth stood, breathing hard, his skinny chest rising and falling beneath dirty clothes. “The Lady Corbett has arrived early for the wedding, my lord.”

“She is truly Marshall’s betrothed?”

The young man nodded vigorously. “Aye, my lord.”

“Daughter to Lord Corbett?”

“Aye, my lord.”

So ’twas true. Robert could hardly credit the half-naked girl he’d seen as Marshall’s betrothed. Why hadn’t he noticed the ring? Why hadn’t his men?

“Had she been attacked?” Robert smiled at the thought. The marriage might well be invalid.

“The midwife affirmed her virginity. ’Tis said she wore a chastity belt of such strength and cunning ten men could not have removed it. And there is more to tell. Marshall Keep was in an uproar, for only hours after her arrival, Lady Corbett tried to walk back to her father’s stronghold, my lord.”

Robert laughed. “By the saints, did she truly?” Perhaps he need not kill the girl. Mayhap he could find a way to turn the chit against Marshall as he’d done her sister.

The boy nodded again, looking pleased with himself. “But Lord Marshall rode after and brought her back. They held hands and smiled upon one another and even laughed. I saw it with my own eyes. Some say ’tis a love match in the making.”

Burning anger raced through Robert. Did the youth mean to try his patience? “Is that so?” Robert raised a fist to strike the impudence from the boy, but the youth was fast and darted away.

Robert motioned to his men. “Catch him.”

Robert laughed, heartily amused as the young man eluded his men, jumping over fallen benches, running over tabletops, and leaping and slipping in the dirty rushes. The boy received a few blows to his back for his trouble before tripping and getting caught.

A female servant lunged forward. “Please, my lord.” She threw herself to her knees in the dirt and filth, her head bent, exposing greasy hair. “Please, do not hurt Valeric.”

Robert stared at the downbent head for a moment, then remembered the boy was his whelp by the servant girl. She used to be pretty but was now haggard and pinched.

Dissatisfied, he looked about. His keep was dirty, his servants begrimed, and his food lacking.

He had a cheerful moment as he recalled how much he’d enjoyed the food at Marshall’s table and then enjoyed his wife even more. He laughed aloud. Feeling magnanimous toward the crying adolescent, he waved a hand. “Let him go.”

He turned to the woman. “Clean yourself and hie to my bed.” Perhaps he would prove his virility once again this night. Her obvious fear was like an aphrodisiac.

Just so long as Marshall didn’t prove his virility any time soon. If he fathered an heir, Robert would have no chance at talking the king into giving Marshall Keep to him, even were Marshall to die.

This time Robert would put a stop to Marshall’s plans before they came to pass. Robert would get another chance at killing the girl.

Or mayhap he should think it through. Impregnating Marshall’s last wife had been such a pleasurable experience. Knowing Marshall’s heir had sprung from his own loins had been heady and exciting. If the child had lived, and been a boy, Robert’s own son would have inherited Marshall Keep. And with Marshall dead, Robert had planned to marry the girl and have it all: the keep, the girl, the heir.

He’d been so happy for awhile.

Too bad the stupid woman had killed herself instead of Marshall.

He considered the new girl. She’d been most attractive. But he could not risk it again. Not with Marshall living there continually. The girl wasn’t worth his own life.

She would needs be killed before the wedding, not after. He only wished he might have realized her identity sooner. He could have taken her and bedded her at his leisure first, enjoyed her to the fullest, and then killed her.

No, it wasn’t too late for vengeance. It would simply take a different twist this time about. This time he would ensure Marshall was without bride, heir, or property.

And, eventually, without life itself.

Chapter Ten

Gillian woke to a face peering down at her. She jerked backward into soft pillows. “Aaahhh!”

It was only then she recognized Beatrice, her new maid. The young girl grinned. “Sorry, my lady. I was just checking to see if you were awake yet. Did you sleep well, then?”

Heart pounding, Gillian glanced around, surprised to find herself still in medieval England. “You should know.”

Beatrice giggled. “Lord Marshall insisted you sleep without interruption. He feared you were overtired from your journey and ordeal.”

Two other young girls filled a wooden tub with steaming water near the fireplace.

“Is that for me?” Gillian indicated the tub. A bath sounded wonderful.

“Aye, my lady.”

Gillian tossed off the covers and slid out of bed. She’d been so tired the night before she barely remembered slipping into the voluminous white nightgown. Her feet touched cold stone and she immediately hopped from one foot to the other. “Cold. The floor is cold!”

Beatrice handed her fur-lined slippers and Gillian slid them on. They were a little small, but she was grateful for their warmth as she headed down the hall to quickly use the garderobe, an experience she completed as quickly as possible. When she returned Beatrice hurried forward.

“Ye’ve already missed the morning meal, my lady. ’Twill soon be suppertime. And look! His lordship sent a gift.” She held it out.

Gillian took the beautiful silver comb and studied the pattern of roses and ivy. Touched, she ran a hand over the intricate design and felt herself soften toward the big guy. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had given her a present. Her so-called fiancé certainly hadn’t. He’d taken her for all he could get. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Beatrice smiled. “Lord Marshall will be pleased if you wear it this day. He waits below. He paces the hall and is like to wear a path in the stones.”

This set all three girls giggling and Gillian smiling.

He was anxious to see her again? That was certainly flattering. Gillian noticed a beautiful green dress laid on the end of the bed. “All right. If you girls will leave, I’ll take a bath and get dressed.”

“Nay, my lady. We are to assist you.”

And why didn’t that surprise her? “Like you did yesterday? No, thanks. I’m not getting naked until everyone is gone.”

Reluctantly, almost peevishly, as if Gillian were being unfair, the girls left. Gillian checked, but there wasn’t a lock on the door.

Watching the entry, Gillian undressed and, seconds after she sank into the tub, Beatrice glided back into the room.

“I don’t need any help!”

Chin high, Beatrice threw a petulant, reproachful glance. “I will tidy the chamber.”

“Get out!”

Beatrice acted like she didn’t hear, and, a moment later, the two other girls filed back inside.

Disgusted, Gillian sank down and let her head drop back against the wooden rim. It they came near her, she’d flatten them.

Ignoring her, the girls chattered as they put things away, made the bed, dusted, swept, and straightened the pots and jars lining one table. One girl straightened the logs beside the fire.

Gillian sighed and quickly made use of soap and cloth.

Beatrice brushed out the bottom of the green dress and threw Gillian an arch look. “Everyone is talking about how gallant it was for Lord Kellen to follow and hold your hand last eve. And Lord Kellen has laughed several times this day, already. His mood is much improved since your arrival. The guards over the gatehouse declare to have shown to you the rocks in the distance, and thereby lay claim to the romance.”

“Everyone’s talking about us?” Usually no one cared to notice anything she did, and it felt strange to have a starring role in the castle gossip.

“Aye. Some think to rename the rocks as Lover’s Peak or Rapture Ridge. I myself favor Passion’s Precipice.”

Gillian groaned, then slipped down into the water. She quickly finished washing and was soon ready to get out. If Gillian wasn’t mistaken, the women were now trying to find things to do. Surely the walls didn’t need dusting?

“Have you any tidings from London? With your father a powerful baron, you must have gone there often. Have you news of the king and queen?”

Gillian considered her knowledge of history and drew a blank. She had no idea who they even were. “Um. Well. It’s said they have romantic names.”

Beatrice turned, her brows drawn together. “Henry and Eleanor? Think ye?”

“Of course.” She filed the names away. She wished she did have some juicy bit of gossip to share based on a broad knowledge of history, but didn’t. “Uh. They’re doing fine. The queen’s gowns are as pretty as ever,” she said cautiously.

Beatrice lit up. “Have you details? The queen is said to be very beautiful. Is that true?”

“Sure, and she always wears the latest fashions.” Since the woman was a queen, and considered beautiful, Gillian felt safe making the assertion.

Beatrice, eyes shining, asked, “What is the latest fashion?”

Gillian floundered. She’d drawn people in a couple of her castle paintings, but had pretty much used her imagination rather than done any research on clothing. This was what she got for being lazy. “Puffed sleeves, pointed shoes, and feathers?”

The girl squealed. “I had not heard this!”

Gillian cringed. She should have kept her mouth shut. “I’m ready to get out now, if you’ll just go?”

Beatrice rushed forward. “I will help.”

Gillian quickly held the cloth over her chest. “No, I’m fine, really.”

Beatrice clapped her hands and rushed the two other girls out, then came back and held up a large, dry cloth.

“Really, I can do it myself. I insist.”

“’Tis my right and my duty.”

Gillian sighed. She was pretty sure she’d heard that before. Recently. “Fine. But if you try anything, I’ll annihilate you, understand?”

Beatrice giggled. “Aye, my lady.”

She squeezed the moisture from her hair, then from the wash cloth, laying it over the edge. She stood and reached for the drying cloth, but Beatrice backed away until Gillian was out of the tub, completely exposed. Giving Beatrice a dirty look, Gillian snatched the cloth.

Beatrice stared, eyes wide. “Your toes!” she gaped in astonishment.

Gillian wrapped up in the cloth and looked at her toes. “You’ve never seen neon pink toenails before, huh? You didn’t notice them yesterday when you stripped me?”

“My lady. I most sincerely apologize for treating you thus. Lord Marshall had need to know of your purity, and we had to obey.”

“Whatever.” Gillian lifted her chin at the dress. “I like the dress. It’s very whimsical.”

“Let me help you into it.”

It turned out Gillian was actually glad for the assistance. Hoses gartered at the knees, a tight undertunic, and then the gown. She probably wouldn’t have figured it out on her own. To Beatrice’s disgust, Gillian wore her athletic shoes which would have probably spoiled the effect, except they couldn’t be seen.

“Do you miss your family?”

Gillian thought of her parents and brother. “Yes, I do. Very much.”

“I’m sure they will visit often, and that Lord Marshall will take you to see them also.” Beatrice opened the door and clapped her hands. “Bring the ribbons, that her ladyship might choose.”

Gillian stifled a smile. She wasn’t sure she’d get used to the bowing and scraping, but Beatrice was certainly taking to her new role.

Beatrice hustled her onto a stool and Gillian sat as her hair was damp dried, coiled, entwined with green ribbons, and the silver comb inserted.

“So, any idea what I’m supposed to do all day?”

“My lady?” Beatrice continued fussing, cursing the thickness of Gillian’s hair under her breath.

“You know, how do I keep myself occupied. What’s my role?”

“Ah. Your responsibilities? To have children, of course. We are all very excited about the prospect.”

Gillian shivered as she remembered Kellen’s promise to spend a lot of time at that particular occupation. “I meant right now. Today.”

“Ah. Well, of course, you will want to plan the meals, talk to the cooks, make menus, and keep the kitchen accounts. Sewing is a pleasant pastime and Lord Marshall has much material. I imagine he will be most generous with ye. Do you hunt? There are the falcons, of course. And as the weather is warm, perhaps you will plan a field day?”

“A field day?”

“Fun, games, and food out of doors.”

“Oh. A picnic.” Gillian chuckled at Beatrice’s hopeful tone.

“Also, you are to make sure everyone is working to your satisfaction. You have no ladies to train at present, for they all left when your sister died. But I am sure that will change once your family arrives and news of your marriage spreads. Then there are the spinners and weavers. And, of course, preparations for the wedding.”

Gillian’s head reeled. “Is that all?”

Beatrice giggled. “Of course you will have many hands to help with all. Lord Marshall is quite wealthy, you know, with countless servants. His father has many manors, but Lord Marshall won this keep through his own merits. It was an award from the king for his strength and loyalty.” Beatrice sounded proud.

“And, of course, many fear him and having him thus on the border is a deterrent against the Scots.” Beatrice gave Gillian’s hair one last pat.

“Everyone is aware you brought his lordship a large dowry and is laughing about your claim of ownership over him. Lord Marshall, as well. No one has seen him laugh in a long time.”

The girls’ eyes were shining with mirth. “The men are also excited as your dowry will allow more of them a place of their own.” She looked down shyly. “Which means a chance of marriage for some of the women, as well.”

Gillian was amused. “Thinking of getting married, are you?”

Beatrice shrugged, but she was smiling as she handed Gillian a piece of polished metal and Gillian realized it was supposed to be a mirror. As far as she could tell, she looked presentable. She’d check her compact later.

Beatrice lowered her voice. “All wonder if a betrothal was broken to give you to Lord Marshall?”

A betrothal? Gillian thought about the way that faker Ryan White had fooled her into believing he loved her and wanted to marry her. The way he’d humiliated her and left her self-esteem in the mud. Angry tears formed in her eyes. She’d been a fool, and over such a worthless jerk. She didn’t answer, but only shook her head.

“Oh, my lady. I’m sorry to bring up a sore subject.”

“It’s okay.”

“I vow you will be most happy here. I promise to help sew some new dresses for ye. Lord Marshall sent out men to hunt for the thieves who stole your clothing, but I doubt there is much chance of its return. There are your sister’s clothes, of course, but you are much taller and with more bosom, so they won’t fit well.”

Gillian wiped tears away. “That would be great. I’m not much of a seamstress so I accept the offer.”

“You look very fine today, my lady. Do you wish for supper in your chambers? Or in the solar? Your sister ate thus often, and you could as well; but I know for a surety Lord Marshall is waiting for you to appear below. Or you could send word that you are not coming.”

Gillian, wondering why wife number one had eaten by herself, apparently took too long in answering because Beatrice rushed into speech.

“Father Elliot considers it a sin to eat food in chambers unless you are ill. He declares it a form of gluttony.”

Gillian laughed at the not-so-subtle comment. Actually, she was surprised to realize she couldn’t wait to see Kellen again. She probably ought to be making a list of possible ways to get back home, but right now all she wanted to do was enjoy being here.

Kellen was attractive, attentive, and made her feel feminine—a state Ryan had managed to make her question. And, for now, being the lady of the castle sounded like fun. Why not enjoy the experience while she could?

For all she knew, she’d be whisked back as unexpectedly as she’d arrived. If not, she could think about returning in a week or two. For now, she’d just enjoy every minute and consider it her vacation. Albeit a somewhat dangerous one.

Besides, she seemed to be one of the main stars in the local gossip mill, so she’d best show up to provide fodder.

Gillian stood and, feeling very maidenly and beautiful in full medieval garb, headed for the door. “I believe I’ll eat downstairs.”

Beatrice’s squeal made Gillian chuckle and, smiling with anticipation, she went to find her knight.

* * *

When Edith finally appeared at the top of the stairs, Kellen stopped pacing to wait at the bottom. He wished Edith to settle and planned to do all he could to ease her way as she accustomed to her new situation.

With a bounce, she reached the last step and smiled at him. “Hello.”

Kellen tried not to show his surprise at her happy greeting. She’d not curtsied, but Kellen gave a slight bow, regardless. “A good morrow.” Kellen considered the way her green gown brightened the blue of her eyes, the way her coiled hair revealed the length and smoothness of her neck, and the fact that she was more beautiful than he’d remembered.

Her skin was dewy, her figure lush and attractive, and the wide smile she gave belied any shyness or upset she’d suffered the day before. She wore his gift, surely a good sign, and he was pleased and hoped she would comment upon it.

He’d not had much experience with ladies and feared his gallantry to be sadly lacking, but stiffly offered an arm. “My lady?”

She entwined both hers around it, startling him, heating his blood, and he was gratified she touched him of her own accord. As she looked curiously about, Kellen led the way to the head table, sat her beside him, and motioned the servants to come forward with water. Kellen helped Edith wash and dry her slender, delicate hands. Her smooth skin and easy acceptance of his touch caused a surprising breathlessness on his part.

Edith smiled teasingly. “I just had a bath, you know. But maybe you’re using this as an excuse to hold my hand?”

Owen and Tristan both laughed as they joined them across the table. “Aye,” said Tristan. “Kellen is a tricky sort and must be watched always.”

Owen smiled. “’Tis true, my lady. He plans strategies that cannot be seen until too late, and his victim gripped tight within his coils.”

Kellen shot both men a dark look that promised retribution later. “Listen not to the slander of fools.”

Edith chuckled, a melodious, rich sound that stirred the hair on the back of Kellen’s neck. A trencher and cup were placed between them, and he cut the bread in half.

“A piece of stale bread?” Edith teased again. “Is that all I get after missing breakfast?”

Kellen’s mouth lifted. “Perhaps I can manage something more.”

With the priest gone visiting, a prayer was said by one of his foster boys; and then wine, bread, and butter were brought forward.

Edith slathered a piece with enthusiasm. “Yummy. This bread looks wonderful. Fresh out of the oven, too. I can’t remember the last time I had homemade bread.” She took a bite. “Mmm. This is so good!”

Kellen smiled at her enjoyment and moved aside as a platter laden with food was set between them, as well as bowls with broth and vegetables.

When Kellen set the choicest meats upon her trencher, he realized his hand shook and feared he truly was an idiot.

He wondered if her father sent her early to soften him. If so, Kellen had to admit it was not a bad strategy. Her charm and allure would have even the hardest of hearts yielding.

Edith leaned in, her head tucking neatly beneath his chin.

“Why is everyone staring at me?”

He inhaled, her wondrous smell making him dizzy. “Lady Edith, your beauty dazzles them all,” he said with complete sincerity, and was pleased by the ease with which the compliment arrived.

Owen and Tristan pretended not to listen to the conversation, but smiled encouragingly when Edith looked Kellen’s way.

Edith laughed and elbowed him in the ribs. “Get out of here.”

Stung, Kellen asked, “You wish me to leave?”

“What? Heavens, no. Then who would feed me?” She seemed to banter, her smile wide, and he was confused.

“By the way, if you don’t mind, I prefer Gillian to Edith. Could you call me that instead?”

He was pleased that she shared her pet name with him and nodded at once. “Gillian, then.” He liked it. “A very pretty name.” And it boded well for their marriage if she accepted him into her life so easily.

Sitting beside her was making him tongue-tied and Kellen considered and rejected several conversational tidbits. Owen nodded and gestured toward Gillian, but Kellen could think of naught to say besides, “The food is to your liking?”

“Yes, thank you. It’s great. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

Tristan circled his hand at Kellen and, panicked, Kellen shook his head.

Tristan sighed, then turning to Gillian, offered up a bright smile. “My lady, ’tis enchanting to have such a lovely lass to grace our humble table. Thy matchless beauty shines upon this lowly assemblage and brings to us the hope of summertime after a bleak winter.”

Owen backhanded Tristan in the chest. “Nay, dolt, you insult her with such sparse praise.” Owen smiled upon Gillian. “My lady, the grace of thy presence ’tis as a flame brandished on the darkest of midnights, as the sun coming after a moonless night, a brilliant, radiant beam shining through a clouded winter day.”

Both men looked expectantly toward Gillian, awaiting her praise, and Kellen tried frantically to think of words to woo her, but none came to mind. He considered killing his men instead, a task he well knew how to perform.

Gillian laughed. “Is that so? Well, I don’t like to doubt your sincerity or anything, but do I know either one of you? Have we been introduced?”

Her goad inspired a delighted glance exchanged between his men. “Sir Tristan de Aguilon, at your service, fair Gillian. And this knave is Sir Owen de Burgess. And my lady, you must believe, we are in earnest! ’Tis like an arrow through the heart of love for you to question the fervor of our words!”

Owen nodded. “Aye, a dagger, a lance. Your cruel disbelief ’tis as a javelin, straight and true, to pierce this worthless hide.”

“Nay!” said Tristan. “A battering ram to invade the wretched recesses of this disconsolate heart.”

Gillian chuckled and Kellen’s mood darkened.

“Somehow I suspect you’ll both recover,” said Gillian.

Tristan placed a hand over his afflicted heart. “My lady, I beg you—”

Kellen pounded a fist on the table. “Enough! Let the girl eat without threat of thy vomit-inducing sweetness.”

Gillian chuckled again and the sound lightened the jealousy overpowering him because he had not the words to enchant her half so well.

Looking at her, Kellen felt a very lucky man. Gillian was vibrant and beautiful and didn’t seem in the least repulsed by him. In fact, she smiled frequently and looked to him when amused as if inviting him to share her good humor.

He was proud she was his and also liked the way she formed her words, finding it unique and charming. If any were to say differently, they would needs discuss the matter with him.

A second platter was brought out, and Kellen selected cheeses, nuts, and fruits, giving her the finest pieces.

“You know, guys,” said Gillian. “If I’m not mistaken, you two are the miscreants I caught pawing through my pack yesterday.”

Kellen laughed, glad she found fault with the flatterers.

Tristan lifted a hand. “Nay, my lady. We merely offered assistance when your pack spilled about the table. We were tidying your possessions to make sure naught was lost.”

“Aye, my lady, ’tis true,” said Owen.

“Hmm. If you say so.” Gillian’s blue eyes slanted upward. “Kellen, do you think I should believe them?”

Kellen could hardly credit that she used his name and teased him thus. He certainly wasn’t going to mention he’d been the miscreant to open her pack and spill its contents.

“’Tis hopeful you will believe such, my lady, else both will frown and pout and be like to worthless on the training field as they nurse tender feelings.”

Gillian sighed. “All right, then. I supposed I’ll simply have to thank you both for saving my possessions.”

“You are most welcome, my lady.” Tristan bowed his head.

“Most welcome, indeed,” said Owen.

His men, well aware he didn’t want his own part in the escapade revealed, laughed at him. He would pay them later on the training field.

“Tell me about the area,” said Gillian. “Is there anything nearby worth visiting?”

Kellen, glad to have a subject to discuss, waved a hand to stop Tristan from answering. “The nearest township is a few hours ride to the east, and we’ve near neighbors to the west at Royce Castle, though it barely merits the name as ’tis small and unkempt, and without the presence of a lady. There are several to the south, as well.”

“Could we go see them? I want to visit Scotland, too. I’ve never been.”

Kellen’s lip curled upward. “For what purpose?”

“Sightseeing! It’s supposed to be a romantic place.”

Kellen shook his head. The girl had strange ideas about the seeing of sights. “Your wits flee you. ’Tis dark and cheerless and filled with all manner of beasties. Better you should go to London.”

“Please?”

The girl batted her lashes and Kellen was hard pressed not to smile. Unlike his first wife who’d wanted nothing to do with him, this girl was forward and demanding of his time. So why did he wish to indulge her?

Perhaps because she did indeed seem to bring a ray of light into his gloomy world.

“And Beatrice mentioned that a picnic would be a good idea. What do you think? If we gathered some blankets and planned some games it could be a ton of fun! I’d also like to go and… ”

As she continued to plan the seeing of sights, Kellen looked to Tristan and Owen, who seemed equally caught by her charm. “Whatever happened to quiet, unassuming women?”

Gillian laughed. “I don’t know any of those. My friends are worse than me. Speaking of which, they’ll want to hear about the marriage proposal. Can you give me the details from your point of view? How did you plan the proposal? How did you end up choosing… uh… me? Was it romantic? Did you write poetry? Sing songs? Play the lute or something?”

Kellen felt suddenly panicked. Had her father protected her from the truth? Kellen had done none of those things but simply demanded a bride. Any daughter would do. He didn’t know much of women, but was sure this answer would offend. “Romance and marriage are not always side by side, my lady.”

At her hurt expression he immediately regretted his words. When she looked down, Tristan and Owen threw him disbelieving glares, shook their heads, and gestured for him to make peace.

Gillian sighed loudly. “In other words, you’re completely lame?” She looked at him accusingly. “You didn’t propose correctly and now you’re trying to make excuses.”

Tristan and Owen both laughed and Kellen was relieved she attacked rather than sulked.

“’Tis true,” said Tristan. “You cannot defend yourself.”

He could. He did not wish his bride to think him lacking. “I am not lame. I am sound in body and mind.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “But you’re a knight. You have to live to the code of chivalry! I’m entitled to a romantic proposal.”

Kellen, suddenly feeling trapped within the walls of his own hall, wanted out. She was making him nervous. He stood. “I must needs train these idiots across from us. Perhaps we can speak of this after my men have been taught their desired lessons.”

“Hold on just a minute,” said Gillian. “Did you forget I’m the one in the driver’s seat? I bought you. I own you. I expect you to come up with the best and most romantic proposal any girl has ever received in her entire life. One to write home about. I want you to… uh… pledge your troth. I’ll be waiting.”

Kellen strode a few feet away, then turned back. “This I did already! We were betrothed by proxy!” He was sweating, and she looked as cool as a spring morning.

His men, gathered at the many tables, paused to watch the drama, adding to his discomfort.

“Like I said. Lame. All I’m asking is that you do it right.”

Confused by her, Kellen started away and she called out to him. “Wait. There’s just one more thing.”

“Now what!” he thundered, well aware that every eye was upon them.

She followed and he slowly turned. She crooked her finger at him and he hesitated, then slowly leaned down. Better that all did not hear her words of reproof.

Cupping one cheek, she kissed the other.

“Thank you for the present. It’s truly beautiful.” She touched the comb. “I’ve never had anything like it and will treasure it.”

He could see sincerity in her steady gaze and, face heating, stunned into immobility, Kellen tried to answer rationally. “Ah. Aye, then.”

Never in the whole of his life had a girl kissed him of her own accord. His wife had always turned her face away. Looking down at Gillian’s soft lips, he wondered what she would do if he pressed his own to hers.

His emotions running high, his body alive with energy, he bent slightly forward and she didn’t turn away.

Remembering that everyone stared, he didn’t kiss her, but quickly straightened and threw out his chest. “Consider the gift your first touch of my chivalry, my lady. ’Tis certain there is more to come.”

She chuckled, a sound he was starting to adore.

Kellen turned and continued walking, but couldn’t hold back a grin.

She hadn’t turned away.

Chapter Eleven

“What shall we do this afternoon?” Gillian, elbows on the windowsill of her bedroom, watched people mill about below but didn’t spot Kellen’s broad shoulders or confident stride.

“Do you wish to plan menus?” asked Beatrice. “Or mayhap we could retreat to the ladies’ solar to sew or weave?” She paused. “If only we had feathers, we could recreate the queen’s fashion. Perhaps we could pluck a chicken?” She sounded hopeful.

“Oh, uh… ” Gillian glanced over her shoulder to see if the girl was serious. She was. Gillian’s brows rose as she turned back to the view. “No, thanks. Anyway, I sincerely doubt the queen is decorating her attire with chicken feathers.”

Gillian, realizing she was watching for Kellen again, sighed. “Besides, I want to do something fun. I’m not going to be depluming poultry, planning menus, or sewing, that’s for sure. The castle has been running smoothly for a long time, right? It can continue to do so for a bit longer.”

Like, until Edith showed up to take over.

“I suppose you might wish to explore your new home?”

Another quick glance showed Beatrice looking as downcast as she sounded. “I did that yesterday.” Gillian hesitated. Of course yesterday she hadn’t known it was authentic, so that might actually be fun.

In the distance, Gillian spotted a man leading a horse out of the stables. “Maybe we could ride horses?”

“Not without his lordship. He would not permit it.”

About to protest, Gillian thought about Kellen’s huge horse and wondered if he had a smaller, more malleable one. Her lips curled upward. A really old nag might work for her; one reserved for children. Other than with Kellen, Gillian had ridden only once before, a Shetland as a child, her father leading the pony in a large circle while her mother took pictures. Gillian chuckled at the memory and doubted Kellen would be impressed with her far-from-vast experience. She pushed away from the window. “Where is Kellen, anyway?”

“No doubt training with the men.” Beatrice looked suddenly hopeful. “What about goose feathers? If you gave Cook permission to—”

“No! No feathers!” Gillian should never have lied to Beatrice about the queen’s fashions. The girl was developing a feather fetish, and Gillian was starting to feel quite guilty about it. Grabbing her pack, Gillian said, “Come on.”

She headed downstairs and Beatrice hurried to follow, insisting on carrying the pack. The minute Gillian stepped outside the keep people stared, pointed in her direction, and watched her every move; but she was getting used to it.

She passed the kitchen and was stopped short when a chubby woman with gray-streaked hair rushed to block her path. Two more followed, a thin, middle-aged woman with a ruddy complection and a pretty, younger girl, both standing slightly in the background looking anxious.

The chubby woman nervously wiped her hands on a stained apron and bobbed up and down. Her two counterparts followed suit. “Pardon, my lady, but have you any instructions?”

Gillian looked around. “Instructions?”

“For the meals, my lady.”

“Oh. Oh, right. The meals.” Gillian waved a hand. “Er… no. Just carry on. The food has been excellent. I’m very impressed with the quality and quantity. I don’t know how you do it all.”

The three looked at each other, smiles replacing anxiety, and obviously pleased, the youngest ducked her head to hide a grin.

The cook nodded vigorously. “Thank ye, my lady.”

Gillian felt a slight heat rising in her cheeks. They were grateful to her for enjoying their cooking? She was just glad she didn’t have to do it. “No, thank you. Seriously, I appreciate all you’re doing. I haven’t eaten this well in a very long time.” Roasted chicken, veggies, and homemade bread beat instant noodles any day of the week.

Their smiles grew and with a wave Gillian hurried off, uncomfortable with their gratitude.

She passed the well and the chapel and watched a few little girls drawing with sticks in the dirt and a couple of chickens pecking nearby. The sound of clanking metal alerted her to the blacksmith in the distance.

A man on a bench looked to be making a pair of shoes, while another tied a length of rope around an axe-head, and a third hauled a barrel over one shoulder. A couple of soldiers crossed the yard. The place was a miniature city.

She’d think of her time here as if it were a resort or cruise vacation where everything was all-inclusive. Maybe they had shuffleboard or a spa?

Gillian stifled a laugh. What she really needed was a lounger, some tanning oil, and a good romance novel. Or better yet, a real live shipboard romance complete with a gorgeous, slightly dangerous hunk.

She wouldn’t mind if Kellen were to rub oil on her, or vice versa, and if he were wearing swim trunks while doing so, well, so much the better. Gillian shivered at the thought of all that hard bare skin, hers for the touching. Where was he, anyway?

Rounding the inner wall, Gillian almost stumbled into the three boys she’d seen the day before. The youngest, a blond of about nine or so, sat on the ground, clutching his knee, sniffling and trying not to cry. Instantly concerned, Gillian surged forward and knelt beside him. “What’s the matter, honey-bun?”

“I got hurt.” The boy pulled his hand back far enough so Gillian could see the scrape on his knee. It wasn’t bad and didn’t look dirty, but she’d bet it stung like crazy.

“Ouchie. How did that happen?”

The slim, dark-haired boy of eleven or so shook his head in disgust. “He’s always clumsy. He fell because he was following us.” The scorn in the older boy’s voice was apparent.

The younger boy, face screwing into an indignant scowl, sucked in a breath. “You pushed me!”

Both older boys laughed.

“Hmm.” Gillian looked down at the boy. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

He looked surprised, then hurt. “I’m Francis, my lady. Don’t you know me?”

The boys laughed again and the stockier one sneered, “I’d forget that face, too, if I could.”

What did that mean? She’d seen the little guys running around, but didn’t remember being introduced. Gillian placed an arm around Francis’s shoulder. “Of course I remember you, Francis. And what are your friends’ names?”

Francis pointed to the slim, dark-haired boy. “Peter.” He pointed the stockier one. “And he’s Ulrick.”

“Nice to meet you, boys. Did you know I went to school with a boy who was frequently clumsy? He was always falling down and into scrapes like you wouldn’t believe. It’s so sad what happened to him.” Gillian shook her head.

Francis looked worried. “What happened?”

“Are you sure you want to hear this?”

The boy nodded and the other two moved closer, grinning.

Gillian sighed. “Okay, but remember, you asked. Well, the guy, Derek, was always falling down, scraping his knees, tearing his clothes, and getting bruises. The other boys used to tease him.” Gillian shot a narrowed-eyed glance at the older boys and they smirked in return.

“But it turned out the reason he was so clumsy was because he was going to grow so big! The guy ended up huge! All muscles and fighting ability. And completely graceful with a football… er… lance when he got older. All the girls were in love with him. All the boys wanted to be his friend.”

She looked into Francis’s deep blue eyes. “So, there it is. I’m sorry to be the one who has to tell you, honey. I surely wouldn’t want muscles that huge. But chances are you’ll be very big one day. Perhaps as big as Derek.”

Tears drying on his face, the child looked at Gillian with awe. “Truly?”

“Yup.”

“Is he as large as Lord Marshall?”

Gillian nodded and mentally crossed her fingers. “About that size exactly.”

A smile spread across the boy’s face.

The dark-haired boy lifted his chin. “You made that up! No one is as big as his lordship. Runt here is never going to be larger than a tadpole. And I’ve never heard of a Sir Derek. My father is Lord Marlow and he’s never mentioned him.” His arrogant tone amused Gillian.

“Really?”

His friend shrugged, not quite so indignant. “Nor has my father, Lord Stonor.”

Gillian stared blankly. “Who are they, exactly?”

“Both of Oxfordshire, my lady,” said the stocky boy, sounding shocked, while the other’s mouth dropped open and he sputtered.

“Hmm. Well, maybe they don’t know him. Anyway, that’s exactly what happened. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.” Gillian made a crossing motion over her heart.

All three boys recoiled slightly. “A needle in your eye?” Peter said in disbelief. “’Tis disgusting.”

Francis wrapped skinny arms around her waist and hugged her, as if worried her feelings might be hurt. Gillian smiled down and gave him a squeeze, her heart melting.

“Beatrice, hand me my pack.”

Beatrice handed it over and Gillian rummaged around for a moment before pulling out the last of her miniature candy bars. “I have something that will make you feel better.” She didn’t think it would be a good idea to let them have the wrappers, however, so she opened the bars one at a time, handed them around, and then popped one into her own mouth. “Mmm.”

Francis looked dubious but finally ate the candy. The boys and Beatrice quickly followed suit. Francis’s eyes widened. “What is it?”

Gillian smiled. “Chocolate. It’ll cure anything that ails you.”

Ulrick quickly swallowed his. “Can I have another?”

Gillian smiled. “They’re addicting, aren’t they?”

“My lady,” said Beatrice.

Gillian glanced up to see Beatrice gesturing frantically.

Gillian turned her head as Kellen and a couple of his men came toward them. Ah, her shipboard romance, right on time. She felt a rush of blood through her veins and tingles of excitement just from looking at him, and she couldn’t help the smile spreading over her face. Speaking of addictions. He might even be able to compete with chocolate. “I thought you were training?”

“I am.” He wasn’t returning her smile. “Gillian, I must object to your coddling the boys. As pages, they are yours to raise, but I don’t want you ruining them for the squires they are to be.”

Francis squirmed away.

“Mine to raise? I don’t understand. Where are their parents?”

At Kellen’s signal, the boys ran off.

Gillian lifted a hand. “Wait! We need to clean that scratch!” The boys rounded the corner and were gone.

Kellen sighed. “I am fostering the boys. I do my duty by them and will not have them softened. Your mothering must cease. What were you feeding them?”

Gillian arched a brow. She held out a hand and he easily lifted her to her feet, his warm touch and effortless strength making Gillian’s knees weak. Cheeks heating, aware of their audience, Gillian removed her hand from his and brushed at her gown. “I was feeding them chocolate. I thought you just said they were mine to raise?”

Kellen sighed again. “Men are honored to send their sons to me for training because I make them strong. You are not to interfere with such. What is chocolate?”

Gillian smiled. “Being around me might make them soft?” she teased.

Kellen’s gaze dropped to her chest, then he looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. “You are not to be too easy with them.”

Gillian laughed. “But they’re just little boys. They should still be with their mothers.”

“Gillian. You will obey me in this.”

“Fine. No hugs and kisses. I’ll go get my whip.” She dug into her pack and retrieved the last candy bar, opened it and placed it to his lips. “Here. This is chocolate.”

He ate it, his eyes widening. “More?”

She laughed. “It was my last piece.”

Kellen studied her face, lifted a hand as if to touch her, and then let it drop again. “I understand your gentleness with Francis. I beg you’d not believe me ungrateful Lord Corbett showed his support by refusing the return of his heir when Catherine died. I’m glad the alliance is still strong. While I understand you are happy to see your brother, no babying.”

Gillian’s mouth dropped slightly and she was suddenly lightheaded.

“Gillian?”

Her mouth snapped closed and she swallowed. Had she heard him correctly? Francis was her brother? Or rather, Edith’s brother? No wonder the kid had looked hurt when she hadn’t known his name.

“Are you all right?”

Gillian forced a smile. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”

This wasn’t good. Would the little twerp give her away? Expose her? Reveal her as the imposter she was? Get her killed? She swallowed again.

“I’d not meant to hurt thy tender feelings.”

“Uh, huh.” On the other hand, Francis had hugged her and seemed to think she should know him. Maybe he didn’t remember his sister well? Maybe they weren’t close? Still, she’d better stay away from the kid.

“Gillian?”

Gillian refocused on Kellen, waved a hand, and forced the smile back to her face. “I am, of course, happy to do your bidding.”

His snort turned her smile into a real one.

She wouldn’t borrow trouble. As always, what Kellen didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.

* * *

Gillian, although very pretty in the sunlight, didn’t seem to know how to comport herself. She challenged him, surprised him, laughed at him, and was unlike any female he’d ever met. Facing ten men in battle made him less nervous than one look from her laughing blue eyes.

And yet, much as Kellen needed to get his thoughts back on work, he couldn’t seem to force himself to leave. He tried to think of something to say, something that would keep her smile in place, but, as always, nothing came to mind.

Gillian’s cheeks warmed under his scrutiny and she turned away, displaying her profile. “Kellen, I was wondering, which direction did you say the nearest town is?”

Kellen instantly went cold. “Why would you wish to know this?” he asked quietly. Could she hope to escape him still?

“I’m just trying to orient myself. Maybe I’m hoping to find a mall.” Her lips quirked as her tone teased. At his blank stare her smile widened. “Some shops?”

“Ah.” Kellen felt sudden relief. She was a covetous little thing, there was no doubt of that. He glanced at the ring she had yet to give him and considered all the treasures she hoarded in her pack. The pack that even now her maid carried. Gillian did like her trinkets. He glanced at the comb, still in her hair, then thought of his own stash of treasures. He’d have to see if he had something more she would like. “Nay. I’ll not tell you the location.”

Her mouth parted in surprise. “You won’t tell me where the town is?”

Amused by her frustration, he slowly shook his head.

“You seriously won’t tell me?”

“I will not.”

Gillian crossed her arms, lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “Fine. Do you have a map?”

“Aye, but as a woman you would be unable to read it. It would only confuse your mind.”

Gillian sighed at his attitude, threw up her hands, turned, and walked away.

Surprised at how easily he baited her, and at how much he enjoyed doing so, he fell into step beside her. She looped her arm through his and he couldn’t help but grin, amazed at how freely she touched him. And at how quickly his body responded.

He was tempted to place his hand over her own or to kiss the top of her head but refrained, aware of their audience and wary of her reaction. He’d have to content himself with teasing. “Mayhap after you give me an heir or two, I’ll take you traveling. It would please me to show you London, Italy, and France.” It would be fun to show her everything, and see it again through her eyes.

She glanced up, her eyes alight at the prospect, but she simply lifted a shoulder. “That’s your big plan? To keep your wife barefoot and pregnant until she’s done her duty and then she can have some playtime?”

Kellen laughed. “I’d not thought to take your shoes, but ’tis a good idea. ’Twill keep you close to home.” At her raised brow, he laughed again. “Mayhap your duty will feel as play?”

Gillian chuckled. “Oh yeah, childbirth without anesthesia should be a blast. Fun, fun.”

“I referred to the making of children.”

Though her cheeks colored once more, Gillian chuckled again. “As a man, you would.”

Kellen couldn’t help the grin that spread on his face. This girl was just so different. He’d never in his life teased a girl and been teased in return. Now he found it came easily, and that he enjoyed it.

Kellen tried to think of something else to say and wished he were better with women. He wanted her to settle and be happy. But how? She wore the green dress again. “Mayhap you would like some material? For a gown or two?”

Gillian stopped and faced him, her head tilting back. “Can you please tell me why everyone wants me to take up sewing so badly? What is it you’re doing today? Maybe you should be sewing instead.”

Kellen laughed and several of his men joined in, quickly stifling their mirth at a narrow-eyed glance from Gillian. “I’ve the training of my men to see to.”

Gillian brushed her free hand over his upper arm as if feeling his muscles and testing their hardness. Kellen tensed, the blood in his veins seeming to heat. He barely refrained from bunching his muscles, so she could truly see how firm he was.

Seeming to realize what she did, she pulled her hand away and flushed. He immediately missed her touch and wished he knew how to set her at ease and assure her she was welcome to caress him at any time.

“Well, I was attacked recently, remember?” she said. “Maybe you should train me, too. You know, show me some self-defense techniques.”

Kellen, immediately insulted that she believed she needed such, shook his head. “Nay. Now you are in my care, I will protect you at all times. You’ve no need for concern or training.”

Gillian shrugged. “Fine. I have my own way to defend myself, anyway. Have you ever heard of mace?”

Kellen looked down at her. “Yes. I have several.” And he very much doubted she could swing one above her head.

“Well, I guess it’s actually pepper spray, but it’ll do the job.” Gillian dropped her arm from his and turned to retrieve her pack from Beatrice, leaving Kellen feeling a sense of loss. She dug about, finally pulled something out, and held it up triumphantly. “Check it out.”

The object in her hand looked to be a long, smooth, rounded black stone, with yellow and red markings. It fit neatly into her palm. ’Twould be difficult to hurt anyone with it and the thrower would need good aim and much muscle behind the launch. Kellen couldn’t help it. He laughed. She obviously didn’t know what a mace was.

Gillian’s eyes narrowed and she walked a few feet away, held her hand high, and a mist was released from the weapon. Kellen got sudden chills. He’d seen the like when a traveling magician had passed a few nights in his keep, and wondered how Gillian had learned the trick. She walked backward, away from the dissipating mist and gestured toward it. “Go ahead and walk through and then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

Kellen hesitated, then fearing to look a coward before her, threw out his chest and strode through the clouded air.

Tristan, curious as always, followed.

Kellen’s eyes started to sting, he sucked in a breath, and immediately coughed as his throat burned. “By the saints!”

Gillian looked suddenly worried. “Oh, dear. I should have told you. I didn’t think—”

Kellen coughed again, then hurried forward and snatched the object out of her hands and looked at it. He was appalled as his eyes watered and his throat clenched.

A clever trick, but all the same, quite useless. It would be hard for her to get an enemy to stand still long enough for her to release the mist, and then harder still to get the enemy to walk through it. Besides, in the heat of battle, naught would care for stinging eyes when the sting of steel was ever imminent.

But Gillian looked worried, so he shrugged off the pain and gave her back the toy.

“Kellen, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have--”

“’Tis naught.” Kellen wiped at the tears running down his face. He coughed. “Go with a guard at all times.” His voice was hoarse. “Stay with your maid. You will be safe enough.”

She looked worried and guilty. He knew how to relieve her mind. Kellen gestured to one of his men. “If Lady Gillian tries to leave the keep, stop her and take her shoes. She’s to stay within the walls.”

Gillian was instantly indignant. “Maybe I wanted to take a walk to the river or the village?”

Kellen shook his head. “Not without me.”

“Have you ever been told that you are infuriating, bossy, and stubborn?”

Kellen struggled not to laugh and cough at the same time. “I could accuse you of the same.”

“And obtuse. You are definitely obtuse.”

He didn’t know the meaning of the word, but was loathe to admit it. He threw out his chest. “I have much to see to this day and cannot stand about talking.”

Gillian made a sweeping motion with her hand inviting him to leave. “Please, don’t let me stop you.”

But he didn’t leave. He was enjoying her company too much and, even with watering eyes, wanted to linger.

“You realize that while you’re off doing important knightly stuff, I’ll probably be stuck plucking chickens?”

“If the task is unpleasant, perhaps you should spend the day humbling yourself as befits my wife.”

Gillian huffed, shot him a disbelieving look, and then walked away.

He watched her go, suddenly worried he’d gone too far with his teasing and had truly angered her. He was about to start after her when, in a loud voice, she started to sing about the difficulties of being humble.

Even with his eyes and throat burning, Kellen couldn’t help a grin. He wanted to go after her again, and it was hard to stop himself. Tristan, wiping at his eyes, came to stand beside him and they watched her head toward the inner wall. “You do realize you are the luckiest of swag-bellied miscreants? She’s a beautiful and lively heiress. What I would not give for such.”

Kellen felt for Tristan, who was not in much of a position to marry well; and who would never have Gillian, even if he were. She was Kellen’s and he was still amazed by that realization. “Your time will come.”

When she was out of sight, they raced to the horse trough and dipped their heads in the water.

Chapter Twelve

A few hours later, Gillian and Beatrice scouted for a place to sit with an excellent view. Kellen didn’t want her to go anywhere? Fine. Then he could babysit her. She was going to sketch big brawny men hacking away at each other.

Utter bliss.

Beatrice, finally satisfied with a location under a blossoming apple tree, spread out the blanket. She offered Gillian a smaller one as a shawl, which she refused, and they both settled under the branches. Gillian fluffed her dress into a semicircle and couldn’t help a smile. The dress made her feel like a fairy princess and she loved it. She had to admit that, as far as fantasy getaways went, this one topped any list she could have devised.

Kellen didn’t see her, or was ignoring her, as he fought another man. Eyes wide, Gillian realized she was literally holding her breath as the men swung swords at each other. The yelling, the clanging of metal, the muscles straining, and then Kellen forcing the other man back, and finally into defeat. Wow.

“He’s a fine warrior, do you not think?” asked Beatrice.

“The best.” Gillian, breathless, couldn’t help but agree. “Very impressive.”

They watched as Kellen fought another, and then a third. Eventually, it dawned on Gillian that he was showing off for her, and a smile spread across her face.

Picking up her pad of paper, Gillian started to draw. He was a lot fiercer than she’d realized and so buff! The lines of muscles, bunching and shifting in his arms and legs were impressive in their sheer size and strength. She was used to guys getting their physiques at the gym, not on the battlefield, and now realized there was a vast difference. Watching a guy work out with weights couldn’t touch watching a warrior train to defend what was his. She felt weak and fluttery just watching him. Wow, again.

It was a little cold and overcast, but Gillian felt overheated. Maybe it was just the excess material of the dress, but somehow she didn’t think so.

“My lady, I’ve brought dried fruit or some nuts, if you’d like such?”

“Mmm. I’m okay.” Gillian’s mouth was watering, but not for food. She tried to keep track of Beatrice’s chattering and answer appropriately, but all the while she kept an eye on Kellen, continuing to draw him.

He really was the ultimate eye candy. She was enjoying watching him so much it took a moment to realize he was coming toward her.

Her face tilted up when he finally reached her, and she quickly hugged the drawing to her chest. He wasn’t even breathing hard and Gillian’s heart fluttered again.

“What do you, Gillian?”

“Nothing, just hanging out, watching all the eye candy parading about.”

“Eye candy?”

“Sweets for the eyes instead of for the mouth.”

Kellen nodded, glanced away, and Gillian bit back a smile when she saw him blush.

It was so cute she couldn’t resist heaping on more flattery. “You know, Kellen, I’ve never seen a warrior quite like you before. You’re very strong.”

Kellen’s chest puffed out. “Think you?”

Gillian nodded and let her gaze drift down his body and back to his face. “I really do.”

To her delight, the red in Kellen’s cheeks intensified as he cleared his throat. “I must needs be to protect you from all the trouble you draw upon yourself.”

Gillian laughed, and when her sketchpad dropped forward onto her lap, Kellen was quick to look at the brawny warrior she’d started drawing.

“Is that me?”

Gillian smiled. “Maybe, maybe not. I’ve drawn the fiercest warrior on the field.”

“Me then.”

Gillian laughed. “No modesty there.”

“Modesty is overrated as a virtue, good only for men without strength or skill.” His heated gaze dropped to her lips, and it was Gillian’s turn to blush. Was he thinking of kissing her? Trying out some of his other skills? Her lips parted and softened of their own accord. She’d be glad to help him test his aptitude in that area.

Kellen sucked in a breath, and then looked back at his men, many of whom watched the interplay. Kellen’s brows rose and the men immediately moved back and set to work.

“Will you walk with me?”

Gillian glanced at Beatrice, who seemed intent on her mending.

He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Alone.”

The look Kellen gave Gillian raised her temperature again, and she scrambled to her feet. “Beatrice, I’ll be back later.”

“Aye, my lady. I’ll take your things to your chamber.”

Kellen leaned down to pick up a small blanket and draped it around Gillian’s shoulders. He took her sketchpad, set it next to her pack, and held out his hand.

They walked through the orchard and to a flower garden on the other side. “Do you like gardening? By midsummer many flowers will be in bloom. If there is aught you have need of, you must plant whatever you like.” His grip tightened, loosened, and then tightened again, a nervous gesture.

He released her hand, and Gillian flexed her abused fingers without pointing out to him he’d almost crushed them.

Pulling out a small knife, Kellen leaned down, cut a flower, and handed it to her. “I know not what kind it is.”

Gillian smiled. “A rose?”

“Ah, aye, ’tis a rose.”

His obvious embarrassment was touching and she carefully held the flower so the thorns didn’t prick. She sniffed. “Mmm. It’s beautiful.”

Kellen looked relieved. Did he think she would reject his offering? Gillian lowered the flower and tilted her face up. “Thank you.”

Kellen stared down at her, his expression suddenly intense, heated. Gillian realized they were completely alone for the first time since she’d arrived and didn’t move. He was going to kiss her, and she very badly wanted him to. He leaned down and Gillian flinched as a drop of rain hit her upturned face.

Kellen immediately jerked backward only to stare down at her with yearning, before taking a deep breath and a step back. He looked up at the sky. “I’m glad for the rain as we have all the crops planted.” His voice sounded strained, tight.

“You sound like a farmer.” Gillian tried to keep the conversation going, tried to get him to look at her again because she, for one, was not glad for the stupid rain. She’d wanted that kiss.

“Aye. That I am. I have many mouths to feed and much of the land has been seeded.” Without looking at her, Kellen lifted the blanket to cover her head, tightened it around her shoulders, then grabbed her hand again, tugging her toward the keep.

Gillian sighed as disappointment swamped her. She wanted a kiss before she had to go home, wanted his mouth on hers, his arms wrapped around her, and hers twined about his neck. She wanted that kiss before Edith showed up to claim him for herself.

Sudden jealousy, dark and biting, had her lips tightening and her heart pounding. If Edith were anything like her murderous sister, she didn’t deserve Kellen. Feeling protective, Gillian tightened her grip on Kellen’s hand; he gently squeezed her fingers in return, his warmth sending chills up her arm.

Kellen deserved a girl who would appreciate his finer qualities, understand his gruffness, and flirt with him. Someone like… someone like…

Gillian took a breath. If she wasn’t careful, she’d lay her heart out on a platter and get it smashed to smithereens when she had to go home.

She needed to remember to keep her heart safe. She would not fall in love with the big guy. She needed to remember that this was just for fun. A brief holiday romance. She only had a few weeks and didn’t plan on getting hurt again.

* * *

Later that night, Gillian lay in bed warm, cozy and snuggled in the blankets and furs.

She couldn’t wipe the sappy grin off her face. At dinner she hadn’t been able to, either.

She could hear the rain outside hitting the wooden shutters and hoped Kellen was warm and dry. He’d gone off after dinner to hunt down some miscreants and, as far as she knew, hadn’t returned.

Gillian turned over. Kellen was just so… so… wonderful. What would it be like to have a man like Kellen truly belong to her? To see the possessive gaze and know that she really did belong to him?

She thought about Ryan and the smile left her face. They’d dated for a good six months, and she’d been stressed and off kilter the entire time.

And okay, she cringed, sort of desperate, too. It was embarrassing to remember how she’d acted. When she’d found out the guy was looking for easy money, she’d been ashamed of herself for sticking it out. For being a doormat so he would love her. For being so lonely, she’d traded in her self-respect for companionship.

She should have trusted her instincts.

So what were those instincts telling her about Kellen? All she felt was happy. But what did it really matter? She was being foolish. She couldn’t compare the two. Her boyfriend had been real life; and Kellen, well, he was fantasy. Like a hologram from an episode of Star Trek. Fun, but not real.

It was just the romance of the time and place affecting her so much. The castle, the candle glowing beside her bed, the way he’d held her hand. The kiss that almost happened.

It was like she was in a fairy tale with the starring role as princess. She turned over again and plumped the pillow once more. She’d have this time as a happy memory in her heart, nothing else. No hurt or pain this time, just good memories.

She snuggled down to sleep, then quickly sat up, blew out the candle, and laid back down.

After a moment, she realized she was smiling again.

She was so getting that kiss before she left.

* * *

After lunch the next afternoon, it was still raining; so Gillian retrieved her pad of paper and headed downstairs, bumping into a boy at the bottom of the stairs. “Oh, sorry.”

She reached out a hand to steady the boy, who cringed back. “Sorry, sweetie. Just me not paying attention to where I was going. Are you okay?”

The boy, a wide-eyed teen of about fifteen or so, nodded.

“What’s your name? I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Gillian.” She held out her hand.

The boy stared at her hand for a moment then looked up into her face. “Valeric, my lady.”

Gillian dropped her hand when he made no move to take it. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Valeric. I’ll try to pay better attention in future, so I don’t run you down.”

The boy backed away. “Yes, my lady.” Then he was gone.

By the time she reached the great hall, the food had been cleared away; Kellen’s three foster boys sat on the straw-covered floor at the foot of a young, brown-robed man who looked to be tutoring them.

A little girl, about three or four, stood off to the side in front of the fire and watched the boys as a woman, probably the child’s mother, knitted in a nearby chair.

The yearning on the girl’s face caught Gillian’s attention. The scene would make a fantastic painting; a large one done in oils with light colors, dark shadows, rain buffeting wooden shutters, and the fire brightening the girl’s face and illuminating her longing.

Genius if Gillian could pull it off.

The tutor turned the book on his lap so the boys could study it, and the little girl leaned forward, obviously wanting to see.

Quietly, not wanting to distract anyone, Gillian pulled her digital camera out of her pack, looked around, and snapped a quick photo. She didn’t use the flash for fear of seriously freaking people out and risking the whole burn-the-witch-at-the-stake scenario. Still, she got the gist of the scene in case she needed to refer back to it later.

After stowing her camera, Gillian headed over to the table between the boys and the young girl. “Hi. What’s going on?”

Everyone glanced up at her approach, the tutor raising one brow. Gillian noted he wore a crucifix around his neck. “We are about our lessons. Please refrain from interrupting.”

“Oh. Right,” whispered Gillian. “Sorry.” She quickly sat on a bench beside a nearby table.

The tutor sighed. “’Tis Lady Corbett, correct?”

“Yes, nice to meet you.”

He ignored that. “As a female, you ought not to listen as Latin might tax your wits.”

Gillian’s mouth fell slightly open as she looked to see if the guy was serious. Stern-faced, arrogant, younger than she’d realized, not bad-looking in a boy-next-door sort of way, and completely serious. She grinned. “Yeah, that’s okay. I’ll chance it.”

Gillian glanced around, wondering where Kellen was. He’d disappeared right after breakfast, and she considered hunting him down as that might be more fun, but didn’t want to go out in the rain. She could find him later if he didn’t show.

Anyway, medieval school might be interesting and would certainly make her painting more unique if she could pick up a feel for what was happening.

The tutor started up again, but Gillian got bored pretty quickly. The little girl was still interested, but probably because school and knitting were the only things to hold her attention.

Gillian opened her pad of drawing paper and tore a piece from the back end. She beckoned the little girl, and the child looked startled then wary but after a quick glance at the knitter, eventually walked over. “My lady?”

“What’s your name, kiddo?”

“Amelia, my lady.”

The tutor lifted his head to glare at them; Gillian put a finger to her lips, tilted her head toward the group of boys and, as the child watched, carefully folded the paper.

Amelia, chubby-cheeked and wide-eyed, observed as Gillian made a production of each fold, raising her brows, smiling and nodding. Gillian made the last crease, pinched the bottom between forefinger and thumb, aimed away from the boys, and threw the airplane across the hall.

Amelia shrieked with joy and raced across the room, following the flight, and eventually retrieving the plane from its landing spot among the straw.

The boys jumped up and raced after the girl, the knitter laboriously rose and yelled sharply for Amelia, the tutor clapped his hands and chastised the boys, and both adults glared at Gillian.

“Sorry,” she said weakly.

The boys snatched the plane from Amelia, who let out an unholy screech, balled both fists, and started hitting the boy holding the paper airplane.

“Boys,” the tutor clapped sharply. “Boys!”

Peter pushed Amelia away with one hand, palming her forehead, and she changed her strategy and tried to kick him. The adults looked livid.

Oh dear. Not good. She should have thought this out first.

Peter held up the plane to show Gillian. “’Tis the most wondrous toy!”

Shaking his head, the tutor stomped off.

“Amelia,” Gillian addressed the howling child. “I’ll make you another one.”

“And me, as well?” asked Francis.

“And me?” asked Ulrick.

“Yes. One for each of you.”

The boys took turns throwing the airplane, and Amelia was soon laughing and running after it as Gillian quickly made more.

The boys gathered around as she folded the last one. “Where did you learn such?” asked Francis. “From a wizard?”

Gillian grinned. “What do you know about wizards?”

“The stories say they’ll snatch you away from your home and force the devil into you,” said Francis.

“They will not!” said Peter. “They’ll apprentice you and teach you magic.” He turned to Gillian and raised the airplane. “How does it travel across the hall?”

“Well, its wings cut through the air to generate lift. And if you change the shape of the wings, it affects the travel time and… ” Gillian, struck by the phrase, fell silent.

“And?”

“And with a larger wingspan the plane will stay in the air longer.” She paused. “Boys, have you ever heard any stories about time travelers?”

They looked at each other. “No, my lady,” said Peter.

“You’ve never heard of a traveler from a distant time?”

“A man from Spain once came to sell his wares and he had a pointed beard,” said Francis.

“Do you know of such a story, my lady?” asked Ulrick.

All eyes turned expectantly toward Gillian. “Tell us a story!”

“My lady.” The knitter, her face pinched and disapproving, interrupted. “Thy daughter is overexcited. ’Tis time for her nap.”

“My daughter? Is she fostering, too?”

The older lady gave her a strange look. “She is Lord Marshall’s daughter, thy niece, and now thy daughter.”

“What?” Gillian quickly looked at the girl, taking in her blonde hair and familiar amber eyes. “Why didn’t anyone tell me Kellen had a daughter?”

The woman looked suddenly suspicious. “Why would you not know such?”

Oh. Right. As Amelia’s supposed aunt, everyone probably thought she did. “Ah. I guess I forgot.” Amelia, clutching the paper airplane, reluctantly allowed herself to be tugged away and Gillian watched until they were out of sight.

“Tell us a story with dragons!”

Gillian, curious, looked at the boys. “Do you believe in dragons?”

“Of course, my lady,” said Ulrick. “My father saw one once.”

Gillian’s brows rose. “Really?”

“Well, dragon bones, anyway. Sticking out of the ground, with fierce teeth, black from fire. But as more dragons were surely about, most likely the one that killed it, he left quickly. Otherwise, ’twould likely have killed him for sure.”

“Is that so?”

All the boys nodded and Gillian wondered if Ulrick’s father had stumbled across dinosaur bones. Ulrick’s brows drew together, his face pinched in sudden anger. “Aren’t you afraid?”

Peter elbowed him. “Girls aren’t wise enough to be afraid. Come on, let’s go. She probably cannot tell good stories, anyway.”

Ulrick laughed. “’Twould tax her wits were she to try.”

“Oh, really?” Gillian straightened and smiled slowly. “I might know of a dragon tale or two.” Jurassic Park routinely scared her out of her wits when she watched the DVD once a year or so. She thought she could probably do the story justice. “I do know a good dragon story actually, but it’s so scary you kids might not be able to handle it.”

The boys looked at each other uncertainly.

“Well? Can you handle it? If not, there’s the door.”

Eyes wide, the three boys sank down and Gillian sent out a silent apology to Michael Crichton and Stephen Spielberg for pilfering their story. She took a deep breath and began the tale as three little boys, huddling ever closer together, listened intently.

Chapter Thirteen

Later that night, Kellen walked toward the keep with Owen and Tristan, noted the glow coming from the edges of Gillian’s shutters, picked up his pace, and tried to outdistance his friends. “I bid you both a good night,” he said.

Sir Owen followed Kellen’s gaze. “A good night, is it? Why? Do you have something more entertaining in mind than spending time with the likes of us? Is Lady Gillian the reason you used soap down by the river? ’Tis truly hurt I am. I thought you wanted to smell sweet for us on the morrow and save us the reek when you raised your sword arm.”

Kellen tensed when Tristan clapped him on the back. “Don’t tease him, Sir Owen. He’s not seen the fair Lady Gillian since dinner. ’Tis been an hour at the very least. Perhaps more.”

Sir Owen laughed, then ducked when Kellen aimed a fist at his mouth. “But I do not understand.” Sir Owen skipped backward a few steps and lifted his hands in mock confusion. “’Tis late now and time to be abed. What is he hoping to see of her?”

Both his friends laughed and Kellen ignored the impulse to slam a fist into two faces. He didn’t want to get dirty, sweaty, or bled on in a scuffle, else he’d teach the two imbeciles a lesson.

“Only a simpleton would be surprised at my desire to behold Lady Gillian’s beauty over the ill-favored countenances before me.” Kellen lengthened his stride in the vain hope of outdistancing additional comments.

His so-called friends laughed and jeered after him. “Be sure and keep the sheets!” said Tristan. “All will want proof she’s taken your virginity.”

“Shall we follow and stand you both up?” called Sir Owen.

“Aye, ’tis a good idea,” yelled Tristan. “’Twill give her the chance to run when she sees what you want of her.”

“Nay, she’ll not run. She’ll simply slip back into her chastity belt and await a call to the nunnery.”

Their laughter followed Kellen and he turned, walking backward. “Quiet, fools! Else she’ll hear you and leave me no choice but to kill the pair of ye.”

With his back to them once more, Kellen allowed himself to smile in anticipation as he headed inside and up the stairs. He only wanted to see her, only wanted to wish her a good night. He could not hope for more.

He was surprised to find himself in front of her door so quickly and paused, suddenly hesitant, glad his friends weren’t nearby to witness his indecision. That would set the idiots to howling. He listened, but heard nothing inside and wondered if she were already abed.

Out in the hall there were the normal sounds of the keep settling, servants doing last minute chores, their murmurings, and pallets being laid about. Kellen raised a fist, paused again, then knocked softly on Gillian’s door.

A moment later Beatrice answered, smiled when she saw him, and dipped into a curtsy. “Pardon, my lord. I was just leaving.”

Kellen stepped back and watched the maid go. He noted the way she glanced over her shoulder and smiled before disappearing from sight and felt his face warm. Was he obvious in his eagerness? Would Gillian think him so? He turned back to the door and took a breath.

Give him a dozen men to fight against and he’d not have any difficulty, but Gillian, a tiny slip of a girl, made his palms damp and his mouth dry. Kellen forced himself to enter the bedchamber before others spotted him loitering about and spread the tale.

Gillian, her hair brushed and hanging down her back, stared into the fire, her nightgown a long, flowing concoction of white that covered from neck to toe. It ought to hide her curves, but instead molded in a most provocative manner, offering him a glimpse of rounded chest and hip.

Or perhaps he just imagined such in the flickering firelight. “Gillian?”

She turned and offered a slight smile. “Hi.” She didn’t seem embarrassed or shy and didn’t shriek or throw him out. A good sign, surely.

Feeling like an overwrought maiden, Kellen closed the door behind him and glanced at her feet, hoping to glimpse the colored toenails he’d heard tale of, but slippers thwarted his view.

“Where’d you go after dinner?” she asked.

“Ah… ” Had she’d missed him? “Down to the river to bathe.”

He was very aware of the bed off to the side, of the intimacy of the darkened chamber, of the fact that he’d like to lay her down, kiss her, and so much more. His heart started to pound and he cursed his men for the crude jests that placed thoughts of loveplay in his mind.

“Burr. That sounds cold.”

He raised a hand to rub the back of his neck and, unable to help himself, glanced quickly at the bed. “Ye might think such, but somehow I feel over warm.”

Gillian met his gaze for a long moment before glancing at the bed herself, ducking her head, and turning away to fiddle with a brush on a nearby table. “Uh… I’m not really all that tired yet. Do you want to play a game or something?”

Or something? Kellen swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet of the room. “Aye. A game is a fine idea.”

Gillian looked up again. “The kids taught me how to play knucklebones earlier. It was fun. Or we could play chess?”

Children’s games didn’t interest him, and it seemed as if they already played a game of strategy. Kellen’s eyes burned with the effort to not look at the bed again, so he almost missed the fact that Gillian was smiling at him.

At the acceptance on her face, something inside him, deep in his chest, seemed to unclench and Kellen was suddenly hopeful she would let him stay this night. Taking a breath, he smiled in return. “I know of a game I could teach ye.” He moved forward, determined to get a kiss, to feel her soft lips yield to his, to taste her, and see where it might lead. But at the very least, to get a kiss.

She looked at him, and his thoughts must have shown in his face because her eyes widened and her lips parted. She darted another glance at the bed, lifted a fluttering hand to her chest, and swallowed. “I like new games.” Her voice was breathy, feminine.

Encouraged, Kellen swallowed then stopped in front of her. He lifted a hand to cup her cheek and its softness amazed him. In contrast his own body hardened, his muscles clenched, and he found his hand shook slightly.

She didn’t pull away but looked up at him, her eyes dark and mysterious in the firelight. Taking in a shuddering breath, he leaned down and amazingly, she lifted her lips to his. His heart pounded and he hoped to perform the task correctly. To kiss her gently, please her, and make her glad she’d yielded. He leaned down a bit further, breathed in the light scent that was Gillian, moved to press his lips to hers—and a child screamed in terror.

In disbelief Kellen jerked upright and moved away in an instant. “Stay here and bar the door.”

Slipping a dirk into his hand, Kellen eased cautiously out of the chamber, pulled the door shut behind him, and took off running, searching for enemies and finding none.

He burst into the boys’ chamber and glanced about but saw nothing amiss. Just three boys, each sitting up in bed, looking fearful. Kellen looked to the window, but it was firmly latched, the wooden shutters secured with iron bars. “What is it?”

Ulrick’s breath came hard. “The dragon t-rex is coming to get me.”

“And me, also!” wailed Francis.

“And me!” Peter sounded aggrieved, as if the words were forced from him.

While Kellen tried to make sense of their blather, Gillian, moved up behind him.

“Oh, dear.”

* * *

“Is everyone comfy cozy?”

Kellen glared at Gillian as she tugged and smoothed the blanket over four sets of legs and feet. He moved his shoulders to try and get more comfortable, and as Francis dug an elbow into his ribs, Kellen winced.

His bed had never been so crowded, and he would no doubt be pushed to the floor before dawn. He’d hoped to share a bed with Gillian, not three hysterical faint hearts. “You do understand I am exceedingly unhappy with you?” asked Kellen.

Gillian bent her head. Was that a giggle? “Yes, I know.” She rounded the side of the bed and tucked the blanket about Peter’s shoulders. When she finally met Kellen’s gaze, she didn’t quite smile but looked impish in the candlelight. “I plan to feel guilty all night long. I doubt I’ll sleep much at all.”

Kellen watched her expression closely, questioning her sincerity. Was she trying to bite back a smile? “I would hope not since I doubt I’ll sleep myself. I’d not planned to share my bed this night with three whimpering boys.”

Gillian nodded. “This is all my fault.”

Kellen shifted again, unable to get comfortable on the very edge of the bed. “Indeed. I am gratified you realize such.”

Gillian was obviously trying not to laugh and Kellen’s frown deepened. “This amuses you?”

Gillian ducked her head. “No. Not at all. I’m sorry. Really. I was thinking of something else.”

He snorted, and as Gillian leaned over Peter and Ulrick to tuck the blanket around Francis, Kellen reached out and grasped her soft hand, forcing Gillian to meet his gaze.

She pressed her lips together, then nodded. “Truly.”

Kellen’s lips twisted. “These dragons you told them of. Perhaps you should keep such tales to yourself in future?”

Gillian tugged her hand free and, with finger and thumb, made a motion across her lips. “Never again. I promise, no more scary stories.”

The boys protested and Gillian shushed them.

Kellen sighed loudly so she’d understand how put out he was with her. “I’d not guessed you’d be such a troublemaker.”

Gillian laughed and tucked the blanket around Ulrick. “You were hoping for sweet, demure, and silent?”

“As if the gods would thus smile upon me.”

Gillian laughed softly once more as she knelt on the bed and leaned over Peter and Ulrick to kiss Francis on the forehead. “To chase away the bad dreams,” she told him.

She kissed Ulrick next. “To guard against dragons.”

She kissed Peter. “To ensure a good night’s sleep.”

Kellen quickly leaned up on one elbow. “What of me? Perhaps I will need a kiss to keep my dreams sweet.”

Gillian rounded the bed and looked down at him. “I thought you weren’t going to get any sleep tonight.”

Kellen lay back. “Mayhap a kiss will soothe me.”

Gillian raised a brow. “If my kisses soothe you then perhaps we should rethink our engagement.”

Kellen growled, grabbed her shoulders, and gently drew her toward him, giving her the chance to pull away.

Chuckling, Gillian leaned down to kiss his cheek and he turned his head at the last second, hoping to capture her mouth with his. She chuckled again, shakily this time, turned his head, and kissed his cheek with soft lips as her sweetly scented hair fell across his face.

When she pulled away, he quickly grabbed her hand, kissed the backside, and then turning her hand over, pressed her palm to his mouth, groaning slightly at the contact. Staring into his eyes, Gillian shivered, drew a quick breath, and pulled her hand away.

“You are correct.” Kellen’s voice was low. “’Twas not soothing in the least.”

Gillian swallowed. “I’m glad.”

“As am I. I could walk you back to your bedchamber. I will slay any dragons that show themselves.”

Gillian laughed. “I’ll take my chances with the dragons.” She pushed Kellen back and tucked the blanket around him. “Besides, the boys need you here with them.”

As if unable to help herself, she gave him one more quick kiss on the cheek, straightened and moved away, leaving Kellen to breathe in the last of her scent. “You should stay, also,” he insisted.

“There’s no room.” She picked up the candle from the bedside table and, as Kellen considered settling the boys on the floor, she looked back one last time. “Good night.”

He sighed heavily. “If these sheets are wet on the morrow, I’ll hold you responsible.”

Gillian’s laugh was cut off as she shut the door, and Kellen lay in the dark wondering why he smiled over such obvious insolence.

The boys, completely quiet, lay tense rather than relaxed.

“Go to sleep. But know this, I am indeed serious when I say that if any of you wets the bed, they will sleep in the moat.”

Three boys giggled and Kellen couldn’t help it. He laughed.

* * *

The next afternoon Kellen trained with his men when one of the guards rushed toward him. “My lord. You bade me inform you of any new arrivals.” Breathless from his run, his red face crumpled in distress, the guard came to a halt. “Sir Royce is inside with a few of his men, asking for Lady Corbett.”

Kellen’s chest tightened, his jaw clenched, and without a word to anyone, he sheathed his sword and left the training field. After what felt an eternity, he strode into the hall to see Gillian speaking with Royce. She turned at Kellen’s approach, a smile lighting her face. For him? Or that puss-bucket Royce?

Kellen hurried forward, wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and pulled her against his chest, feeling an absurd need to assert his claim. Absurd because she was already his. “Sir Royce. How fortuitous of you to stop by exactly at the dinner hour.”

Kellen picked up Gillian’s hand and rubbed her palm with his thumb, exactly where he’d kissed it the night before. She looked at their hands, at him, and then glanced between Royce and Kellen, her brows knit.

As for Royce, he stared at their now entwined hands. “Ah, well… ” Ignoring Kellen, he turned his intense gaze upon Gillian, managing to look both sincere and contrite. “Again I must apologize for any upset I may have caused at our first meeting, Lady Corbett. I fear my men frightened you and most humbly beg your pardon. Do not concern yourself. The miscreants have been severely punished.”

Gillian lifted her chin, her expression stern. “Tell me, Sir Royce. Have you been punished, as well?”

“Ah… ” As the fawning grin fell from Royce’s face, Kellen laughed.

Gillian elbowed him. “Because you know what? You did scare me. And it didn’t seem like you were prepared to help. All I can say is that it’s a good thing Kellen came along when he did, because who knows what might have happened otherwise.” She leaned back into Kellen.

Pleased with the way this played out, Kellen nodded toward an open-mouthed Royce. “This is upsetting you, my dear. Would you like me to send Sir Royce and his men on their way?”

Royce straightened in obvious affront. A few of his men, having overheard, shifted uneasily. Gillian hesitated, then shook her head. “No. They’re our closest neighbors, after all. And I appreciate that he was willing to apologize.”

Kellen didn’t see this as enough of a reason and considered throwing him out, anyway. He had looked forward to seeing Gillian all morning and to come back and find Royce drooling in her presence was more than should be expected. But she leaned against him, and Kellen didn’t want her to think him ill-mannered or that he would keep her from company.

“Would you and your men like to join us for dinner, Sir Royce?” asked Gillian.

Royce, standing stiff, dipped his head. “Thank you, Lady Corbett. You are all that is kind and gracious. Your pardon only accentuates your inner beauty and makes me envious of Lord Marshall for having such a lovely and charming bride.” Royce’s slyly pleased gaze had Kellen’s jaw clenching as he looked to see how Gillian took the flowery speech. She looked skeptical and Kellen smirked at Royce.

As Tristan and Owen joined them, Kellen nodded toward the head table, led Gillian there, and seated her. Tristan hurried to sit at her side, taking the place Royce so obviously wanted for himself.

Royce hurried around the table, but Owen quickly sat across from Gillian, forcing Royce to choose the next seat over, which offered Kellen some satisfaction.

“Lady Corbett,” Royce spoke loudly so as to be heard over the hall now filling with knights. “May I say you are all beauty, grace, and comportment? Being in your presence is the high-point of my week.”

Gillian didn’t look at Royce as she spread a cloth across her lap. “Thank you.”

Kellen, unable to think of better compliments, glared at Royce and after a quick prayer by one of the boys, took a healthy swallow of wine.

“How are you settling as the new mistress of such a large castle?” asked Royce.

Curious to hear the answer, Kellen glanced at Gillian.

She grinned. “It’s great. I’m having the best vacation of my life.”

Kellen was not sure of her meaning. “Vacation?”

“Yes, you know, like a holiday, or time off.”

He wasn’t sure how to take that. He was glad she enjoyed herself, but did she somehow see this as a temporary arrangement? Or did he misunderstand her meaning? “Gillian—”

She waved a hand. “I know, once the marriage takes place it’ll be work, work, work. But for now, I’m just having fun.”

Kellen paused, then took a breath. “Gillian, I hope that after the marriage, you will continue to feel as if you vacation still.”

Gillian slowly set her roll down and turned to look at him with soft eyes. She smiled. “That is so sweet. You are going to make a really great husband, do you know that?”

Kellen’s chest swelled at her praise.

“’Twould be easy to spoil one such as yourself, Lady Corbett,” interrupted Royce. “One so lovely should enjoy each day to the fullest.”

Kellen barely heard Royce’s words as Gillian continued to smile, and only the platters of food arriving turned her gaze and broke the contact.

Tristan leaned close to Gillian to whisper to Kellen. “Is your stomach turning? Am I mistaken or doth the beslubbering, weather-bitten weasel try to shift thy lady’s affection?”

Kellen barely glanced at Royce and instead enjoyed Gillian’s embarrassment as she lowered her gaze and pressed a cloth to her lips. “Tristan, hush. He’ll hear you.”

Was she trying not to laugh? Kellen hoped so. And while he wished Royce had overheard, unfortunately the noise level was high thanks to the addition of Royce’s men at the next table.

Gillian buttered a roll while Kellen, feeling better by the moment, reached for the chicken.

“’Tis a beautiful ring you wear, Lady Corbett. It looks to be of exceeding value.”

Gillian glanced at it. “Oh. Thank you. It was my father’s, and I’m having a heck of a time getting it off.” She rubbed butter into the skin around the gold, then tugged, but the ring didn’t budge. “See?”

Kellen smiled at the frustrated tone. “What think you, Tristan? Sir Owen? We may have to cut off her finger to get to the prize.”

Gillian sent him a mock glare. “You just try it, buster, and see which of your own appendages goes missing.”

Kellen choked on his wine as Tristan and Owen laughed aloud. Kellen wondered if she knew what she implied.

Royce ignored the entire interplay. “Do you miss your family, Lady Corbett?”

“I do.”

“’Tis such a hard time when a woman leaves her home. It can be exceedingly lonely.”

Kellen sent Royce a hard look. “She will see them often enough and has a new home here with additional family to call her own.”

Gillian smiled at Kellen once more, calming his jealousy. Royce seemed to be courting her. Trying to romance her. Kellen knew it was an accepted mode of treating a lady but did not like it. Men should court their own wives, or if unwed, bother unattached maidens.

He ought to plant a fist in Royce’s pretty face and bash it up a bit. A crooked nose and a few missing teeth might balance out the comeliness nature had bestowed upon him and keep him from romancing women not his own.

At one time, Kellen had even wondered if Royce could have seduced Catherine, but none had seen him at the keep when Kellen was away, and it had been rumored Royce was abroad himself. It still rankled that Kellen could not find his wife’s seducer and mete out the justice the man deserved.

Again, Kellen considered the possibility that Catherine had lied. That the poison had warped her thoughts at the end.

Royce raised a hand to draw Gillian’s attention. “You have a different way of forming your words, Lady Corbett.”

Kellen glared at Royce. “She is all that is charming.”

“Of course. I meant no insult. Her voice is most pleasing. And her face so beautiful. The stars no doubt vie to glow upon her skin as the sun takes pleasure in lighting her path.”

Gillian smiled, and Kellen fumed. ’Twas obvious the lines were well-rehearsed and had no doubt been uttered to numerous women, but would Gillian realize such?

Tristan leaned forward. “How fares the planting, Sir Royce?”

Royce’s eyes narrowed. “It goes well. But some of my livestock have been stolen recently.”

“As have some of mine,” said Kellen.

Royce studied him. “Any idea who raids us?”

“Nay, but I will catch the culprits and punish them.”

“In the meantime, where will you hide and guard your cattle?”

Did Royce think him a fool? “The western parts of the estate.”

Across from him, Owen’s lips barely tilted as he reached for his goblet, well-aware Kellen was lying.

After a long silence Royce started up again, apparently unable to keep quiet. “Lady Corbett, have you been to London of late? What of the current fashions?”

Gillian shrugged. “It changes so often. It’s hard to say.”

“So true. But you would grace whatever you chose to wear.”

“Thanks. So, what’s your favorite fashion trend at the moment?”

As they spoke, Kellen glanced down at his clothing, feeling loutish and rough in comparison to Royce. Perhaps he should take an interest in such and have finer clothes made to please Gillian. He wondered if she would make him some. Her sister had not.

He gave her the best pieces of meat off their shared platter, but she did not seem to notice. He had a servant come forward to refill her goblet. Again, she continued to discuss fashion. Kellen glanced around and gestured toward his daughter’s nurse, and she quickly brought Amelia forward.

His daughter held the ingenious flying toy Gillian made of paper, and Gillian’s conversation with Royce finally came to an end as she scooped up the child and placed Amelia on Kellen’s lap, which panicked them both.

Gillian smiled as she looked between them. “She’s darling. She looks like you.”

Kellen, staring down into the child’s face did not see the likeness. Had never seen it. Amelia studied him as well, her expression slightly wary.

Gillian fussed over Amelia before she was called by her nurse and taken for a nap.

Royce watched the child walk away before turning back to Gillian. “Will there be entertainment for Lady Corbett’s pleasure?”

There was none, making Kellen wish he had planned amusement for her. Did Gillian miss such from her father’s keep? He would get some minstrels to entertain on the morrow. But for today it was better there were none, as Royce would linger if given the opportunity.

As soon as the meal ended, Kellen stood, as did Tristan and Owen. When Kellen helped Gillian to her feet, Royce was finally forced to stand and follow them out, his men trailing behind.

At the door, Royce tried to capture Gillian’s hand; but Kellen snatched it first and held tight, giving Royce a fierce glare.

Royce’s laugh was stilted and uneasy. “I thank you for the meal. A good day to you all.”

Gillian smiled. “Thanks for stopping by.”

She watched Royce leave and Kellen shifted uneasily on his feet wondering at her thoughts. Had she been taken in by his flattery?

Gillian sighed and Kellen went from uncertain to murderous. Did she sigh after the man? As soon as Gillian no longer looked, he would follow and kill the misbegotten cur and she could sigh over his grave.

Finally, with a shake of her head, Gillian turned to Kellen.

“I’m sorry, Kellen. I know Sir Royce is your closest neighbor, but we simply can’t have him over too often. Not only do I question his sincerity, but he’s so much prettier than I am that my vanity can’t take it.”

Intense relief swept through Kellen. She did not want the other man? She had seen through him? Then he might allow Royce to live, after all. “That is fine by me. But before I leave for the training field, I must correct you. None is prettier than you.”

He gave her hand one last squeeze, dared a quick kiss on her forehead, and did not wait for her to respond as he headed out the door. Her stunned expression was reward enough.

Chapter Fourteen

The Scottish heathens melted out of the shadows, startling Sir Robert Royce. ’Twas the third night he’d waited, and he’d not been sure they would come. He urged his horse out of the dark copse of trees and into the moonlight, three of his men following, five others waiting and watchful for any signs of aggression.

They stopped, English facing Scots, and Robert’s horse moved under him in nervous reaction to the huge animal the Scottish Laird rode. Robert fought the same feeling of intimidation.

The full moon shone on MacGregor, casting half his face in shadow, seeming to highlight a beast, feral and savage.

Not unlike Lord Marshall himself, if it came to that, only dressed even worse. The savage actually wore animal skins. Robert suppressed a shudder and tried to hide his distaste.

MacGregor smiled, if it could be called that. He seemed amused, but at the same time his expression expressed contempt.

Robert straightened in the saddle, his mouth tightening. He was English, and therefore superior. How dare this dirty heathen show disdain? He was fortunate Robert had sent for him. The savage was obviously not bright enough to know better.

Robert lifted his chin. ’Twas Robert who was wise. Kellen thought he was so clever, moving his cattle about under cover of darkness, when all along one of Robert’s own men helped guard the weedy beasts.

He liked feeling as if he moved players about a chess board, determining outcomes. The thought raised his mood. The heathen was moving into exactly the position Robert wanted him. Robert was in charge. He would hurt Marshall, make him sorry, and eventually make him die.

“You sent for me,” MacGregor bowed his head mockingly. “And here I am.”

“It took you long enough. I sent word that I had information two days ago and I have not seen my man since.”

MacGregor shrugged. “I had to make some inquires. I like knowing who it is I do business with.”

“And my man?”

MacGregor shrugged again then whistled loud and shrill. A yell and a smacking noise was heard inside the darkness of the trees and moments later a horse bolted out. The horse galloped past, a man bound, gagged, and wearing only underclothing tied across its back.

As Robert turned to gape at MacGregor, the barbarian simply shrugged again. “I did no’ care for his attitude. I hope I like yours better.”

Robert’s mouth snapped shut as he stared at MacGregor. How dare this savage threaten him? “Do you want the information I have or not?”

“You seem to want me to have it, so what is it you know?”

“Lord Marshall’s cattle are hidden on the north side of his property.” As MacGregor stared at him, Robert had to fight the urge to move in the saddle.

“Tell me, English. Have you no problem betraying your kinsman?”

“Lord Marshall is no kinsman of mine.”

“Your countryman then?”

“Why do you care?”

“Care? I do no’. I simply want my curiosity appeased, for I have often wondered, does your type have any loyalties at all?”

Robert shrugged off the insult, determined to get this meeting over with as quickly as possible. “I have relations aplenty and they are no concern of yours. Do you want the information or not?”

“Why no’? But I warn you. I do no’ like my time wasted.”

Again, Robert sensed a threat. The laird was a big man. Huge, in truth. Perhaps as big and powerful as Kellen, himself. And wild, too. Powerful and wild enough to bring Kellen down if it came to it?

One could hope.

The thought of the two powerful men coming together, clashing, perhaps dying, made Robert shudder. But beyond the physical threat of the man before him, Robert knew what would hurt Kellen the most. Kellen had stood guard over Lady Corbett like a dog with a stolen hunk of meat.

Robert hated the girl now. He had given her a chance and she had barely paid him any attention. She had seemed incapable of appreciating his finer qualities and practically ignored him as she gazed at and fawned over Marshall.

Unlike her sister, she actually seemed to prefer that uncivilized, unkempt barbarian. Mayhap she would like the Scot, too. In fact, perhaps Robert would do her a favor. “Then mayhap I should make sure your time is well spent with additional information. Lord Marshall has a new bride he guards like a precious treasure.”

“And this affects me how?”

The man really was stupid. “She would bring a bountiful ransom.”

“You would have me take his woman?” His tone was amused.

Robert thought for a moment, then sighed. “As if you could get to her,” Robert said sourly, realizing just how hopeless that would actually be. A savage taking an English castle? Impossible. “So just dismiss it from your mind.” But Robert hoped he wouldn’t dismiss it. That he would take it as a challenge. The Scot was known to be relentless when roused. Perhaps the temptation would be too much for him to resist.

MacGregor studied him for a long moment. “It seems this grand gesture may be more about petty jealousy than any other motive, with me the knife you hope to stab in Marshall’s back.”

Robert’s fists bunched. “I am not jealous of him! I have my reasons and they are none of your concern. I’ve not asked you to kill Marshall, but merely humble him. Are you going to do it or not?”

That infernal shrug once more. “Oh, I will do it. For reasons of my own. I do not plan to overlook such a gift as this. My thanks.” He bowed his head.

Did the savage mock him? Robert wasn’t sure, but suddenly felt as if he were lacking somehow. But what did he care what a filthy, heathen savage thought of him? The brute likely was not capable of thinking overmuch, anyway.

“One more thing,” said MacGregor. “Just so we understand each other. I hope your information is correct, because I would truly hate to be disappointed. It might make me feel I was played for a fool, and that could make me verra, verra angry.”

Robert swallowed, and realized he was sweating. Could he be causing future problems for himself by turning this wild dog against Marshall? But mayhap Marshall would go after MacGregor and they would kill each other? That would be a perfect solution to his problem.

“’Tis all true. I heard it straight from his own mouth. At his own dinner table not two nights ago.”

“He fed you? And this is your repayment? Ah, a clever man, indeed.”

Sarcastic brute. If somehow the savage could get to Lady Corbett, so much the better. She did not like him? He would throw her to the dirty savages to be torn apart. She deserved it.

Signaling to his men, ignoring the chill it gave him to turn his back on the Scot, Robert dug his spurs hard into his mount and rode away, trying not to feel as if he ran. As if he had just tangled with the devil himself.

Robert glanced back once, but MacGregor and his men had faded away into the darkness.

Blasted creepy Scots.

Chapter Fifteen

“I can’t believe how many people showed up for this.” Gillian helped Beatrice unwrap a platter of cheese to set out by the bread as Amelia sat on the edge of the blanket playing with an ugly doll made of clay.

With dismay, Gillian looked at the knights, servants, children, craftsmen, laborers, cooks, squires, and others laying out blankets and food or playing by the river, conversing, laughing, and generally having a good time.

Tristan shrugged. “’Tis to be expected. Everyone wants to be invited to a field day.”

“It turned into a bigger event than I’d anticipated.”

Tristan nodded. “So it did. The more the merrier, eh?”

“I guess so.” Gillian looked over to where Kellen was standing on the bank of the river. She’d wanted the picnic to be more intimate, had wanted to get Kellen alone. He’d been too busy lately, and had stayed out late the last few nights. Something about preventing raids on cattle, protecting the village, and setting traps. Medieval man waging war. Gillian sighed. While it was an attractive look for him, it put the romance she’d hoped for on the back burner.

Sir Owen walked over and knelt to help himself to a couple of slices of cheese. “You look charming this day, Lady Corbett.”

“She does at that,” said Tristan.

Gillian smiled and glanced down at the new yellow gown Beatrice and a few of the other girls had sewn for her, minus the feathers Beatrice had tried to sew into the sleeves. It was easy to look good when you dressed like a princess. “Flatterers.”

Tristan laughed. “’Tis not flatter if we speak true.”

Gillian felt her cheeks warm. “Well, thank you.” She turned away to watch Kellen and the boys fish then glanced back to Tristan and Owen. “Can you believe I’ve been here for an entire week already?”

“And only four more until your wedding,” said Tristan.

At the reminder, Gillian’s heart sank. Four more weeks until the real fiancé showed. That Cow Edith as she’d taken to calling her in her thoughts. “It’s gone so fast.”

“Mayhap because you have enjoyed yourself,” said Tristan. “If you find your enjoyment waning or the time slowing, it could be a sign you tire of your betrothed. If that be the case, perhaps you should choose to marry me rather than Kellen?”

Owen laughed. “No chance there. Have you not seen the way she looks at him?”

Gillian’s cheeks heated all over again, but she smiled just the same. She was having fun. But it might be time to start thinking about getting back to her own time. Before Edith showed up and ruined everything.

Gillian looked at Kellen and acknowledged that she wasn’t quite ready to go home yet, but at least knowing how would be a good idea. She’d thought living the life of a fairytale princess might get old, what with the garderobes, and the lack of malls in the area, but no, she was still having the time of her life. Granted, still no kiss. Apparently, Kellen had been too busy trying to foil would-be rustlers to spare time for any more late night visits. But a girl could hope. One thing was for sure. She was getting that kiss before she left. Maybe even tonight. “I’ll see you guys later.”

They protested, but Gillian stood anyway and Amelia followed to walk over to where Kellen fished with Francis. The boys stuck worms onto hooks and looked to be relishing the task. Another boy stood nearby, and Gillian recognized him and swerved in his direction. “Valeric. Hi.”

The boy looked startled and almost dropped his pole. “My lady.”

“Caught anything yet?”

“No, my lady.”

She put a hand on his bony shoulder before moving on. “Well, good luck.” She moved on to see Peter and Ulrick plucking worms out of a bowl. “Yuck. Make sure you wash your hands before you eat anything. Worms have germs.”

After a quick glance the boys laughed and then ignored her.

Kellen, holding a fishing pole and jerking it rhythmically backward, sighed. “Gillian, you are babying again. ’Tis unacceptable and you will confuse their training if you continue to coddle them. I will thank you to stick to womanly matters.”

“Fine. I can tell when I’m not wanted.” She took Amelia by the hand. “Come on, Amelia. I’m going to tell you everything I know about men. It won’t take long, because there isn’t much to tell. Men are very simple creatures.”

Kellen scoffed. “I did not ask you to leave. I wish you to stay. Perhaps I will want to hear such tales myself.”

Gillian smiled at him. “No. You really don’t,” she teased as she glanced back and saw Kellen was watching her with appreciation in his gaze.

She glowed and didn’t leave. Just stood there like a goof smiling at him smiling at her. She finally turned away, embarrassed. Talk about wearing her heart on her sleeve. No wonder Sir Owen had been confident of Gillian’s affection toward Kellen.

She glanced around at the people starting to eat. There was a lot of laughter and joking, and she soaked up the whole family atmosphere. Her house had been so quiet after her family died. The noise, the togetherness, the acceptance, was an absolute joy. This was what she’d been looking for when she’d gotten conned into a relationship with her ex-fiancé.

Tristan pointed to the distance. “Someone comes. Kellen, see you the colors?”

“I’m not blind.”

On the other side of the village heading down a hill was an entourage of some sort with at least twenty riders, some carrying flags. One man broke away from the group and rode forward and Kellen walked to the end of the path and waited to meet him.

As Gillian noticed women in the group, her heart started to pound and she stood rooted to the spot. When the man finally arrived, she slowly followed Kellen to where he chatted with the rider. The Corbett’s hadn’t come early, had they? Was Gillian about to be exposed?

Kellen turned. “’Tis my stepmother.”

Relief left Gillian feeling weak as she watched the group of riders move closer, veer to the picnic and, finally, come to a stop.

One of them, a beautiful lady with covered hair, jet black brows, white skin, and red lips stopped before Kellen. Snow White in person.

Kellen helped her dismount and the woman straightened, smoothed her dress, and folded her hands together. “Your father sends his greetings. He is pleased with the betrothal. He thinks you a fine son in need of a son of your own.”

She looked beyond him to Gillian and Kellen took a step back and beckoned her forward. “This is Lady Corbett.” He gestured to the lady. “My stepmother, Lady Hardbrook.”

Her lips barely smiled. “You must call me Marissa.”

Gillian was unsure whether she should curtsey or not. “Please, call me Gillian. It’s so nice to meet you.”

Marissa looked at the child. “And is this Amelia? You’ve grown so much, my dear.”

Amelia held up the doll but Marissa didn’t take it and simply looked around before turning to Gillian once more. “Where are your parents? Your ladies? How progress the wedding plans, servants, meals, weaving, and such?”

Gillian looked to Kellen then back at Marissa. “Uh. My parents aren’t here yet. It’s just me. I haven’t really started planning anything yet.”

Marissa’s firm mouth slackened in seeming shock. She looked back to the ladies still seated on horseback then again at Gillian. “I do not understand. Why not?”

“Well, I’m still getting to know Kellen and all, so… ”

Marissa’s mouth was still open and it snapped shut at the same moment she turned to Kellen. “’Tis good you sent for me. I will take everything in hand, including your betrothed.”

That didn’t sound good. “What do you mean? I don’t want to be taken in hand. I’m enjoying my free time with Kellen.”

Marissa drew her head back and looked at Gillian like she was some sort of oddity. “Free time? There is not such for the lady of a castle. Proper cultivation of discipline and decorum seem to be in order, do they not?”

Gillian looked to Kellen hoping for a rescue, but Kellen didn’t say a word. He simply clasped his hands behind his back and looked at the ground.

Marissa turned away. “I will go to the keep and organize my possessions in your bedchamber. I’ll be waiting.”

“Waiting?”

Marissa’s gaze swept over the gathering. “For this spectacle to end.”

Feeling helpless, Gillian watched Kellen help Marissa mount again, and then the entire entourage left for the castle. Apparently Snow White hadn’t arrived but the wicked witch instead. So much for Gillian’s vacation.

* * *

Kellen turned to look at Gillian, who gazed at him as if he had betrayed her. But all he could think on was the fact that when he’d sent for Marissa it had not occurred to him that she would sleep with Gillian.

He couldn’t help the disappointment he felt. Kellen couldn’t seem to get Gillian out of his thoughts. She was attractive, amusing, charming, and she seemed to like him. All good qualities, to his way of thinking.

He straightened his spine. Still, Kellen had to admit he was relieved his stepmother was there. He would be married to Gillian soon enough, and while the wedding was being planned, he would simply have to concentrate on knightly endeavors rather than nightly endeavors.

Gillian looked worried, which he did not care for, but did understand. She had not taken over her duties and established herself as lady of the castle. She seemed uninterested in cooking, servants, or anything else that would fall in her domain. This had concerned him. He had not forgotten her comment about her stay being but temporary. She still had not given him the ring.

He had told himself not to worry. She was simply getting to know her place here and taking her time. But he had to admit he was glad Marissa had arrived to force the issue. The sooner Gillian settled, the better.

Except now there would be no more going to see Gillian in the middle of the night.

Devil take it. So much for seducing her.

Chapter Sixteen

The bed curtains were drawn back. “’Tis time to wake,” urged Marissa. “You must bestir yourself, Lady Corbett.”

Gillian rolled over and moaned. She cracked an eye to look at the window. The wooden shutters were still in place, but the slits around the edges showed it was still dark. Maybe there was a sliver of light but that might just be her imagination. She rolled over again, pulled the blankets up around her chin, and snuggled into her pillow.

“Come, Lady Corbett. The morning is a fine one.” Marissa’s voice was more insistent this time. “You have had your time of rest.”

Gillian moaned. “Please. I just want to sleep in.” The night before hadn’t been a restful one, what with having to share her bed with Kellen’s stiff-sleeping step-mom. The woman had continually shoved Gillian back to her own side of the bed, waking her several times, and Marissa had snored softly when she slept on her back. Couldn’t she just leave Gillian alone for a while longer?

“The lady of the castle does not sleep in. She sets the example.” Now the voice was disapproving.

Gillian cracked an eye open. Kellen’s stepmom was completely dressed and ready for the day. “How? By having the bleariest eyes? That’ll show them.”

Marissa gestured to Beatrice, who hurried forward to lay a gown at the end of the bed. “The lady of the castle must hold herself to a higher measure.”

Gillian groaned, rolled onto her back, and threw an arm over her eyes to block everything out. This wasn’t sounding good for her.

“Beatrice, dress your lady so she might instruct the household and plan her wedding. Things that should already have been done. Apparently your mistress is sorely in need of a few lessons.”

Gillian heard the edge to Marissa’s voice and Beatrice jumped to do her bidding. “My lady?”

Gillian sighed. “It’s not even light outside.” She tried to pull the covers over her head, but they were yanked away by a disapproving, tight-lipped Marissa. Gillian wasn’t too happy herself. “I don’t need any lessons. I’m on vacation.”

Marissa turned and spoke to others, and for the first time Gillian realized there were three other ladies in the room. Marissa walked them to the door. “I will meet you downstairs directly.”

She waited as they left, shut the door, and turned back to Gillian, her face calm. “When you embarrass yourself, you disrespect your husband. I expect you to stop whining and make the correct choice to work hard this day.”

Whining? The heat rising in Gillian’s face made her mad. She wasn’t a lazy whiner so she had nothing to be embarrassed about. The loony woman was dragging her out of bed before dawn. She was trying to force her to plan a wedding for a girl who probably didn’t deserve Kellen. Gillian wasn’t doing it and she wasn’t going to feel bad about it, either. “I already have plans for today. I’m busy.”

“Busy with what?” Suspicion was thick in Marissa’s voice.

Drooling over Kellen? Holding his hand? Getting a few kisses? Enjoying her time in medieval England? Finding a way home? “Well, I… I just have things to do, okay?”

Marissa straightened. “Yes, you do. I know you will want to live up to the expectations of your parents and make them proud of you. You will want to have Kellen happy to take you to wife. You will want to be an exemplary wife so as to blot the stain your sister’s actions left upon this family’s honor.”

Enough with the guilt! Gillian tried to stifle a groan but was unsuccessful.

Marissa ignored her. “I want to know exactly what has been done to prepare for the wedding in four weeks time.”

Gillian looked away. “There’s still plenty of time, right?”

There was a long silence before Marissa took a breath. “I am shocked by your lack of industry, but we will remedy that together. As to the running of the keep, you will need to take over every aspect as soon as possible to ensure the respect of your people. I will help with that also. Is there a reason your mother did not come to assist you during this period of adjustment?”

Gillian shrugged and resisted saying, ‘maybe she’s a lazy whiner like her daughter.’

“Illness?” She prompted.

“Sure.”

“Ah.” Marissa nodded. “Then it was wise of her to send you early.” She started to pace. “This morn we will begin with the kitchens, then instruct the servants, and perhaps afterward we will contend with the sewing and weaving. That should take up the morning, and in the afternoon we will begin the wedding plans.”

Whoopee. It sounded dull and boring and Gillian had no intention of complying. No way was she planning Kellen’s wedding to another girl.

She glanced at Marissa, feeling uneasy about disappointing her, which immediately ticked Gillian off. She didn’t even know the woman! And she wanted to please her? Enough! She wasn’t going to let Marissa make her feel guilty. She didn’t have the time. She needed to find out how to get back home and, from the looks of things, she might need to leave sooner than she’d intended.

Marissa was studying her again. “I am also prepared to teach you all I know about gardening and herbs. ’Tis a skill that has proven a worthy one and is beneficial to all in my care. A skill your husband will be proud you possess. We will spend time each evening doing this. Also… ”

Marissa continued to organize every hour of Gillian’s day, week, and month as Gillian listened with growing horror.

“What about fun?”

Marissa turned dark eyes on her. “What of it?”

Gillian was starting to feel desperate. The woman obviously wouldn’t be swayed from her course and Gillian wondered how easy it would be to sneak away to spend time with Kellen. “I need to get to know my fiancé better, we need bonding time, and then I’ll start planning the wedding, okay?”

Marissa glanced away, seeming embarrassed. “You will have years in which to ah, bond, and get to know one another better.”

“But… ”

Marissa glowered. “Up!”

Gillian resentfully stood and Beatrice helped her into her dress, and then Gillian put on her shoes.

Marissa sighed. “I do not understand your attitude. Sluggardly behavior in anyone is unacceptable. In the lady of the castle, ’tis reprehensible.”

Gillian glared at her shoelaces. Now she was a sluggard? What did that even mean? Stung, feeling desperate, Gillian finished tying her shoes and headed toward the door. “Excuse me, but I need to use the facilities.”

She hurried down the hall, made quick use of the privy, and decided on a plan of action. She’d simply sneak away. She’d find Kellen and explain to him that his stepmother was a slave driver, and let him take care of the situation. He could deal with the woman. Didn’t he say he’d slay her dragons? Did his stepmother count?

Decision made, she went out into the hall to find Marissa waiting outside the door. Gillian’s sense of desperation increased. She could outrun the woman. She was sure she could. Her athletic shoes would be far superior to the slippers Marissa wore, and she doubted Marissa would suffer the indignity of running after her, anyway. But she might send the servants.

Gillian was still on vacation. She still needed to find a way back home. She didn’t need training to run a castle, and she certainly didn’t need to be planning Kellen’s wedding to someone else.

Besides, Gillian would either (a) be there for a very short time or (b) be dead, because when the saintly, already-knows-how-to-run-a-castle Edith showed up, Gillian would be hung as a spy. So she really needed to spend her time (a) finding a way back home and (b) kissing Kellen while she had the chance.

The last part made her smile. She might want to know how to get back to her own time eventually, but Gillian wasn’t quite ready to leave Kellen yet. Gardening and planning weddings? Menus and directing servants? No, thanks. Anyway, That Cow Edith would have her wedding already planned when she got there and all Marissa’s work would be wasted.

Marissa snapped her fingers at a servant and started down the stairs, motioning for Gillian to follow. Gillian sighed. It wouldn’t kill her to keep the woman happy for the next few hours. Probably. In the meantime, she’d have to think of better ways to avoid training with Marissa in the future.

She yawned.

Once she was actually awake, she was sure to think of something.

* * *

Standing outside the stables, Kellen caught two of his foster boys by the backs of their tunics as they tried to run by him.

Tristan caught the third.

“Where do you think you are going?” asked Kellen.

They desperately tried to get away, squirming and fighting as they looked back toward the keep. “Let us go!” yelled Peter. “Lady Marissa will see us!”

Tristan looked to the open doorway of the keep, then back at the boys. “Why is that troublesome?”

Ulrick grimaced “She’s trying to turn us into… into… into… ”

Francis opened his eyes wide and finished the words Ulrick couldn’t spit out. “…into gentlemen!”

All three faces flushed with outrage.

Kellen pressed his lips together to keep them in a straight line.

Owen rubbed his nose.

Tristan laughed aloud. “The indignity.”

They released them and the boys quickly ran off.

Kellen glanced up at the keep. “That reminds me.” He cleared his throat. “I need to check on something. I had best run up to the hall for a moment.”

Tristan and Owen exchanged a knowing glance, and Kellen stared them down. Tristan leaned back against the stable wall and crossed one leg over the other. “Sir Owen, why do you suppose he needs to go up there?”

Owen’s eyes widened. “I don’t know, Sir Tristan. Mayhap to get a bite to eat?”

Tristan rubbed his chin. “I do not understand. Did we not eat our noonday meal of bread and cheese while moving the cattle? Did he not get his share? He cannot possibly be hungry. For what other reason would he go inside on such a fine day?”

Kellen glared at them both as he moved away but refrained from commenting on the fact that they were idiots.

“Don’t come back a gentleman!” Sir Owen yelled after him.

Their laughter followed as he walked away, but he ignored them. He had missed seeing Gillian at both the morning and noon meals. Indeed he had not seen her this day, and she was all he could think of. He wanted to spend time with her and cared not who knew it.

Kellen went inside to find Gillian surrounded by Marissa and her ladies, her head downbent, applying herself to a task. Seeing her thus reminded him of his first wife, Catherine, and the cold reception he’d received from her and her circle of ladies whenever he’d ventured near.

His chest tightened and he thought to leave again, but Marissa and her ladies looked up at him, trapping him with their gazes. His tunic seemed to tighten around his chest, cutting off his air supply, as he bowed and backed away. “My pardon, ladies.”

Gillian’s head shot up. “Kellen!” She stood and ran to him, a panicked expression on her face. At the last moment, Kellen opened his arms and caught her as she threw herself at him, clinging, her cheek pressed to his shirt.

His arms tightened about her as his chest seemed to burn from the inside. He could not help the smile that spread across his face, could not have imagined this reception. “Gillian?”

She looked over her shoulder before turning back to look earnestly into his eyes. “Please, save me!” she whispered.

He glanced between the ladies and Gillian. “What is amiss?”

“Kellen,” Marissa’s voice cut across the hall. “We are otherwise occupied and you are disrupting us and need to be about your business.”

“Certainly.” Kellen, feeling chastised, tried to disengage himself, but Gillian refused to release her hold on him. He bent his head to smile against her hair. “Gillian?”

“I want to go with you,” she whispered again.

Kellen looked to Marissa and the others, all sternly watching them. “I have been gone all morning and am only now off to train in the lists. And it looks as if you are busy, also.”

“Couldn’t I just watch you?”

He’d like nothing better.

“Lady Corbett?” Marissa called. “We are waiting.”

Her gaze beseeched him.

Marissa sighed heavily, put aside her sewing, stood and crossed to join them.

Gillian’s eyes closed and her shoulders slumped. Kellen wanted to help. “Gillian?”

She finally opened her eyes and her expression turned mutinous as she released her grip and turned to face Marissa, clutching his arms to keep them tightly about her. “As much as I’d like to stay and help, as an engaged couple, we need to spend time together.”

Kellen’s arms clenched convulsively around her.

“I disagree,” said Marissa. “There is too much to do. Please move away from him. He is filthy and smells of horse and you are dirtying your gown by brushing against him. ’Tis unseemly besides. You need to come away, and you most certainly need to practice decorum.”

Kellen felt his face heat, and loosened his grip, but Gillian pushed tight into his embrace. She didn’t seem to care about the dirt or the smell as she clutched his arms.

Marissa gave him a pointed stare and Kellen hesitated. He didn’t want to distress his stepmother.

But he did not care to turn Gillian away. He liked that she clung to him and would not wish her to feel rejected.

But, of course, he was the one who’d invited Marissa in the first place. He’d asked for her help and knew he should bow to her dictates.

But the way Gillian pressed herself against him like a second skin was heady and exciting. He wanted to be with her.

Marissa sighed. “You will see each other at supper in a few hours.”

Kellen bent his head to Gillian. “I am happy you are learning the running of the keep. Marissa is a good teacher. There is none better to ease your way.”

Gillian looked as if he’d betrayed her. ’Twas like a dirk in his chest. He straightened and faced Marissa. “But Gillian can’t be expected to learn everything at once.”

Gillian expression relaxed and she gazed at Kellen as if he were her champion. He liked it.

“I disagree,” said Marissa. “There is not much time and she has much to learn.”

“I… ” Ruefully he accepted that he cared more about what Gillian thought than Marissa. “I understand, but no more today. Ready yourself, Gillian. I will return for you shortly. I came in to tell you that I am riding into Thropworth this day.” He knew he was contradicting what he’d said earlier about training this day, and that everyone would know he was lying, but he didn’t care. He turned to a tight-lipped Marissa. “Gillian should watch as I mete out judgement. As my lady, ’tis important for all to see her.”

He was finding he would do about anything for her.

“Can I ride with you on your horse again?”

Marissa let out a harsh breath.

Kellen cupped Gillian’s cheek as he looked down at her. He couldn’t believe she was his. He didn’t want to part with her for as long as it would take to get everything ready. “Of course.”

The thought of facing his men… well… they would think him crazed when he changed course for the day. At his command his men were already gathering in the north field. Besides rounding them up, he’d also have to send word ahead to announce his intent of arriving in the village this day. The teasing would be merciless.

’Twas worth it to be with her.

Chapter Seventeen

“How fare you with Marissa?”

Snuggled in Kellen’s arms, Gillian enjoyed the warmth seeping from his chest into her back, the possessive way his arms surrounded her, and the rocking motion of the horse. She was exactly where she wanted to be. “Fine.”

“Truly?”

“No.” Gillian bit her lip as Kellen laughed. She didn’t want to come off as a complainer but didn’t want to lie, either.

“She means well.”

Gillian snorted and craned her neck to look up at him. “I think she means to drive me crazy. Do you suppose she’ll make things worse because I went off with you today?”

Kellen shrugged. “She is not vindictive. Do not concern yourself.”

“Easy for you to say.” Amused by his lordly proclamation, Gillian huffed out a breath before relaxing against Kellen once more. “You’re not the one who has to sleep with her tonight.”

Kellen laughed. “If you are truly concerned, I’ll speak on your behalf. Or better yet, you can sleep in my bed. I promise not to snore or steal the bedcovers. And I vow to keep you warm.”

Gillian smiled. “I suspect staying warm would be the least of my concerns.”

Kellen leaned down, his mouth near her ear. “I can hardly wait until we are wed.” His whispered words, low and full of meaning, had Gillian shivering. She glanced around quickly to see if any of his men had heard. They hadn’t, but Gillian ducked her head and searched for a change of subject, positive her flaming face would give her thoughts away if anyone cared to glance in their direction.

Her gaze fell to her ring and she gave it a tug. It didn’t budge. “Um. I think I’ve gained weight since I’ve been here. You’re feeding me too much.”

Kellen chuckled, ran a hand down her arm, then back up to cup her shoulder. He squeezed. “I admire every single curve and cannot wait—”

“Kellen, hush!”

His laughter had Gillian blushing all over again as she searched frantically for another subject. “So, where are we going, anyway?”

Kellen chuckled. “Perhaps we are simply enjoying the seeing of the sights. Would that not please you?”

She smiled up at him. “Actually, it would.”

They soon rounded a hill and Gillian saw a village nestled below filled with cottages, huts, and assorted buildings; but it was the big church with an imposing steeple and light-colored stone that immediately caught her eye. She straightened. “Hey. I know this place.” Surely this was Marshall, the town she’d been staying in before heading out to draw the castle.

“You have been here? When?”

“Uh… ” Oops. She couldn’t tell him she’d stayed here in the twenty-first century, that she’d bought chocolate in a shop that wouldn’t exist for hundreds of years, and gotten directions to the ruin of Marshall Keep from the plump woman behind the counter. Directions to Kellen’s castle.

Kellen suddenly stiffened. “Is this where you were robbed of your possessions?”

Gillian breath caught. “Um… ” She was going to have to plead the fifth on that one. “I have no memory of that event.”

Kellen’s arms tightened, pulling her back against his chest. “If someone has made you fearful, have no worries on that score, my lady. I will find the miscreants and they will be duly punished.”

Gillian thought it unlikely, but nodded as if she believed him. Said miscreants were safely in another century and most likely continuing their reign of terror against unwary travelers.

When she didn’t say anything, Kellen sighed, then pointed. “I own all this land and the manor house yonder and have placed in its charge one of my most trusted knights. I believe you will like his wife. She is friendly and would make you a good companion.”

“Oh yeah?”

It didn’t take them long to get to the outskirts. As they rode through the town, everyone stared at Gillian. Well, almost everyone. A pretty young woman waved then placed a hand on her hip, her smile beckoning as if she silently offered her services to Kellen.

Gillian glared at the woman and laid a hand on Kellen’s shoulder, staking her claim, before turning her glare on Kellen. “A friend of yours?”

Kellen’s lips curved. “Not at all.” He didn’t even bother trying to hide his grin. “Is this your way of letting me know you wish me to be faithful?”

Gillian smiled sweetly. “Only if you wish to keep all your bodily parts intact.”

Kellen laughed, causing his men and nearby villagers to stare. “Do not concern yourself, Gillian. I will ever be true and will want no other.”

Gillian turned to look at him, and the heated, possessive way he gazed at her made her want to melt into a puddle. She reached up to cup his jaw and he captured her hand and pressed a heated kiss to the center. She gasped, held his gaze for a moment longer, and then looked around self-consciously. People were definitely staring. “I’ll hold you to that.”

After they’d dismounted, Gillian watched curiously as Kellen and another man formally greeted one another. The knight bowed. “Do you desire to pass judgement this day?”

“I do.”

“We are honored and look forward to your discernment.” The knight gestured and chairs were brought forward as Kellen introduced Gillian to the knight, Sir John Teasdale, and his wife Lady Teasdale, who looked to be about Gillian’s age. Lady Teasdale curtsied and quickly introduced her four young children, three girls and a boy, all blonde like their mother, and all probably under eight years old.

Gillian tried out a curtsy and didn’t think she did too badly. “It’s so nice to meet you all.”

Lady Teasdale beamed. “The pleasure is ours. I’d not thought to meet you until your wedding day, so this is most pleasing.”

“Thank you. I’m glad to be here.”

As Kellen led Gillian to her seat, he leaned down. “I do not normally deal with such small matters,” he said in a low voice. “My man does this. I am only called in to deal with murder, arson, robbery, and assault, but make an exception this day.”

“To spend time with me?”

Kellen’s mouth quirked up on one side. “Verily you are a lot of trouble.”

“I know.”

Gillian was joined by Lady Teasdale and Kellen took his seat at the front, beside Sir Teasdale.

“You look nothing like your sister,” said Lady Teasdale.

“No?”

Lady Teasdale studied her. “The same coloring, ’tis true, but your features are much finer.” She hesitated. “None here believe he killed Lady Marshall.”

“Is that what some people think?”

Lady Teasdale looked suddenly worried. “Some say so.”

“Kellen would never hurt a woman in a million years. There’s just no way.”

Lady Teasdale studied her. “You defend him so vehemently. ’Tis nice to hear.”

“Of course I do. Anyone can see he’s innocent.”

Lady Teasdale nodded. “You are not who I was expecting.”

Yes, well, that was pretty much a given. Gillian lifted a shoulder, glanced at Kellen, and made sure her voice stayed low. “I don’t mean to sound so defensive, but not only does he have to deal with being almost murdered, but then he’s the one who gets the bad reputation out of it? It’s not fair.”

“You do have the truth of it.” Lady Teasdale agreed then turned her head as the noise escalated in the gathering crowd.

Gillian glanced from Kellen to the crowd, wondering what was happening. One of Kellen’s men stepped forward. “Lord Marshall will now hear any grievances brought before him.”

Gillian leaned closer to Lady Teasdale. “So, he’s like a judge or something?”

Lady Teasdale nodded, but there wasn’t time for a longer response as an indignant man pushed his way toward the front, pointed at another man, and loudly proclaimed, “I would accuse Gilbert the Baker of stealing the affections of my wife.”

An audible gasp went up from the crowd as everyone turned to look at a man who gaped unbecomingly, yellowed teeth on full display. He glanced around for a quick exit, but his peers relentlessly pushed him forward.

Kellen motioned with one hand. “Both men advance and give me the details.”

The first man moved toward the front, bowed quickly and pointed at the other man, who closed his mouth and straightened skinny shoulders. “He has been gazing upon my wife, praising her, and he touched her hand. My wife smiled at him and I caught her eating a pastry that I had not given her.”

Kellen motioned to the other man. “What say you?”

The man flushed an unbecoming shade of red but stood his ground. “’Tis all innocence, my lord. Naught has occurred. I swear to it.”

Kellen turned toward the first man. “He says naught has happened between them and has sworn it. If he agrees not to talk to your wife further, will you forgive this man?”

“Aye.” The man straightened. “For a chicken.”

“What?” Incredulity colored the other man’s tone. “A whole chicken?” Mouth slack he looked to Kellen. “’Tis unthinkable.”

Kellen glanced between both men, then leaned forward. “Perhaps half a chicken?”

A laugh escaped Gillian before she even knew it was bubbling up. She quickly turned it into a cough as everyone, including Kellen, turned to stare at her.

A moment later the argument continued, capturing the crowd’s attention once again; and Gillian couldn’t resist, she got out her sketchpad and started to draw.

After a few more minutes of haggling, the half chicken was finally accepted.

Stifling another giggle, Gillian drew faster as Kellen nodded toward the husband. “By forgiving this man you show great strength of character and are to be commended.”

He turned his gaze upon the other man. “And you, sir, need to find a woman of your own and stop trying to lure the wives of other men. ’Tis unacceptable.”

Gillian’s sketch started to take shape. Two men tugged on a pretty chicken, each pulling a wing as the long-lashed hen struggled between them, panicked. Drawing all those caricatures at fairs during college stood her in good stead as she over exaggerated the determined features of the men, making them sinister yet silly at the same time.

Lady Teasdale glanced over and muffled a laugh. Kellen turned, his brows raised, and Gillian pulled her pad against her chest, smiling innocently.

Another man caught Kellen’s attention as, soft-spoken but upset, he claimed some of his grain had been stolen but didn’t have any proof against the accused other than he’d witnessed the man leaving his hut and had less grain upon checking.

Kellen considered the situation as the accused shifted in place, looking down. “Did you take the grain?”

The man took a breath, but before he could respond, Kellen held up a hand. “Keep in mind,” he said sternly, “that you not only answer to me but must stand before God and His judgement for what you say this day.”

The man visibly wilted, his shoulders and head dropping. “I did take the grain, my lord.”

“Is it gone?”

“Aye, my lord, ’tis gone.”

“Then you must pay your debt by helping this man work for seven days time, doing whatever he needs of you.”

“Yes, my lord.” Both moved away, seeming satisfied by Kellen’s judgement.

Another man came forward, bowed, and pulled on his forelock. “My lord, the blacksmith,” he pointed into the crowd, “‘e killed me goat.”

A burly man, thick with muscle, pushed his way to the front. “You lie!”

Kellen looked between the two men. “Let me hear the details.”

The accuser crossed his arms over his puffed-out, bony chest. “’E gave me goat the evil eye one morning as ‘e walked past. The goat died the next day.”

The blacksmith, jaw clenching, shook his head in disgust. “I never did such a thing.”

“Have you any witnesses?” Kellen asked the accuser.

At first no one came forward, but the claimant smacked an adolescent boy on the back of the head and, cap in hand, the kid moved forward. “I witnessed it, my lord.” The boy didn’t look up from the ground or sound very convincing.

“And you are?”

The blacksmith shook his head in disgust. “‘E’s his son.”

Gillian stifled another giggle as Kellen sighed. “Any other witnesses?”

No one came forward. “As there is no real proof that the blacksmith did indeed harm your animal, I will have to deny your claim.”

“But, my lord—”

“The matter is closed.”

Good call, in her opinion. Gillian glanced around at the crowd to see that more people had gathered. It looked as if the entire town had turned out. The scandal sheets apparently had nothing on medieval England.

A tall, well-dressed man came forward next. Stern-faced and confident, he dragged a shorter man by the arm who pulled and tugged and tried to escape.

Lady Teasdale leaned forward. “’Tis the reeve bringing a man to justice. He supervises work on Lord Marshall’s property and reports to my husband.”

“Ah.” That might account for the air of self-righteous indignation. He was doing his job. The reeve dropped the man’s arm and the guy danced away, then glanced around and finally settled in front of Kellen, bowing his head and wringing his hands.

The reeve gestured. “This man poached a fish from my lord’s stream.”

Murmurs flowed through the crowd as the accused looked at Kellen beseechingly. “My lord, if I might defend myself?”

The reeve’s lips curled and Kellen nodded. “Continue.”

The man’s eyes darted about constantly as if seeking escape. “I was merely cooling my hands in the water, my lord, and the fish swam right into my curled fingers, it did, or I would have thrown it back.”

The reeve snorted. “He used a hook.”

The accused ignored the reeve and glanced around at the crowd. “In truth,” he said, raising his voice and straightening, “I did throw the fish back for it was so very big and was obviously meant for his lordship’s table.” He gestured toward Kellen.

“But then another fish, an exceedingly puny and worthless one, swam right into my hands; and my wife, being very ill and with a great desire for fish, she came to mind.”

“Did she now?” asked Kellen, irony lacing his tone.

“Aye, my lord.”

Gillian couldn’t help a smile as she started to draw again.

It wasn’t hard to see where this story was going.

“So I could not help myself. I did take the puny, feeble, insignificant fish home with me. Barely a mouthful it was. For my wife, that is to say.”

Everyone laughed, clearly not believing he didn’t get his share of the fish; and Gillian, a broad smile on her face, stood. “Kellen? May I make a comment?”

Kellen glanced back, surprise flickering across his face as he motioned her forward. “As you will.”

Stepping beside Kellen’s chair, her sketchpad pressed to her chest, she smiled down at the man, then turned to Kellen. “I hesitate to interfere in something I don’t understand, but aren’t fish washed downstream and into the ocean? That being the case, couldn’t they be considered free fish?”

“No.” Kellen shook his head. “All fish belong to the landowner. If they are taken without permission, shortly there would be none to speak of.”

“Ah.” Since she had no idea if the fish population would decline if everyone suddenly took up fishing, or if the river would replenish itself with new fish coming downstream, she didn’t comment.

She lowered the sketchpad and glanced down, then back at the defendant. “Well then, sir, may I ask you a question?” At his hopeful expression and nod, she continued. “Exactly how big was the fish that got away?” She managed the words with a straight face.

“It was this big, yer ladyship.” He held both hands quite far apart and Gillian bit her lip. Hard. “That big, huh?” At his nod, Gillian lifted her pen and added another detail to her drawing. “Well, that was certainly generous of you to let that one go. And what illness does your wife suffer from?”

“A babe on the way is wearisome. It vexes her so.”

She glanced down at Kellen. “I ask you, what is a man to do in such a situation? Perhaps you could be lenient this once concerning the fish?”

“I cannot. Then all would expect leniency and the fields would be neglected in favor of the river banks.”

“Well then, might I suggest that this man’s payment could be in amusing us all so well?”

Kellen’s amber gaze, sparkling amusement and approval, captured her own. “Are you amused, Lady Corbett?”

Gillian turned her sketchpad around and handed Kellen the finished artwork, an exaggerated caricature of a man, eyes gleaming lustfully, a huge fish escaping his grasping fingers.

Kellen laughed aloud and she couldn’t help her own smile. “Why, yes,” she said. “I do believe I am.”

Leaning over his shoulder, she studied the picture and lowered her voice so no one else could hear. “Taking into account the fact that the one that got away is always the biggest fish ever caught, I believe you should give the man a break for being so generous in giving up such a catch; and also for being willing to tell such a good… ah… tale, don’t you think?”

Kellen’s mouth still quirked at one corner as he studied the picture. “Aye.” He didn’t bother lowering his own voice. “He did tell the story well, did he not? And as he amused her ladyship, I will excuse him this one time with his tale being sufficient repayment. But were such to happen again, I would be most displeased.” His gaze bored into the man. “Most. Displeased.”

Gillian, feeling unaccountably triumphant, straightened and bowed her head toward the man. In turn, he bowed repeatedly to her. “You are wise and beautiful, my lady.” Bow, bow. “Generous and a true noble.” Bow.

Well, as to that, she couldn’t say, but she might have made a fine defense attorney if she hadn’t become an artist. As Kellen grasped her hand, Gillian jumped. His look of approval had her brows raising, especially since she hadn’t been sure he’d welcome her interference.

She squeezed his own in return, took the proffered sketchpad and turned toward her seat. Kellen was gratifyingly reluctant to let go of her, only releasing his grip when their hands had stretched too far apart. He waited until she was seated before he called the next case.

Luckily there weren’t many more complaints and, since Gillian didn’t interfere again, they were soon free to walk around. Kellen was quick to reclaim her hand and she tried to control her grin.

“Everyone is staring, my lady,” said Kellen. “I cannot fault them as your beauty seems to glow as does the sun at noontime. You radiate happiness.”

“Thank you.” Gillian could feel herself blush. She didn’t look at him but kept her gaze firmly on the wares being sold by the townspeople. Vases, cookware, cloth, her eyes skimmed them all as her attention was taken up by the man at her side.

He leaned closer. “I was truly proud of you this day.” His breath stirred her hair and caused goose bumps to break out at the base of her neck and along her arms. “These are our people. They are as important to us as we are to them. Thy prompt aid, and my acceptance of your judgement, showed us as unified. I am well pleased with you.”

Gillian looked up at him, her heart beating hard, leaving her lightheaded and breathless. “These compliments have to stop.”

He grinned.

“And so does the way you’re looking at me.”

His warm gaze, his forbiddingly beautiful face, the attraction flaming between them, it all had to stop.

“I would spoil you. I wish to fill the pack you value so with all the treasures it can hold. I want to be gentle with you. And more.” His voice deepened on the last two words as he gazed at her mouth. She shivered.

“Stop already.”

“I merely want to please you and make you smile.”

Gillian ducked her head and his chuckle sent another shiver up her spine.

Kellen tugged her to a nearby stand and bought a bundle of colored ribbons. Laying them across his palms, he presented them to her with a slight bow. “For your hair, fair Gillian.”

Her cheeks were heating again as the shopkeeper smiled and listened in. Gillian lifted the bundle, studying the different colors as they walked away. “I haven’t worn ribbon in my hair since I was in grade school, and now I’m wearing them all the time. They’re beautiful, thank you.”

She searched desperately for another subject before he could say anything else to make her blush. “What is the name of the village?”

“Thropworth.”

“Really? Well, some day, it will be named Marshall. For you.”

Kellen laughed. “Think you I would name this village after myself? You talk nonsense.”

Gillian glanced up at him and smiled. “I think Marshall is a good name. Strong and masculine.”

He stared down at her, eyes intense, then cleared his throat. “Let us hope ’tis not too masculine a name as it will soon be yours to share.”

“I suppose it will.” She looked down. “And if we were married, then you would belong to me as well, wouldn’t you?” A girl could wish for a moment, couldn’t she?

“Let me assure you, my lady, that I am yours, even now.”

His words, spoken in that gravelly tone, had Gillian’s breath catching and her knees weakening. She slowly raised her head to see the possessive way he looked at her, like she was dessert and he had a sweet tooth that hadn’t been slaked in a very long while. The way his gaze dropped to her mouth, his slowly drawn-in breath, his firm and inviting lips.

Bundling the ribbons in one hand, she reached up and touched his warm, stubble-roughened cheek with the other. “Right at this moment you do belong to me, don’t you?” She slid her hand behind his neck, her fingers tangling in the thick, silky hair at his nape and slowly she pulled him down and stood on tiptoes.

When their lips met in the lightest of kisses, Kellen groaned, and the sound, the vibrations, the surprising softness of his mouth pressed gently against hers, caused Gillian to shiver.

Applause snapped her out of the enticing daze and she let him go. He slowly released her, stroking her hair once as she glanced around to look at their smiling audience. Gillian, cheeks heating, did the only thing she could think to do. She smiled and waved at everyone.

Kellen chuckled. “’Tis glad I am to see you blush, my lady. I would hate to be the only one. And can I say that your timing could not be more disappointing. I finally get to taste you and cannot pull you into my arms as I long to.”

Gillian laughed, her heart pounding, her face heating. “Sorry about that.”

“Never fear. When next I get you alone, ’tis a problem I will rectify.”

That’s what she was afraid of. Their relationship had gotten too serious, too fast. Her emotions were engaged. His might be, as well. She certainly hadn’t meant for that to happen. Maybe it was time to pull back.

She met his gaze once more, saw the heat, longing, and satisfaction burning there and felt herself weaken once more.

Maybe it was already too late.

Chapter Eighteen

With Gillian sitting in front of him, wrapped in his arms, Kellen was in no hurry to return home. She seemed contemplative as she rocked with the motion of the horse and took in the scenery, and Kellen wondered what she was thinking. “You are very quiet.”

Gillian glanced over her shoulder then back to a copse of trees. “I’m just thinking about our kiss and questioning your courage.”

Kellen’s eyes widened of their own accord and every muscle in his body tightened in outrage. “What?”

“Well,” she lifted a shoulder. “I did kiss you first. So I was wondering if you are simply shy or a bit of a scaredy-cat.”

Jaw clenching, Kellen bit off a sound of disgust. “I am no scared cat. I had desired to kiss you sooner but worried you might be skittish and had vowed to woo you first. I had not realized I had such a bold lass on my hands, else I would have acted sooner.”

“Bold? Whatever!” Gillian turned and hit him in the shoulder, pretending to be upset, but he could now see the laughter in her eyes and the curve of her lips and realized he was being teased. His muscles relaxed and he couldn’t help a slow grin.

A couple of his knights tried to stifle their laughter and Kellen slowed his horse. When his knights did the same, he jerked his head. “Ride on.”

Reluctantly his men obeyed, and when they were out of hearing, he adjusted Gillian in his arms and cupped her cheek. “Now what say you?”

Gillian looked at his mouth, then into his eyes. “I’m not sure this is such a good idea.” Her voice, weak and whispery, made him feel strong, powerful.

“I disagree. ’Tis the best idea I have had of late.” He lowered his head and kissed her gently, his mouth moving over hers, his hands sweeping into her hair as he held her in place. His heart pounded and he couldn’t believe the incredible softness of her mouth, the way her lips parted to let him taste her. Her arms slid around his neck as if to hold him to her and he moaned, unable to stop the sound. She was exquisite.

When he broke off the kiss and lifted his head, his voice was rough and his arms tight about her as he claimed, “Mark me, Gillian. This is our first kiss. The other, a weak, paltry attempt on your part, does not signify.”

Gillian, chest rising with quick breaths, laughed as she released him. “If that’s the case then we will never be able to point to a spot as our first kiss. It will be an ever-changing location.”

He lowered his forehead to hers. “I assure you, lady, that whenever I ride my mount I will remember this kiss. And since I ride daily, I will never forget.”

Gillian lifted her hand to his neck and the tender gesture, her cool fingers against his skin, had his arms tightening about her. “You’re very sweet,” she said.

“Sweet?” he chuckled. “Enough with these insults. I insist you stop—”

The pounding of hooves had Kellen’s head jerking up and he saw his men riding toward them, fast. Kellen adjusted Gillian, clutched her tight, then urged his mount forward.

The knights pulled up and he did the same, their horses heaving and prancing as the men tried to control them. His other men backtracked to join them.

“My lord,” Sir Reginald de Lacey bowed his head. “Some of the cattle are stolen and the guards missing.”

Kellen’s mouth tightened. “Scots?”

Sir Reginald shook his head. “I know not.”

“Whoever has dared such will soon feel my wrath. Where?”

“The east side.”

“When?”

“Perhaps as early as this morning. It could have happened soon after the guards were changed.”

Digging his heels into his mount, Kellen set a fast pace for home, his men following, Gillian clinging. Once inside the courtyard, he yelled orders as he stopped in front of the steps to the keep.

As his men ran for their arms calling for squires and more horses, he dismounted then lowered Gillian off his horse to stand with the women gathered on the steps, watching the scene unfold. Kellen touched her cheek, then turned to Marissa. “See to her safety.”

Marissa rolled her eyes. “Lady Corbett will be well protected within the walls of the keep.”

With one last look at Gillian’s confused face, Kellen remounted his horse and called to his men. They would get his guards and his cattle back, and make whoever took them very sorry they did.

* * *

Gillian, heartbeat speeding, leaned against the stone wall behind her since there wasn’t anywhere to sit. Kellen looked like a warrior, his body thick with muscle, covered in armor and chain, helmet gleaming in the sun, his shield emblazoned with the black bird of prey that made her shiver. Wow. Just wow. Could she help it if her knees went weak?

His men were impressive. Fast at following orders and incredibly well organized, they rode well-trained horses behind Kellen’s out of the keep. She wouldn’t want to meet any of them in a dark alley. These guys were intimidating.

The women stood still watching the men ride away without moving. Almost as if this were expected of them? After the last man disappeared under the gate, Marissa finally turned and walked into the hall. Gillian followed. “Will they be okay?”

Marissa looked surprised. “Of course. None can defeat Lord Marshall.”

“Will there be a fight, then?”

Marissa shrugged as she moved away. “Doubtful. The miscreants will likely run and hide. Why were you away for so long this day?” She asked over her shoulder. “What were you about?”

“Oh. Um, well… what with the traveling there and back, and the judging, and we may have stopped to look at a few things in the village and—”

Marissa waved a hand. “I find I’ve no stomach for excuses. We will simply have to make up for lost time now that you have finally arrived.”

Gillian’s own stomach sank as she followed Marissa inside, the two ladies following directly behind her, hemming her in. She glanced back to see the blue-eyed woman, a big cat embroidered on her skirt, give her a malicious smile. Just as Gillian had suspected, she was to be punished for going off with Kellen.

The second lady, her eyes dark brown and malevolent, offered a patently insincere smile. “’Tis certain you are much like your sister Catherine, are you not? She, also, was ever one to shirk her duty.”

While Gillian had expected the attack, her mouth still fell open. “Hey! I wasn’t shirking. I was just spending time with my fiancé. That’s important, too.”

“I agree,” said the cat lady to her companion, ignoring Gillian completely and certainly not agreeing with her. “She is much like her sister, is she not? If not in looks then certainly in character.”

Stung, Gillian took a breath. “Look, I’m nothing like Catherine. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try and paint me with the same brush. It’s not very fair.”

“What has fairness to do with it? You are her sister. What more is to be said?”

“I agree.” Blue eyes flashed limpidly once more. “There can be no more to say of the matter.”

What a couple of hags. Even if Catherine were her sister, which she was not, it wouldn’t be fair to judge them the same. She knew plenty of sisters who were nothing alike. How would they like it if she blamed them for something someone else did?

Sort of like she was doing with Edith?

Gillian’s heart sank. Wasn’t she romancing Kellen and justifying it by telling herself that Edith didn’t deserve him? Because of the way Catherine had tried to murder him?

Dismayed, Gillian looked at the ground. Kellen wasn’t hers. Ultimately he belonged to Edith who might just be a perfectly nice person and well suited to him.

Gillian didn’t like it when Marissa and her friends blamed her for Catherine’s failings. But wasn’t she doing exactly the same thing to Edith? Catherine was bad, therefore so was Edith? Therefore, Gillian could do what she liked?

Gillian felt sick. She’d taken this whole thing too far. She needed to find a way back home before she ruined Kellen’s chance of a good marriage.

She needed to get out of there.

* * *

Marissa appraised the forlorn expression on Gillian’s face and barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Enough of this mooning about. “Come then,” she said, clapping her hands. “We’ll not dawdle in the hall all day waiting for the men to return. There is work to be done.”

Turning, she led the way, and her ladies followed. A glance over a shoulder assured that Gillian was slowly climbing the stairs. The girl looked upset. Was it because Kellen had left? Or because of the biting comments made by Yvonne and Vera?

Marissa shook her head. If the latter were the case, the girl needed to grow a backbone if she thought to take her rightful place as lady of the castle. Otherwise, Gillian’s own ladies—when they arrived—would soon disdain to follow her lead.

Marissa climbed the stairs to the solar, and when Gillian finally entered the chamber, Marissa stood patiently beside the head chair and waited to see if Gillian would offer the seat or take it for herself.

Politeness dictated Gillian give up the place-of-honor as Marissa was Kellen’s stepmother, but the girl said nothing at all and simply sat across the way, leaving not only the head chair available, but also the one she should have rightfully claimed next to Marissa. Lady Vera promptly sat therein with a smirk toward Lady Yvonne.

Marissa sank down with a sigh. The girl had much to learn. And learn she would. If Gillian’s mother was such a sad case as to allow her daughter out in the world with so little training, then for Kellen’s sake it was Marissa’s duty to teach the girl.

“Lady Corbett, let us start with castle fare. Know you how to plan a menu?”

Gillian sighed. “Look, Lady Hardbrook, I understand you’re trying to help me, and I appreciate it, I do. But I really have somewhere I need to go. And the sooner the better.” She stood. “So it’s been really nice to meet you, but—”

“Sit down.”

“Um—”

“Now!”

Gillian sat.

Marissa schooled her expression. She didn’t enjoy raising her voice and didn’t like that this girl had managed to goad her into doing so. “’Tis obvious you’ve been allowed your way too often.” Marissa was proud of her patient-yet-stern tone. “That will change. You have much to learn. I will not have this family disgraced by your laziness.”

A flush rose in Gillian’s cheeks and she crossed her arms.

“I’ve never been called lazy in my entire life.”

“Then ’tis obvious someone thought to spare your feelings.”

The ladies giggled and Gillian’s mouth fell open. Marissa raised a hand. “No more. There is work to be done.”

“But if you’d just let me explain—”

“I’m not interested in excuses.” Marissa cut in. “We will now begin. Let us start with castle fare. Lady Corbett, know you how to plan a menu?”

Leaning back in the chair, arms and legs crossed like a sloven, Gillian shrugged. “Not really. Mostly I’ve just done take out.”

Marissa stared. “So you have never planned a menu for an entire keep?”

Gillian shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

This was worse than Marissa had realized. “How many servants had you the responsibility of directing?”

“None. If I wanted something done, I just did it myself. My mom was a big believer in self-sufficiency. We never had a maid or anything. We all just pitched in.”

Marissa stared, appalled. “You’ve not been trained in the instruction of servants?”

“No.”

Marissa’s chest tightened. This was not to be believed. “Do you sew?”

“No.”

“Nay?”

“Well, I sewed an apron once in school, but I sewed the ties on backwards and they wouldn’t reach around my waist. I made a mess of the material trying to unpick the whole thing. My teacher still gave me a C for effort, which I appreciated.”

Marissa knew when she was being mocked and her voice sharpened as she asked. “Do you embroider?”

“No. But I’ve always wanted to learn. I did knit a hot pad once. It was actually supposed to be a scarf, but when I lost interest, my mom used it to protect the table until the yarn unraveled.”

Marissa didn’t even try to hide her disgust. Gillian’s mother should be ashamed of herself and certainly of her daughter. “Can you do nothing womanly?”

Gillian raised a brow.

Lady Yvonne snickered. “It almost seems as if your mother thought to train you for the life of a peasant.”

Lady Vera laughed. “The lowliest of peasants. With your lack of skill, ’tis no wonder you had to wait for your sister to die fore you could find yourself a husband.”

That was over-harsh, and Marissa thought to rebuke her ladies, but at Gillian’s unconcerned expression, decided to allow the rudeness. Perhaps their words would shame the girl into a desire to learn.

Lady Yvonne smirked. “Do you possess any skill at all, Lady Corbett?”

“I can draw.”

“You can sketch?” Marissa wasn’t sure she believed her.

“Yes. Very well.”

At the display of confidence, Marissa felt slightly relieved. At last, a womanly accomplishment. But she was skeptical, too. Gillian’s standards might be low and her skill merely adequate.

“Would you like to see?”

Marissa’s mouth half-opened to respond in the affirmative, but the half-smile, the excitement in Gillian’s expression stopped her. Because what Marissa saw was that Gillian truly wanted to sketch.

“Sewing first.” Marissa grabbed up a garment from the top of the pile. “Kellen has torn this sleeve to such an extent as to render the garment useless. You will sew it back together. Later you can demonstrate your skill at sketching.”

After getting Gillian set up with needle and thread, Marissa ignored her for the next ten minutes and listened to the chatter of her ladies. When she finally could stand no more, she checked Gillian’s progress and her heart sank. “This is very poor work, Lady Corbett.”

Looking crushed, Gillian held up the garment. “What do you mean?”

“The stitches are too far apart and uneven. You need to apply yourself.” Marissa took the garment and demonstrated.

Gillian watched carefully, then sighed. “How long is this going to last? When will Kellen be back?”

Marissa tried to check her exasperation. “Do you want your lord to be poorly clothed or to have his garments fallen to shreds? Are you not ashamed at your lack of skill?”

Gillian shrugged.

“I warn you, ’twill be unpleasant if your people think you slothful. The servants won’t respect a lady that refuses to set an example.”

Gillian’s lips tightened.

Marissa sighed. “Lady Corbett, I don’t understand your belligerent attitude. I am trying to aid you.”

Gillian’s face slowly relaxed and she nodded. Finally the girl straightened in her chair. “I see that. I’m sorry. I’ll try harder.”

Marissa resumed her seat and relaxed a little as Gillian seemed to concentrate on her stitching. When Kellen’s daughter wandered in with a maidservant, Gillian beckoned to her. “Come sit by me, Amelia. I’m learning to sew.”

Marissa watched as Gillian situated the child and the two of them took up stitching. Marissa shushed Lady Vera when she loudly whispered that Amelia’s skill might outshine Gillian’s. Gillian seemed determined to make the task fun as they played a game of who could make their stitches the tiniest.

A few minutes later Marissa checked on Gillian’s progress again. “Better. But try to make your stitches more even, each one the same. And watch that you don’t take too much material into the stitch. It still has to fit his arm when you’re done else you’ll have to take the stitches out and start again.”

Marissa demonstrated once more before resuming her seat. At least the girl improved with direction, so she wasn’t totally hopeless, but Marissa was truly concerned about Gillian’s lack of skill. After Marissa went back home, Gillian would be in charge, but her attention seemed on flighty matters. Mostly she seemed to want to spend time with Kellen. And, Marissa had to admit, Kellen seemed to feel the same about her.

How could one so lacking in skill attract a man? She was pretty, certainly, but beauty didn’t get the work done.

Lady Yvonne smiled sweetly at Gillian. “Lady Corbett, ’tis admirable how well you work with the child. Perhaps ’tis because you seem such a child yourself. Might I ask thy age?”

“I’m twenty-four.”

Lady Vera rolled her eyes. “Thy true age, Lady Corbett. Though you act no more than four.”

“I am twenty-four,” said Gillian, her tone firm.

Lady Vera’s brow crinkled as she lowered sewing to her lap. “Truly?”

“Truly.”

Marissa slowly lowered her own sewing, shocked to realize Gillian told the truth. She was older than Marissa had realized. How awful. “I had thought you younger than thy sister. You’ve never married? You have no children?”

“Nope. Never been married. No children.”

“At thy age?”

Gillian sighed and glanced up. “At twenty-four I’m hardly in my grave yet. My biological clock isn’t even ticking.”

Pity for her burned in Marissa’s chest.

Lady Vera finally took a breath. “You must forgive our shock, but you are so old.”

Lady Yvonne jumped in. “You must feel gratified that Kellen is willing to take you in. Is he aware of thy true age?”

Gillian laughed. “Kellen is five years older than I am. I don’t see the problem. Would you want to marry him off to a child?”

Marissa tried to hold onto her pity, but it was hard to feel sorrow for one who did not regret their own sad plight. Besides, her throat had tightened uncomfortably. Her own husband was twenty-three years older than she. Did he see her as a child? Was that what bred his lack of interest?

Gillian glanced up from her work. “So what age did you ladies marry?”

Lady Yvonne straightened proudly. “I was but fifteen when I wed. Were my husband still alive, we’d be celebrating our eighteenth year of marriage.”

“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss. Thirty-three is so young to be a widow.”

Marissa’s eyes widened at Gillian’s quick calculation, but she only said, “Lady Vera wed at fourteen, and I married at the age of eighteen, but only because my betrothed had died. It was needful for the king to grant permission for a new match, else I’d have married sooner.”

“So young,” said Gillian.

At least they hadn’t been so old. “By the time I was your age I’d borne two children.”

“You’re Kellen’s stepmother, right?”

Stung, Marissa nodded once and resisted lifting a hand to her face to check for wrinkles. “I am barely older than Kellen.”

“So, you must be a lot younger than your husband?”

“Yes.”

Gillian shrugged. “Well, May-December romances work out all the time, right?”

Romances? Again Marissa felt the sting and grasped for something to say. “There is not much time for romance in a marriage. I take joy in running the household, in doing my duty, and in my two young sons.”

Gillian lowered her stitching, a look of incredulity spreading across her face. “No time for romance in marriage? That’s a sad thing to say. It sounds like the two of you need some time away together. Something certainly needs to change.”

The pity on Gillian’s face offended Marissa and she swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “People do not change.”

“People change all the time. They just have to want to.” Gillian looked around. “Did you say you have two sons? I’ve only seen the one.”

Marissa glanced to where her young son sat on a blanket, playing with a wooden sword, and her heart filled with love and grief. “Quinn, my child of eight, has recently been fostered to Lord Waldegrave.”

Gillian looked shocked. “Fostered? What is it with you people and farming your kids out? Eight is too young for a child to be separated from his parents. Don’t you miss him?”

Miss him? Marissa’s eyes burned as she bent over her sewing. She ached for him, worried for him, and prayed hourly he was being treated with kindness. She could only hope Lady Waldegrave cared for him with the love of a mother.

“I’d never allow anyone to separate me from my children.”

At that, Marissa lifted her head. “You’ll not have a choice.”

“We’ll just see about that, won’t we?”

The challenging words and stubborn tilt of Gillian’s chin had Marissa’s brow drawing together. She wondered if perhaps Gillian would get her way in this. Marissa had no doubt the first thing Kellen would do when he returned was search for Gillian. If he continued his infatuation within their marriage, mayhap he’d indulge her.

How did she do it? Putting vanity aside, Marissa knew she was pretty, yet she couldn’t seem to hold her husband’s attention more than a moment. And this… this… unskilled… well she could hardly be called a girl… this woman, so effortlessly received what Marissa would give her eyeteeth to have. Her husband’s caring, his attention, and… affection.

Lady Vera lifted her chin and glared at Gillian. “Your education certainly seems to be lacking. You don’t appear to know anything about the way of things.”

“Yes,” Lady Yvonne concurred. “’Tis quite sad, actually.”

Marissa was aware her ladies were responding to her distress over her son, and that she should intervene. But she could not make herself.

Her chest burned, and bitterness crept like acid up her throat. Why should this girl have it all? How did one such as she receive everything, while Marissa, who worked herself to the bone, was barely noticed?

Marissa bore and taught her children, planned food stores, menus, she kept her husband’s home comfortable and well run. She sewed, embroidered beautiful tapestries, and kept herself attractive.

This girl planned outings, field days, and the like. Frivolous activities. She wanted to swim, to see sights, and Marissa had no doubt Kellen would accommodate her. The girl brimmed with an unfounded confidence. Yet how could she? She did not know the first thing about running a keep. And her speech was strange. A trait Kellen simply seemed to find charming.

And if she had sons, would she have them wrenched from her if she did not desire it? Or would her husband abide her wishes out of his love for her?

Marissa couldn’t sit with Gillian another second. She stood, and startled, her ladies followed suit.

“Are we done?” asked Gillian.

Marissa started toward the door. “You are not. You will sit there until the work is done correctly. Even if that takes the whole night through.”

As she exited the room, she could still see Gillian’s confused face and was dismayed at her own shrewishness and for taking her inadequacies out on the girl. But all the same, she could not stay another moment. She had to get away before she did something stupid and out of character. Like burst into tears.

Chapter Nineteen

Hours later Gillian finished darning a sock, tugged at the stitches to see if they’d hold and, satisfied they would, set it down in the finished pile. She looked at the sewing still to be done and closed her eyes.

She felt like Cinderella but was trying hard not to have a pity party. She didn’t have the time. There was still at least half the clothing to be mended. Beatrice had come in and offered to help, but Gillian hadn’t let her. The last thing she wanted was Marissa believing Gillian hadn’t done the work.

Kellen’s stepmom was a certified witch, but regardless, Gillian was determined to prove to the woman that she did not have a lazy bone in her body. This went beyond her reluctance to do Edith’s work. Gillian’s reputation was on the line. She’d finish every bit of the mending and would do an excellent job.

She quickly sewed a small tear on a pair of boys’ hose and held them up to check for more rips. She thought she was getting better and faster, too.

Anyway, it hadn’t been all bad. For the first time since she’d been there, she’d actually had time alone to think and had come to a decision.

She was taking Kellen and Amelia with her.

Yes she’d only known him a short time, but Edith didn’t know him at all, so Gillian refused to feel guilty for stealing him. She had strong feelings for him and was convinced he did for her, too. She’d be a wonderful mother to his child. They could have a great life together.

So, rather than miss him like crazy, she’d just take him with her. The twenty-first century had a lot to offer.

They could live in the house her parents had left her. It was nothing like his castle, but it was a good-sized home. Once he’d tried the food, the entertainment, the bathroom, he’d be hooked. He could find a job—probably some type of outdoor physical labor—and they’d be happy together. Make more babies. Raise a family.

She tried to picture him living and working in Seattle. Perhaps he could work a job in construction? Or as a police officer or maybe a fireman? A gardener? She sighed when nothing seemed to click.

Here, he was already in his element. A knight-in-shining-armor, running his castle, training his men. She was having a hard time picturing him anywhere else.

Still, technology had a lot to offer. She had a lot to offer. Maybe she could tempt him?

“Gillian?”

Kellen’s voice broke into her thoughts and she glanced up to see him poking his head into the room. When he spotted her, she smiled. “I was just thinking about you.”

He looked pleased and a little shy, his gaze falling as he entered the room. “Missing me, I hope? I searched everywhere and none seemed to know of your whereabouts.”

He’d bathed. His masculine face was clean-shaven and his hair damp on his shoulders. The long shirt and belt he wore didn’t hide the well-developed muscles of his chest and arms. Maybe he could learn to play football? He might like that. She couldn’t help the sappy grin she was positive adorned her face. She really didn’t want to lose him.

“Do you wish to join me in the kitchens to find some supper?”

Forcing herself to stop ogling, she glanced instead at the sewing pile. She was hungry, but determined to finish. “Not yet. I still have a lot of mending to do.”

“I could help.”

“Really? I thought this was considered women’s work. Since when do big, strong, handsome,” she drew the last word out and grinned at him, “knights sew?”

“Ah, flattery.” Kellen grinned and closed the door. “Now you’ll not be able to rid yourself of me. Leastways, two will finish more quickly and we can be on our way.”

“True.” Suspicion had Gillian’s brows drawing together. “But do you even know how to sew?”

Kellen crossed the room and retrieved another candle, bringing it back to hold the wick against the flame beside her. “Not many women grace the battlefield, yet there is still torn clothing aplenty. I was a squire once, and had to sew my lord’s clothing as well as my own.”

He shrugged. “Of course, that was years ago and expected. So a warning. If you happen to mention that I helped you this day, I will, of course, have to slay you.”

“That sounds ominous.” Gillian smiled as she retrieved another needle and threaded it for him. “How exactly will you do me in?”

Kellen hesitated, and Gillian glanced up. Suddenly serious, his smile gone, he said, “There are many and varied ways I am capable of doing the deed, though I will say I do not count poison among my skills. I tend to be more forthright.”

He was talking about Catherine. Well, Gillian was sick and tired of Catherine and the damage she’d done this man. He’d been playful only moments before and she wanted that back.

“I never thought you did. But what about drowning? I bet you could make it look like an accident if you tried. You could tell everyone we were going swimming and when you return alone you could fake tears and that would be that.”

Kellen laughed. “Too much effort, especially the weeping part. Besides my dagger is sharp and handy.”

Gillian grinned. “But think of the mess. What if you arranged a horse riding accident? Everyone knows I can’t ride. Or better yet, what if you threw me off a cliff, or placed a snake in my bed?”

Kellen smiled, then chuckled, almost as if he couldn’t help himself. “Again, ’tis all too much effort. Adders are especially difficult to find. I suppose I must needs keep you and suffer the ribbing my men are sure to give.”

“You’re assuming I’ll talk. I won’t, you know. All your secrets are safe with me.”

Kellen glanced up, a quick upswing of his head as he studied her face, before he snatched up a piece of clothing and searched it for damage. Long enough for her to see the vulnerable, seeking expression. She breathed out slowly. Catherine had a lot to answer for.

“So, tell me about the stolen cattle. Did you get them back? I hope no one was hurt?”

Kellen shrugged. “We found our men tied up and, other than a few scuffle marks, unharmed. We found most of the cattle and have two men in the dungeon.” His sudden smile was edged with satisfaction.

“Will you try and retrieve the missing cattle?”

“’Tis pointless.” When he finally looked up again, his expression was unreadable, the earlier traces of vulnerability gone. “They are long away by now and the further into Scotland they go, the more likely we are to face ambush and loss of life.”

He really was a good leader. He cared more about his men than his pride. As Gillian watched the play of candlelight on one of Kellen’s high cheekbones, she realized the sappy expression was probably back on her face.

Kellen finished the shirt and held it up for her inspection. “Well? What think you?”

He’d done a better job than she could have. “Not too shabby.”

“Do I receive payment?”

“What kind of payment?”

“You are sure you have no more of the chocolate?”

She chuckled. “I wish. It really is all gone.”

“I suppose.” His look was sly. “I will have to settle for a kiss then, as payment.”

Gillian glanced at Kellen’s mouth and, suddenly breathless, barely refrained from licking her lips. “Settle, huh? I don’t think so. Anyway, that’s hardly fair since you’re the one who tore it in the first place.”

Kellen crossed his arms and narrowed his gaze. “You would deny me payment?”

“Are you going to pout if I do?”

Kellen glanced away, his brows drawing together. “Nay.”

“You are!” She laughed. “Well, perhaps I’ll kiss you when the work is all done.”

“I always think it best to deliver payment as work is completed.”

Gillian laughed. “For each piece? An installment plan?”

“Yes, I wish for an installment.”

“All right.” Still smiling, unable to resist, she leaned forward. “One kiss.”

Kellen quickly took advantage of her capitulation and leaned in and fitted his mouth to hers, kissing her gently. He coaxed her mouth open and tasted her, making her boneless, making her moan.

She lifted an arm and slipped it around his neck and Kellen dragged her across his body. Her other arm rose of its own accord to circle his neck. She was getting dangerously addicted to him. To his taste and—

The door creaked slightly as it swung open. “Saints protect us!”

Gillian scrambled back as Kellen let her go.

Marissa’s shocked expression was quickly replaced by a glare directed at Gillian. “I leave you to work and this you do instead? Have you not the pride to fulfill your duties?”

Heat fired Gillian’s cheeks. “Uh… I was actually sewing,” Gillian pointed to her pile. “And got quite a bit done. This was the first time I’d stopped working since you left.”

“Do you take me for a fool?” Marissa turned and pulled the door closed behind her.

Gillian sighed and looked at Kellen who didn’t seem upset in the least. She glared at him. “Well?”

“Yes?”

Gillian gestured frantically toward the closed door. “So much for impressing the woman. Now I’m not only a sluggard, but a slut.”

“A slut?”

“A wanton.”

Kellen laughed. “I could but wish.”

Gillian sank back with a laugh of her own. She looked over at the pile of clothing still to be done. “Well, no point in continuing now.” She turned to an unrepentant Kellen and his smile irked her. “But for the record, you’re a jerk.”

He laughed. “Shall we go down to supper now? Or we could stay here and finish. I find I’m not as hungry for food as I had believed.”

His eagerness made her laugh. “If we stay here, I’m sewing. I’m not risking her coming back and finding us making out.”

“Making out?”

“Kissing, necking, smooching, snogging, sucking face. Whatever you call it.”

Kellen laughed and leaned in, obviously intent on kissing her again.

“That’s it.” Gillian stood. “I’m out of here.”

Kellen scrambled to his feet. “No, wait. I must needs discuss this sucking of face with you.”

“Not another word.” Gillian was out the door before he reached her.

* * *

After the morning fast had been broken, Kellen knew he should leave. He had much to do but lingered anyway.

Marissa and her ladies moved to sit by the fire and, after a flatteringly long look in his direction, Gillian followed. Kellen, unable to help himself, followed too, stopping nearby to lean against a whitewashed wall.

After they’d raided the kitchen the night before, as Gillian had named their foraging, they’d sat in the great room before the fire until complaints from those trying to sleep had sent them abed.

Kellen smiled at the memory of Gillian’s dread of bedding down with Marissa. He’d offered to let her sleep with him; but she’d rolled her eyes at the suggestion, so he’d walked her to her chamber instead. The lack of privacy had allowed for but a few kisses, leaving Kellen yearning for more throughout the night. He couldn’t wait until she was his the whole night through.

Marissa sat with her ladies and sorted through the mending, checking the clothes and Gillian’s work. “Lady Corbett, I’m pleased with what you’ve accomplished.” She held up a shirt. “Look here. If you but decide, you are quite capable of doing an adequate job.”

Recognizing the shirt as the one he’d sewn, Kellen pushed himself off the wall. “Adequate?” He asked, offended.

“Yes, adequate. The stitches are not precisely even,” said Marissa. “But ’tis a start. She is doing well enough.”

Kellen leaned back and crossed his arms while Gillian, her face turned toward him, struggled not to laugh.

“As you did so well last night,” Marissa continued, “you may now demonstrate your skill at sketching.”

Gillian squealed, ran over, grasped Kellen’s hand, and tugged him toward a chair. He offered little resistance.

“Sit here.” Gillian was gleeful as she pushed him down, then pulled up another chair and sat across from him.

“Gillian, I cannot stay. I have much to do. My men are no doubt waiting for me to show myself.”

“Oh, come on. Please?” She wasn’t even looking at him, but digging in her pack, sure he’d give in. He sighed. For her, he would. “To please you,” he said. “But I will demand payment.”

She chuckled and jumped up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Payment.”

He shook his head at her but couldn’t help smiling at her contagious joy. She gave him a slow grin that had his heart speeding as she arranged him to sit as she desired, his legs outstretched, hands enfolded on his lap.

He was gratified at how easily she touched him, something his first wife avoided even after four years of marriage. Gillian smoothed a hand down one of his legs and patted his knee.

“Aye, touch me wherever you like,” he said quietly. Gillian winked at him and his grin broadened.

“Now sit still and don’t fidget.” Gathering her paper and sticks, Gillian seated herself and studied his face a moment before beginning her sketch. She looked carefree, her blue eyes shining, a half-smile on her full lips. He was pleased she was settling in. She was fast becoming Kellen’s weakness and he wanted her happy.

He quickly reminded himself that he possessed no weaknesses and anyone who said otherwise would not live to tell the tale.

“Don’t scowl. Just give me a slight smile.”

Amelia entered and wandered over to see what Gillian was doing. “Amelia!” exclaimed Gillian. “I have an idea. Come and stand beside your father. Now Kellen, I want you to put your left arm around her.”

Again Gillian arranged them to her satisfaction, moving their bodies into position. “There. Perfect. Now don’t move.”

Kellen was rigid, the tiny body next to his own, no less so. He didn’t like being this close to the girl. He didn’t want to look at her for fear he would see she was not his, that he was raising another man’s child. One of his men’s? He was determined not to think on it. To wonder if one of his own had betrayed him.

“Relax, both of you.”

The child, stiff and unbending, stood for only a few minutes before jerking free and running away.

“Amelia, come back!” Gillian tried to coax the child into returning but to no avail. The girl ran out of the room and, looking confused, Gillian asked, “What was that about?”

Kellen shook his head. “I did nothing.”

“Well, I wasn’t accusing you of pinching her. I just wondered why she left.” Gillian shrugged and picked up her sketch. “I’ll put her in later. In the meantime keep your arm up as if she’s still there.”

“Lady Corbett,” said Marissa. “You do not have the day through. You must finish soon. There is work to be done.”

Gillian mouthed “there is work to be done” along with Marissa and rolled her eyes, making Kellen stifle a laugh. Then he wondered if she was being made unhappy, if perhaps he should send Marissa away?

He glanced over at the ladies, working industriously. No. Marissa was teaching Gillian well. He wanted her settled and wanted her to take her rightful place. Marissa would make sure she was comfortable in her role, and after the marriage Gillian would have none to gainsay or arrange her time.

“Kellen,” Owen came into the room. “There you are, lazing about as always, I see. The men are training and wondering what you are about.”

Gillian waved a hand. “I’m keeping him. Go away.”

Her words produced a warm glow in Kellen’s chest, and embarrassed that his feelings might show on his face, he lifted a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat.

Tristan came inside. “What are you doing? Sketching?” He moved forward to look over Gillian’s shoulder. “No, no. You are making him too handsome.”

Gillian withered him with a stare. “Go away, Tristan.”

“Wouldn’t you rather use your talent to sketch a well-favored face?”

Gillian snorted. “Yours, I suppose?”

“If you insist, I could be persuaded to—”

“Leave!” said Kellen.

Tristan sent him a disdainful glare. “Come, Owen. As ever, it looks as if we will have to train the men ourselves.”

Kellen snorted and watched them go.

After she’d been busy a few minutes more, Gillian spoke. “I need to ask you something.”

“Aye?”

“I was thinking we could take a walk today. Out to the cemetery. You, me, and Amelia. Just the three of us. What do you think?”

Kellen’s brows drew together. Again with the cemetery? “Nay.”

Gillian stopped sketching and looked up. “Why not?”

Kellen rubbed the back of his neck. “’Tis not safe.”

“It’s just outside the village. We’d be with you. What’s not safe about that?”

Kellen tried to think how to deny her. “What captivates you thus? Cemeteries are nasty, gloomy places, fit only for the ghosts that haunt them.”

“I just want to go.”

“Another time?”

“Soon?”

“Of course. When we both have a free moment, we will get my men together and—”

“No. Just the three of us.”

He was suspicious again, but could not fathom what she could be about. Was there someone waiting? A man she hoped to see? A lover she wanted to leave with? And if so, did she think Kellen would be easily overpowered? The idea was ludicrous. “For what purpose?”

“It’ll be fun.”

Kellen didn’t want to take her to the cemetery. Not with the thieving Scots about, and not when the hair rose on the back of his neck in warning every time she mentioned the blasted place. It wasn’t likely she could have a romantic tryst in mind. Not with the child there. And by the saints, it was a graveyard!

“Okay?”

What was she hiding? She was tying him in knots. Her sister Catherine had ever been secretive. She’d met with a man somehow, and been so tightlipped about it, Kellen had not been able to find the culprit.

Gillian’s face was open, without guile. But she had such a different way about her that she was still difficult to read. Where women were concerned, he didn’t trust his instincts anymore.

Kellen was relieved when Owen came back in the room. “Kellen? A word with you?”

“I must leave.”

“No!” said Gillian. “Just a little while longer.”

Marissa lifted her head. “’Tis best he goes. He has much to do, as do you.”

Kellen looked into her distressed face and desired to give her whatever she wanted. Within reason.

Tristan came up behind Owen. “Is he coming?”

Kellen gave Gillian one last searching look and realized Catherine was making him doubt Gillian. He knew it wasn’t fair to her, but didn’t know how to feel differently.

Marissa glanced over. “Gillian?”

Owen gestured from the door. “Kellen?”

Before Gillian could protest, before Kellen could even be tempted to stay, to accuse or apologize for suspecting her of foul deeds and worse, he vaulted out of his seat and hastened after his men.

Chapter Twenty

A week later, in the middle of the night, Gillian yawned widely, not bothering to cover her mouth or look away from the sketch she worked on. No one else was around anyway.

To say they’d been keeping her busy was an understatement. Marissa and her ladies were slave drivers, granting very little free time, and zero access to Kellen. Not that he’d seemed to mind.

To add insult to injury, after keeping her busy every day, Marissa had tried to stop Gillian from drawing at night, scolding her for staying up late, for wasting candles, and for keeping Marissa awake with the scratching noises.

Gillian smirked at the memory of that particular accusation. The feather-light sound of her pencil was completely drowned out by Marissa’s soft snoring. It was nice to see the paragon wasn’t perfect.

Gillian bit her lip to try and hold back a smile as she sketched, knowing she shouldn’t be mean. Marissa might not be warming to her, but all the same, she was teaching Gillian all she knew and, if she were actually staying, it would be very useful information.

She used a finger to smudge the curve of Kellen’s jaw on the page, creating a shadow and softening the line. She was just about finished with the portrait and was happy with how it was turning out. She stared at Kellen’s masculine face, the full lips, high cheekbones, neck and shoulders thick with muscle. Yummy. The man was gorgeous, no doubt about it.

Amelia’s petite form nestled within Kellen’s arm, her pixie little face, so lifelike it almost looked like a photo. Dealing with Amelia’s wiggling and squirming had turned out to be well worth it. The likeness was good. This might be the best family portrait she’d ever done. It would make a fantastic gift for Kellen. She just hoped it wasn’t a goodbye present.

Gillian turned to look at the snoring woman on the bed and wondered if Marissa would wake if Gillian snuck out to see him. He’d been avoiding her the entire week and Gillian was starting to feel desperate. She needed to get him and Amelia out to the cemetery, and for some reason he was against taking them. Perhaps if she sneaked to his room and had a little chat with him she could lure him with her feminine wiles.

Gillian grinned at the thought and glanced at the door. Should she chance it? She deserved a little free time, right? She’d certainly done her part lately. She knew how to plan a menu, discuss said menu with Cook, keep kitchen accounts, instruct servants, mend, instruct spinners and weavers, plan a wedding feast, and check wheat for mold.

While the work itself wasn’t bad, and was even quite interesting at times, she really needed to kidnap Kellen and Amelia; and no one was making it easy for her. She was busy. Kellen was busy. Everyone was busy. But she had to get them out there if she wanted to take them home.

She’d been thinking about it and had come to the conclusion that there had to be a reason she’d been sent to Kellen. A reason for the attraction and connection they’d felt from the beginning. That being the case, there had to be a way for the three of them to get back, so they could be together as a family. She was starting to feel very possessive. Edith could find a new guy. Kellen belonged to Gillian now.

She was pretty sure Amelia would be fine. Kids adapted quickly. But she wondered how Kellen would react to the twenty-first century. If he could go. If he would go. If he’d be happy if he did. Gillian was starting to wish there was some way she could stay. Medieval England was definitely missing some basic necessities, but overall, she was sort of getting used to it. If Kellen couldn’t or wouldn’t go with her, she wasn’t sure she’d have the will power to leave him.

She sighed. It wasn’t as if she’d have a choice. How would Kellen react when Edith showed up? He’d be shocked, hurt, angry. Would he put Gillian in the dungeon? Arrange a hanging? Keep her as his mistress and marry Edith? Gillian wasn’t going to chance any of it.

In the morning, they were supposed to meet with the priest. The banns were to be posted, whatever that meant. Maybe afterward she could talk him into going.

Still tempted to see him immediately, Gillian carefully inserted her sketchpad into her pack, put away her art supplies, blew out the candle, and sat in the moonlight, shadow, and glow of coals from the fireplace. As Marissa snorted, Gillian smiled and looked at the door. She just might risk it. So what if she got caught? It wasn’t as if Marissa held a very high opinion of her as it was and anyway—

As she watched, the door slowly, silently opened and someone eased into the room. Kellen? Gillian smiled. Great minds thought alike. She looked to where Marissa snored softly. If she caught Kellen there, she would raise an unholy racket, but the risk was worth it.

Glancing back, she suddenly realized the wraithlike figure was too small to be Kellen. She watched the shadow start toward the bed and whispered, “Hello?”

So quick she almost didn’t see the motion in the murky darkness, the guy lifted his arm and threw something just as Gillian stood and took a step to the side. At the sharp thwacking noise, Gillian looked behind her. The moonlight revealed a dagger protruding from her high wooden chair.

If Gillian hadn’t stood, she would have been skewered in the neck.

Shocked, heartbeat speeding, Gillian put a hand to her throat and turned her head; but it was all she was capable of doing. The man moved a few more steps toward her; and finally, after a choked gasp and a quick scramble backward, Gillian was able to scream.

Marissa sat upright, instantly screeching, adding her voice to Gillian’s. The shadowy figure took one more step forward, hesitated, then melted into the darkness and out the door.

Gillian stopped screaming to stare after him, her heart pounding hard and her breath coming in gasps. She looked at the chair then at the door again. If it weren’t for the knife, she could almost believe it hadn’t happened.

Marissa stopped mid-scream. “Gillian?” She sounded breathless, scared. “What has happened?”

Kellen ran into the room and this time there was no mistaking his large form for anyone else and Gillian, shaking and relieved, started to cry as she stumbled toward him.

Kellen rushed forward and pulled her into his arms. “What is it? Are you well? Did you have bad dreams?”

“Someone… someone… ”

After skimming his hands up and down her body, he lit a candle and Gillian pointed to the chair and the knife. His face disbelieving, he asked, “Are you hurt? Where did you get this blade?”

“No. I’m not hurt. A man was in here.” She shuddered. “I was sitting in the chair and he threw the knife at me as I stood.”

Kellen ran his hands over her body a second time, then lifted her into his arms and crossed to the bed. He stuffed her under the covers next to Marissa and; looking dangerous, he grabbed the knife, studied it, then thoroughly searched the room before posting a man outside the door. He turned back, giving Gillian a stern look. “Stay here. Bar the door.”

Fine with her. She wasn’t going anywhere. Someone had just tried to kill her.

Kellen left, yelling for his men as he went.

* * *

“Find him!”

As his men rushed to the roof and down to the great hall Kellen searched above-stairs, looking behind curtains, under furniture, and out windows to see if a villain hung, or climbed a rope to the roof. Whoever tried to kill Gillian needed to be captured. So Kellen could personally kill him.

He glanced back toward Gillian’s door. He did not dare move too far from her bedchamber, though he knew the women had it barred. Why would anyone want Gillian dead?

Owen came out of the ladies’ solar and shook his head. “I found naught.”

Tristan ushered Marissa’s ladies out of their room. They were visibly upset and Lady Vera repeatedly hit Tristan who had an arm raised to defend himself. “None hid in the ladies’ bedchamber. I searched everywhere.”

Lady Vera’s eyes burned fire as she continued to slap Tristan. “And used the opportunity to touch my underclothing!”

Kellen raised a brow.

“Not apurpose!” said Tristan. “I was searching for a villain!”

Lady Vera hit him again.

“Enough!” Kellen turned away to search the corridor. “Take them to Lady Marissa.” He noticed the boys standing against one wall, wide-eyed and frightened. “Did any intrude upon your room?”

Peter shook his head. “No one, my lord.”

Kellen turned to Owen. “Take the boys, also. Make sure Lady Marissa bars the door.”

Kellen checked the boys’ chamber himself but found it empty. As he exited, three of his men came down from the roof. “Well?”

“Nothing, my lord.”

Kellen’s teeth clenched as his frustration grew. Three more of his men came upstairs. “Did you find anything?”

They all shook their heads. “Nothing suspicious, my lord. We questioned all below stairs, but none report anything amiss.”

Kellen felt blood rushing to his face as he tried to hold his temper. “How can a murderer slip in and out of my keep? Threaten my lady?” His voice rose with each word. “Find him!”

Kellen checked Gillian’s door, found it barred, waited to see if they would open it and, when they did not, told the guard to stay put and headed down the hall and descended the stairs. When he reached the great hall, he looked around. His people were visibly frightened and Kellen didn’t see any who did not belong.

Another guard came into the room. “The outer gates are all secure, my lord. None passed that way.”

Kellen nodded once. “Detain any who look in the least suspicious, even if they are known to you.” His frustration levels mounted as he looked around. It could be anyone, any of his men, his guards, his knights, his servants.

He again wondered about Catherine. Who had been her mysterious lover? One of his own men, perhaps? Was this revenge for her death? Had she even spoken true? Had there ever been a lover? Or was the attack related specifically to Gillian? Or to himself?

He studied the knife he’d confiscated, but it yielded no clues. It was ordinary, one any knight could own or any peasant steal. Its sharpness reminded him of its former location in the chair, directly at throat level.

Gillian could have died.

He felt himself sweating and wiped his brow as two more of his men came in. “There is naught to report from the village. All has been quiet. None saw any pass who did not belong.”

Kellen seethed. “We’ve missed something. Search again. Question everyone.”

Nodding, they left.

Kellen studied his people gathered in the hall, their expressions nervous, fearful. Some stood, some sat on sleeping pallets, but none slept. He studied each face. They were all familiar to him. He moved forward and ripped the hood off an adolescent. The boy screamed, defensively raised his hands and, recognizing the lad, Kellen let him go.

He didn’t want to believe it could be one of his own people. Perhaps it was the Scots? Had men come in to rescue their own and plotted revenge? If so, how did they get in? How was it they weren’t seen?

He would question the Scots sitting in his dungeon. But first, he would question Gillian again and see if she’d remembered aught. See if she was still safe.

Chapter Twenty-one

When Lord Marshall grabbed Valeric by the shoulder and ripped the hood from his head, Valeric screamed, defensively raising both hands to protect himself, awaiting a blow. Lord Marshall only searched his face a moment, then let him go and, without a word, moved away.

Valeric stared after Lord Marshall’s retreating back in disbelief. He’d thought himself caught. He’d thought himself dead.

Breathing hard, Valeric watched Lord Marshall walk away, heart pounding so hard he wondered if he might die this night, regardless. Perhaps his treacherous heart would stop of its own accord and save Lord Marshall the trouble of slaying him.

On boneless legs he backed the few feet to the wall and slid down to sit among the rushes, pulling his knees close and wrapping his cloak tight about him. He listened to Lord Marshall shout orders, and the hunger that had been with him for years surfaced once more. Why could not Lord Marshall have been his sire rather than Sir Royce? Would Lord Marshall have acknowledged him? Would he have trained him up to become a knight?

Shame had his eyes closing. That dream was now impossible. He’d tried to harm a lady. He’d tried to kill a lady. He leaned his head against the wall and fought against the tears burning his eyes. A lady who had been nothing but kind to him. Now he could never be a knight.

And what of Lord Royce? When he found Valeric had failed, what might he do? To him? To his mother? He considered staying at Marshall Keep and never returning to Royce Castle. In any case, he could not set forth. They had men everywhere, searching, watching. But he could not leave his mother unprotected.

All here knew and accepted him as one of their own. Lady Catherine had seen to that when she’d needed a message boy in place for her affair with Sir Royce.

Might he not help his mother escape somehow? Find her a place, either here or in the village?

He opened his eyes to watch Lord Marshall until he moved out of sight, still shouting. He wished he could trust him enough to ask for aid, to beg protection for his mother at the very least; but did not doubt Lord Marshall would kill him if he realized he were the culprit. And then what would happen to his mother?

He took a shuddering breath and lowered his head to his knees. He hadn’t actually hurt Lady Corbett, he reminded himself. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. He’d been relieved when she was unharmed. Perhaps he had missed a purpose?

He rubbed his face against his hose, wetting the material with the tears he could not seem to subdue. He remembered the accuracy of the blade and knew nothing could excuse his behavior.

After he’d thrown the knife he’d been more shocked than Lady Corbett and walked a few steps into the bedchamber to assure himself she was unharmed. When she’d screamed, he’d realized she thought he was coming to finish the job.

He lowered himself to the ground, curled into a ball of shame and tears, and realized that he was, indeed, his father’s son.

* * *

The tension in the room was unbearable and, when someone pounded on the door, Gillian jumped, Vera gasped, and Yvonne placed a hand to her chest. Only Marissa slid off the bed where they were ensconced in furs and blankets and hurried to the door. “Who is there?”

When Kellen identified himself, Gillian let out a breath as Marissa unbarred the door. When he came into the room, he was tight-lipped and stern; but Gillian was relieved to see him and scrambled off the bed and hurried over with Yvonne and Vera, asking questions with the others.

Kellen put both hands in the air. “Enough!”

When everyone fell quiet, Gillian put a hand on one of his arms. “Did you find the man? The one who threw the knife?”

Kellen gave a curt shake of his head. “Not yet. Come.” He took her arm and ushered her first toward the chair, then changed directions and, when they reached the bed, grasped her waist and effortlessly set her on the high mattress. He put pillows behind her, propping her up, and pulled a blanket across her legs. When he’d arranged her to his satisfaction, one of his hands gripped the nearest bedpost, and he looked down at her. “I need to hear every detail, no matter how trivial. All you remember.”

Feeling slightly overwhelmed by the way he was looming and still shaken by the attempt on her life, Gillian nodded, drew her knees to her chest, and hugged them. She still couldn’t believe someone wanted her dead, that someone had snuck into her room in the middle of the night to accomplish the deed.

As a woman who lived alone, she’d always checked and rechecked the doors and windows and set the alarm before going to bed. Here, inside a fortress, with a big, burly, overprotective man down the hall, she hadn’t given it a thought.

She took a breath. “When the guy came into the room, I’d just barely blown out the candle and was sitting in the dark.” She gestured toward the small table. “I was actually looking at the door when he slipped in the room or I might not have seen him because he was so quiet. At first I thought it was you.”

Gillian felt her face heat a bit as she remembered planning to sneak to Kellen’s room. “But then I realized he was too small; and I whispered to him, and the next thing I knew there was a knife in the chair. If I hadn’t stood when I did… ” Gillian placed a hand at her throat and swallowed.

“How much smaller than me?” Kellen barked out the words. “Who is of similar size?”

Gillian’s brows drew together as she remembered how the guy had strode toward her, how they’d been about the same height. “Actually, I don’t think he was much bigger than I am.”

“Could it have been a female?”

Gillian looked at the three ladies standing at the foot of the bed. Vera and Yvonne looked affronted, Marissa calm. Gillian shook her head. “The way he moved, it seemed like a man.”

Kellen’s face tightened with frustration, and Gillian wished she had more information to give.

“Mayhap it was a youth?”

Again, Gillian shook her head, trying not to be irritated by his snapping. “I don’t think so. The knife hit hard, and I’m assuming it landed where he’d intended it to. Wouldn’t that take a lot of skill?”

Kellen walked a few feet away, his hand lifting to rub his neck before he turned back. “You did not see any feature that set him apart? Hair color? Clothing?”

Gillian shook her head. “No. It was dark and he was dressed in dark colors.” She watched Kellen continue to pace back and fourth. “I wish I knew more.”

“Surely there must be some tiny detail you have left off?” His tone was sharp, again.

Gillian’s mouth tightened for a moment before she took a breath. “Well, sure I do. But I’m purposely hiding what I know.” She threw out a hand. “Bring out the thumbscrews or you’ll get nothing out of me.”

Kellen gave her a narrow-eyed glare then jerked his head toward the door. “Why was the door not barred?” He was getting louder. “It must be barred every night!”

Gillian’s chin lifted as she leaned forward. “I didn’t realize I needed security in my own bedroom.” She threw out a hand. “Maybe you should post a guard outside the door or get me a big dog since I’m obviously the target of a madman and I’m completely without protection!”

Both of them were breathing hard as they glared at each other. Only the opening door had Gillian glancing away to see several of Kellen’s men come into the room. She raised a hand to gesture, palm up, toward the door. “You didn’t bar the door.”

Kellen gave her a fulminating glare then turned to his men.

“Well?”

Sir Owen stepped forward. “’Tis bedlam outside, my lord. Word of the assassin has spread and many are panicked, seeing shadows, ghosts, and murderers.”

Gillian didn’t blame them. She didn’t feel safe, either.

Kellen started across the room and Gillian lifted a hand. “Wait! I want to ask you something.” When the men turned back, she continued. “Is there any way this could be related to Catherine’s death?”

Kellen turned back toward her. “I cannot deny there might be a connection.” He stared at a spot above her head. “If I had found the man responsible for turning Catherine from her duty, it may have prevented this attack.”

“But I don’t understand why you haven’t already figured that out?”

Kellen’s teeth clenched as he bit out, “I tried.”

Gillian didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t meant to offend him. She just saw him as super-competent and was genuinely surprised he hadn’t found his wife’s cohort and dealt with him accordingly.

With a growl he turned away. “You will stay in your bedchamber on the morrow.”

“What?” She got to her knees. “No! Why should I? You told me you’d keep me safe!”

Kellen kept walking. “I will!”

“But I want to go home!”

At the door, Kellen stopped, then turned back, his gaze icy. It was the first time he’d looked at her like that, almost as if he hated her. “You are home.” The words were cold, hard, final. He turned and left, jerking the door closed behind him.

Gillian, stunned by his harshness, by everything that had happened, burst into tears.

As Yvonne rushed to bar the door, Marissa walked around the bed and pulled Gillian into her arms and stroked her hair. “He did not mean to be so heavy-handed. As a male, being told he is inadequate is the worst of insults.”

Gillian managed to sob out, “But I never said that!”

“Whether you said the actual words or did not, he believes you think it,” said Marissa.

Vera cut in. “Never tell a man he cannot protect you. ’Tis devastating to their ego.”

Yvonne stroked Gillian’s back. “Very true. Either they will rush off to prove you wrong and get hurt, else they will cease caring and go into a depression of the spirits. Either way, ’tis not a good idea.”

Gillian’s chest ached as she continued to cry. “Kellen hates me. I could see it in his face.”

“Shh,” said Marissa.

“And… and… someone is trying to kill me! I mean, I knew I could die of the plague or the pox or something, but a knife in the throat? What is that about?”

Yvonne continued to rub her back. “Hush now. You will make yourself ill. ’Twill all be sorted in the morning.”

Gillian remembered the way Kellen had looked at her and cried harder.

Marissa tried to calm her. “Shh. Sit up now. Dry your tears. This is no way for the lady of the house to carry on.”

They pushed her into a sitting position and Gillian wiped her face with the cloth Marissa provided and tried to stop crying.

Vera handed her a cup. “Here. Drink this.”

After a few hiccoughing sobs, Gillian drank a bit. “Ugh,” she made a face. “It’s nasty.”

“Drink it down,” said Marissa. “’Twill make you feel better.”

As soon as she’d finished, they tucked her in and Gillian wondered if perhaps she’d been wrong about the culprit being a woman and if she’d just been poisoned, but couldn’t work up the energy to care.

Eyes closing, she buried one side of her face in the pillow, and her breath continued to hitch as she struggled to suppress more tears. “I’m not supposed to be here. You know that, right? In the morning I’m finding a way to go home.”

“Shh,” said Marissa. “Of course you will, dear.”

Gillian finally slept.

* * *

Late the next afternoon, there was finally a knock and Gillian’s level of anger flashed to boiling point as she leapt off the bed and hurried to the heavy door. “Who is it?”

“’Tis Kellen. Unbar the door.”

Mouth tight, Gillian shook her head. What a piece of work. Without so much as a word he’d left her to twiddle her thumbs the entire day, then showed up giving commands. She had no intention of making this easy for him. “How do I know you aren’t a murderer? One can never be too careful about these things.”

“Nay, my lady,” an earnest voice responded. “’Tis truly Lord Marshall.” Her guard, anxious to please after trapping her inside the entire day, was no doubt relieved to offer the good news. She crossed her arms and glared at the door, torn between throwing it open to let Kellen have it, and forcing him to stew in the hall.

Easy decision. After the day she’d had he could cool his heels. “But how do I know it’s him? It could be anyone. It could be a murderer who’s also a voice impersonator. I saw this guy in Las Vegas who—”

“Gillian! Open this door! Now!”

She hesitated, considering. She didn’t want him to disappear in a huff before she finally had the chance to give him a piece of her mind; so she lifted the bar, swung the door wide, and glared at Kellen.

He stared back, face impassive, his amber gaze raking up and down her gown-clad body before he moved forward, forcing her to step back. He crossed the room, pulled in the sheet she’d dangled out the window, lifted it up and looked at the painted words. Throwing it across the bed he asked, “What is written here?”

“Trapped in the tower. Call 911. But maybe it should have said 999. It might have brought better results here in England.”

His brows furrowed. “What does it signify?”

Gillian stepped forward to admire her handiwork. “It means rescue me. I thought with all those knight-in-shining-armor types running around I’d get a few takers, but apparently you’re all a bunch of poseurs.” She glared at the guard hovering in the doorway, and Kellen, following her gaze, quickly dismissed him.

He sighed. “Gillian, you are well aware keeping you thus is for thy protection.”

Gillian’s fists clenched. “The other ladies weren’t confined to quarters. Only me.” Her eyes started to burn and she looked down, unwilling to cry and suffer swollen and gritty eyes again.

She took a calming breath. “I hated being grounded as a child and I find it even less appealing as an adult.”

“Gillian.” He reached out, held her arms, and tried to draw her forward, but when she jerked away he sighed again. “I understand your anger with me. ’Tis my fault you were not kept safe. ’Tis a mistake I won’t repeat.”

“So what are you saying?” Her calm deserted her as she threw a hand in the air. “I get to be confined to my bedroom for the rest of my life so you don’t make any mistakes?”

He gritted his teeth. “’Tis only until I find the culprit.”

“Did you find him? Or is it visiting hours in the prison?”

He stood a bit straighter. “I’ve not yet discovered the villain, but I swear I’ll not rest until I do.” He held out his hand. “Come. Make peace with me. The priest has returned and summoned us both.”

Gillian thought of refusing, but wasn’t about to miss the chance to leave her cell. Instead she crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “After you.”

Kellen’s hand dropped; he turned and led the way, and Gillian was left with the impression she’d hurt his feelings. She hesitated, a pang of guilt making her wish she’d simply taken his hand; but then she remembered the long stay in her bedroom, hardened her heart, and followed.

When they reached the great hall, servants were setting out tables and benches and getting ready for supper, but there was no sign of Marissa and her ladies.

Beatrice rushed forward. “My lady? Is there anything I can get you?”

Gillian shook her head. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Beatrice glanced uneasily at Kellen, then bent forward to whisper. “I managed to procure some pheasant feathers. If you would like I can sew some onto the hem of your blue gown?”

Gillian glanced at Kellen who waited impatiently. “Uh. Feathers. Yeah, I don’t think so. Maybe later we can think of something else to do with them.”

Beatrice looked so crushed that Gillian almost changed her mind, but she didn’t want to be kicking feathers around every time she wore the dress.

Once outside, Gillian looked toward the castle gate just as Kellen stopped to wait for her; and he intercepted her glance. “I would catch you well before you reached the gatehouse. And were I not here, I have ordered the guards to deny you passage. You’ll not escape me, Gillian. This is your home now.”

“Do you have to be so irritating? Maybe you’ll be the one who doesn’t escape me; did you ever think of that? And maybe once I have you where I want you, I’ll lock you in my bedroom all day and see how you like it.”

A laugh escaped him, quickly stifled. “As you will, my lady.” His carefully neutral tone and the realization that it would take him about two seconds to break down her Seattle bedroom door, earned him a heated glare. She said nothing more as they crossed the bailey yard, side by side, in silence.

When they reached the open chapel entrance, Kellen offered his arm; but any soft feelings she’d felt earlier were well and truly squelched. She ignored him and walked the few steps into the chapel.

The priest, a plump, middle-aged man wearing a black robe, a brown bonnet that did nothing to hide his thick salt-and-pepper hair, and a cross at chest level, must have been waiting. He immediately came forward. “Welcome, welcome, Lady Corbett!”

Gillian politely stuck out her hand and the priest took it in both of his, a delighted smile on his kindly face. “I am so happy to know you. I am Father Elliot.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Father.”

“I am so pleased Lord Marshall is to wed again and to such a beautiful maid. ’Tis not right for one such as he to be alone.”

Gillian wiggled her hand loose. “Why not? He doesn’t mind it when I’m all alone.”

The priest looked surprised and glanced between the two of them.

“You must forgive her,” Kellen said. “Lady Corbett is not herself this day.”

The priest nodded. “Of course, of course!” He turned to Gillian. “You are not to worry, my dear. Lord Marshall will make a fine husband. You are lucky to be wedding such a one as he.”

“I am the fortunate one,” said Kellen.

Father Elliot’s mouth fell open and he looked a bit shocked. “Of course, of course! I meant no offense.” He turned to Gillian.

“All are excited for the wedding, my dear. The clothing, the romance, the dancing, the drink, the food.” He placed both palms on his stomach and smiled at Gillian. “Most especially the food. Wedding feasts are beyond compare. Do you not agree?”

Gillian managed to keep her eyes on the man’s face and not on his protruding belly, but couldn’t hide the smile, which he quickly noticed.

“Ah,” he chuckled. “So you do. Good, good. I’m pleased with Kellen’s choice of bride. You come from an esteemed household. Your father, Lord Corbett, is an outstanding example of courage and nobility, and his wife the image of grace and beauty. A fine family.”

Gillian noticed he didn’t mention Catherine. She wasn’t about to bring her up, either.

Father Elliot turned to Kellen. “Did you catch the culprit who dared to infringe upon Lady Corbett’s bedchamber?”

“We are still searching. I gather you arrived last nightfall?”

“Aye, I did.”

Kellen silently regarded the man.

Father Elliot’s eyes widened. “But surely you do not believe I had aught to do with the attack on Lady Corbett?”

Kellen hesitated, then said, “The man who attempted this crime is of similar size to my lady.”

Father Elliot, looking relieved, laughed and patted his belly. “None will mistake me for a delicate female.”

“No. But the tutor under your direction is quite slender, is he not?”

The priest’s mouth fell open again and he took a quick breath. “I can assure you we had naught to do with any deviltry.”

Kellen simply stared, saying nothing. The priest seemed to be trapped by Kellen’s gaze, prey to his predator; and Gillian, feeling sorry for him, finally interrupted. “So, what are we here for?”

The priest was visibly relieved by the change of subject. “Come, come.” Waving his hands around, inviting them further inside the stone chapel, he rounded the altar and said, “Now I am returned, ’tis time to post the marriage notice on the chapel doors.”

“What for?” asked Gillian

He looked surprised. “’Tis required, my lady. I will write thy names on the notice, and if any come forward with valid reasons why either of you cannot wed, the marriage will be prohibited.”

Gillian shifted from one foot to the other. Would the fact that she wasn’t actually Edith Corbett be a valid consideration? “What sort of reasons?”

Kellen stiffened beside her and when she glanced up, his jaw tightened.

Father Elliot glanced between the two of them and cleared his throat. “Ah, if either are married, or have taken vows of celibacy, or are perhaps too closely related. None such applies to you?”

Gillian shook her head. “Not to me.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie.

Kellen relaxed. “Nor me.”

The priest flattened out the paper, dipped his quill, and looked at Gillian expectantly. “Tell me thy full name, my dear.”

Gillian bit her lip, and looked from one man to the other. “Shouldn’t we wait until my parents get here to do this?”

“No, indeed. We would do this even had you not arrived.”

Gillian thought a moment. She had no idea what Edith’s full name was and couldn’t begin to guess. Taking a breath, she wondered if she was about to give herself away. “Edith Gillian Rose Corbett,” she said, giving Edith’s and her own name.

She watched them closely, but neither man seemed to think anything was wrong. Kellen was simply watching the priest, almost with satisfaction, as he wrote slowly and carefully then sat back to admire his handiwork before beginning again.

“And Lord Kellen William Spencer Marshall.” Father Elliot wrote as he spoke each name.

Gillian, relieved that the jig wasn’t up, smiled at Kellen.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

He smiled back, a bit hopefully. “Aye, my lady, ’tis a pleasure.”

Gillian remembered she was mad at him and looked away. “Father, maybe you should fill out my death certificate, as well. You know, just in case. That way I won’t put Kellen to any more trouble than I have to.”

The priest’s mouth fell open once more.

Kellen took a deep breath and put up a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Gillian.” He growled her name. “I would simply keep you safe. And, whatever you believe, you are no trouble to me. I am most anxious to please you.”

Gillian turned to him hopefully. “Do you mean that?”

He lowered his hand and nodded. “Aye,” he said fervently. “With everything in me.”

She held out both hands and he quickly grasped them in his own. As the warmth from his skin and eyes engulfed her, she swallowed. “Then take me to the cemetery. Come with me.” Come home with me. She couldn’t say it out loud but tried to convey how much this meant with her gaze.

Kellen looked conflicted and she held her breath as she waited for his response. Then his face hardened and she let out her breath, knowing she’d lost.

“Nay. Your safety is all that matters.”

She jerked her hands out of his grasp. “You’re never going to take me, are you?”

“I will when it is safe. I swear it.”

When it was too late, she thought, but didn’t dare say the words out loud.

“The cemetery beyond the village?” Father Elliot sounded confused. “They say that it, as well as this chapel, was blessed by Saint Cuthbert himself, a known miracle worker who… ”

As Gillian looked at the stone floor and listened to the priest prattle on, desperation overwhelmed her. Someone was trying to kill her. Edith and the wedding party would show up who knew when, and when they did, Gillian was in so much trouble. If she hadn’t already been murdered, she’d be locked in the dungeon or worse.

For her own piece of mind, she had to at least see if she could get back. Once she was actually in the cemetery, she had no idea what would happen. Would she simply go back to her own time or find she had some control over the situation? Maybe she’d be able to stay a while longer to try and persuade Kellen to go with her. But either way, she had to know. Even if it meant she’d never see him again.

Unexpected pain rippled through her and tears filled her eyes as she turned her head to look at him. She really did like the big goof. She might even love him.

Whatever anger she’d been harboring melted away at his pained expression, and she held out her hands to him once again. He quickly grasped her fingers, kissing the knuckles of first one hand, then the other, gazing into her eyes as he did so. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe she’d find she could come back for him.

But tonight she’d give him the drawing, just in case it really was goodbye.

Tears spilled over and she dipped her head.

“Ah, good, good,” said Father Elliot. “A love match. ’Tis just as it should be.”

Chapter Twenty-two

Kellen paced while he waited at the base of the stairs and noticed Owen try, and fail, to hide his smirk. “You are sure to wear a path in the stone if you continue thus, my lord.”

Tristan didn’t bother to hide his grin. “True, but perhaps we can find a use for such a rut. We could fill it with water for the dogs to drink, or store fish in the winter months. ’Tis a brilliant notion, my lord. Continue on.”

Kellen shook his head and glanced to where Royce stood flirting with the ladies at the head table; leaning over them, his oily charm a success if the smiles and laughter he earned were any indication.

No. Better to ignore his men and intercept Gillian before Royce tried to attract her attention. Kellen wanted to ensure the lout didn’t so much as speak to, look at, or touch Gillian. And if Kellen had to suffer the ribbing of his men to achieve that end, he would do so gladly.

She finally appeared, her guard trailing behind. She’d changed into a green gown, and her blonde hair caught the torch light for a moment, shining brightly as she descended. The slight smile on her face indicated she wasn’t upset or angry and Kellen exhaled. He did not wish to fight with her.

As she halted a few feet above him, he finally noted the flat package she carried under one arm, wrapped in linen, a blue ribbon tied at its center. “Who is the gift for?”

“You’ll have to find out along with everyone else, won’t you?” She stepped down and entwined her free arm with his. As they walked into the great hall, Kellen was not surprised to see Royce saunter over to intercept them. No doubt he’d been watching for Gillian.

“Lady Corbett! I have heard of the attack on thy person and have come to offer my support.”

“Thank you, Sir Royce. That’s very kind of you.”

With one hand occupied with the gift and the other clutching his arm, Kellen was pleased Royce had no excuse to touch her. As Gillian chatted with Royce, Kellen signaled to his men; as arranged, they hurried to sit on the benches surrounding the ladies, taking every available space.

When he led Gillian to the head table, he was gratified by Royce’s frustrated expression as the dolt realized there was nowhere for him to sit. As Royce was about to protest, Kellen called out, “Music!” and the musicians in the corner immediately started to play, their timing perfect, as Kellen helped Gillian into her seat.

He had not cared to let the performers inside but wanted to please his lady more, and so he had instructed his men to watch them closely.

Royce, stiff, looked around as Kellen took his own place, well satisfied with the arrangement. Royce turned to join his men at the next table, when Marissa called out, “Wait! Sir Royce, you must come sit between myself and Lady Corbett. Everyone slide down to make room.”

His men looked at him helplessly. “Go on,” said Lady Marissa and, reluctantly, they did as she asked.

Royce, all smiles now, took his seat and Kellen fumed, pulling Gillian close to his side as the meal was brought around.

Gillian clapped as the musicians ended their first song. “Where did the band come from?”

“Can I not spoil my lady if I so choose?”

“You’re just hoping the present is for you.” She indicated the gift, now propped a few feet away against a wall.

Kellen laughed. “Is it?”

Gillian lifted a shoulder, smiled, and turned her attention toward the musicians once more.

Kellen leaned closer. “Do you like the performance?”

Gillian nodded. “I love it. I hadn’t realized how much I missed music. I used to listen to it all the time when I was drawing.”

“Who played for you?” asked Kellen.

Gillian shrugged. “I like all sorts of music. One of my favorite English musicians is Elton John, or I guess I should say, Sir Elton John.”

Jealousy swamped Kellen at the thought of Sir John playing for her as she sketched. He wondered that her mother had allowed such as Gillian obviously thought on the man with affection. Perhaps he was a eunuch.

As they ate, he brooded as Royce flirted with Gillian, thankful Marissa kept pulling his attention away.

“Lord Marshall,” Royce said, addressing Kellen for the first time. “I understand you hold several Scotsmen in your dungeon.”

“Aye.”

“Have you questioned them?”

“Of course. They claim to know nothing of Lady Corbett’s attack.”

“Ah. Do you believe them?”

“No. I’ve sent a message to their laird. I’ll trade his men in exchange for any information that might be of use to me.”

“Ah. Of course.”

As everyone finished eating the first course, Gillian stood. “I have a gift.” She paused as everyone looked up. “For Lord Marshall.”

Everyone clapped as she retrieved the gift and handed it to Kellen.

“What is this for?”

“Your birthday?”

“’Tis four months past.”

“Consider this a belated birthday gift. But you have to guess what it is before you can open it.”

Kellen, his chest tight, held the flat package in both hands. “Is it a new sword?”

Gillian smiled. “No.”

“Armor?”

She laughed and so he tried to think of something more foolish and absurd. “A horse?”

Everyone laughed now. “You are horrible at this,” said Gillian. “Open it.”

He untied the bow and pulled off the linen to reveal a portrait of a man sitting in a chair, a girl leaning against his side. He turned to look at her. “This is me?”

She nodded. “And Amelia. The blacksmith was able to make the frame for me. He didn’t think it was fancy enough, but I’m really happy with the rustic way it turned out. I just wish I had a piece of glass to protect… ”

Gillian’s words washed over him as he stared at the portrait. Her skill was unbelievable. Their faces were so lifelike. Of course he’d seen his reflection in still water before, and in the smoothness of his shield. Catherine had owned both a polished mirror and a water bowl, but surely Gillian had made him more handsome than he truly was?

“I wanted you to have it.”

At her saddened tone, he glanced up. Was she trying to tell him something? Did she want peace between them as he did? A true marriage?

The ladies surrounded them. “Your skill is amazing,” said Marissa. “You’ve captured their faces exactly. Look how much Amelia looks like my son, Quinn.”

Gillian’s brows rose. “The one I haven’t met?”

“Aye.” Marissa traced the shape of Amelia’s nose, mouth and eyes, not quite touching the paper. “See here? All Marshall features.”

“Aye,” agreed Lady Vera. “Though, of course, Quinn’s eyes have Marissa’s blue color, while Amelia’s are amber like Kellen’s.”

Kellen looked at Amelia’s likeness, then at his own face in the portrait. Everyone knew of his wife’s infidelity, but there was no denying the resemblance. Kellen was astounded to realize the ladies were correct.

Which meant Catherine had lied. Amelia was his child.

His chest tightened and his throat constricted as he looked at Amelia’s little face. She was his daughter. Ever since Catherine’s death he had not allowed himself to believe. He had done his duty by the girl but had not so much as looked at the child if he could help it.

“So, do you like it or not?” asked Gillian.

He didn’t dare lift his gaze until his emotions were under control.

“Well?” she pressed again.

He cleared his throat and was finally able to answer. “Your talent has overwhelmed me.” The words came out hoarse, but audible.

Marissa nodded. “’Tis amazing. I see why thy mother never made you learn castle work. They no doubt kept you busy with thy incredible talent. I would ask you to do a sketch of my two boys. Mayhap at Christmas you might travel to Hardbrook Hall? I could call Quinn home for the event?”

Gillian hesitated, but finally nodded. “If possible, I will be glad to.”

Kellen’s chest filled with pride. “I will place this in my bedchamber in the place of honor.”

Gillian grinned. “You’d remove the wolf skin from off the wall for me?”

At her teasing, Kellen smiled. “Surely you ask too much. Mayhap I can spare a dark corner of the chamber.”

Everyone groaned as Gillian struck him in the shoulder.

Kellen laughed and glanced toward the stairs. “I wish to see Amelia. Perhaps someone should go and fetch her?”

“The child is no doubt asleep,” Marissa chided him. “She can see it in the morning.”

Kellen wasn’t sure he could wait until morning to see her. Again he fought tears back.

Gillian had no idea what she had given him this night.

She had given him back his daughter.

* * *

Hand shaking, Robert set his spoon down and tried to make his face blank as the rage bubbled inside him.

The portrait showed the truth. He could not deny the girl looked like Marshall. That she was, in fact, Marshall’s daughter. Robert had always loved the thought that Amelia was his baseborn child. That Kellen was forced to accept and raise a child of Robert’s seed. It would only have been fair as Catherine had loved him! Had lain with him at every opportunity. By all accounts the child should have been his, as well as Marshall Keep and everything in it.

How did everything always turn to Marshall’s advantage?

Robert glanced at Gillian. While her sister’s eyes had only been for him, Gillian barely deigned to look in his direction. Once again, Marshall had everything. Why did the goddess Fortuna always smile upon him? Did he wear a lucky toad around his neck? Cast runes? Control the very fates?

And why did Gillian feel naught for Robert? Had Catherine truly been the love of his life? Did Gillian sense his heart was already taken and so settled for Marshall? He calmed at the thought. That must be it. Otherwise, Gillian would fall under his spell as Catherine had, as all the ladies did. Ultimately, it was Catherine with her soft looks and touches who should be at his side and not her inferior sister. This was unbearable.

Marshall and his harlot needed to feel the pain that Robert felt. With luck, they would both die before dinner was finished. Only then would Robert’s misery finally come to an end.

Robert nodded at his servant who, as instructed, had ingratiated himself with the staff and helped serve the dinner as Robert and his men had caused extra work. The man dipped his head once, an almost imperceptible movement, then moved away. After he did his work, he’d melt away to help elsewhere, a shadow no one quite remembered.

Everything in place, Robert turned to smile at Gillian; but once again her back was to him as she spoke with Kellen. It was an insult, of course, indicating that she found Robert tiresome.

He forced himself to smile and chat with the other ladies who more than welcomed his attention. This was not to be bourne and would not be for much longer.

His man returned with a platter, but another intercepted and took it, lifting a spoon and taking a few random bites. A food taster! The man took one last bite then set the platter between Gillian and Marshall.

Robert could not move his gaze from the morsel of meat Gillian picked up and lifted to her mouth. Happiness overwhelmed him and he tried to hide his expression by taking a drink of wine. Yes. Take a bite. Just one should do it.

The food taster knocked over a platter and a jug of water when he went down, but still, Gillian’s food was almost to her mouth. Just one little bite…

* * *

Gillian was startled when Kellen knocked the food from her hand then grabbed her mouth, squeezed her cheeks together and looked inside. She smacked his shoulder and jerked away. “What are you doing?”

Kellen grabbed her chin again and forced her to meet his gaze. “Did you take a bite?”

Shocked by his behavior, his savage demeanor, she didn’t answer; he stuck his finger in her mouth, running it around. Gagging, she pushed him away. “Kellen, please, what are you—”

“Did you eat anything?” His voice was louder this time.

She looked down at her platter. “N… no,” she stammered.

“Did you drink?”

Her breath caught in her throat; she looked at her goblet and nodded as Kellen grabbed her drink and sniffed it then gave his own drink the same treatment.

She heard the whispers. Poison.

Fear gripped her and she slowly stood. “What’s going on?”

The crowd parted and to her left she could see a man on the floor and watched as others helped him to sit up. Moaning and clutching his stomach, he vomited into a bowl that an old woman held to his mouth.

Gillian searched the crowd to see worried and fearful faces, people crossing themselves, and leaning to whisper to neighbors. She lifted her gaze to Kellen. “Someone poisoned that man? I don’t understand. Why?” she asked, and pressed a hand to her pounding heart.

Kellen didn’t answer but ordered someone to help the healer and make the man comfortable as they carried him out. He instructed Marissa to take the ladies up to their chamber and to stay inside with the door bolted. They were not to eat or drink anything. Kellen scanned the crowd.

Marissa tugged Gillian away.

“Someone was… was… poisoned?” Gillian asked again. “But why?”

“It was your platter that was tainted,” said Marissa. “Your food taster.”

Gillian stopped walking. “A food taster? What do you mean?”

Marissa gave her a push to get her going again. “Lord Marshall is a cautious man. Things are not as they seem here.”

“Someone really wants me dead?”

“You and Lord Marshall, it would seem.”

“But why?”

Marissa shrugged. “’Tis what Lord Marshall will discover.”

Gillian paused to look back at Kellen. He was shouting commands to lock the doors. No one was to leave. He turned to meet her gaze and his was as hard as granite. She shivered and let Marissa drag her away.

* * *

A half hour later Kellen’s fists clenched and unclenched. First someone tried to stab Gillian then poison her? Who? Why? It made no sense.

He could fool himself no longer. When Catherine had tried to kill him, she’d had help; someone had turned her against him, and that someone was now a threat to Gillian. The fact that he’d never found Catherine’s accomplice made this his fault.

Tristan and some of the guardsmen excused a group of servants and approached. “Any witnesses?” asked Kellen.

Tristan shook his head. “None remember who brought the platter; and other than a girl positive she saw demons flickering in the fire, none saw anything suspicious.”

Owen came into the hall and everyone stopped talking to watch his approach. He halted before Kellen and took a deep breath. “Frederick is dead. He could not give a name.”

Tristan swore.

Kellen’s mouth tightened and he looked at the ground. When he’d assigned Frederick as food taster, the man had been pleased to have the important task. No one, least of all Kellen, had truly believed the position a dangerous one. “Question the guards at the gates. Someone must have noticed something.”

The men turned and left.

Who were his enemies? Men he’d bested in battle? Or angered by having the King’s favor? And they’d sent assassins across the whole of England to kill his betrothed? Ridiculous.

He glanced to where Royce stood questioning servants in the middle of the hall. Granted, there was no love lost between them, but Kellen still considered him an ally. Besides, Royce had nothing to gain by Gillian’s death and had not been around when she’d been attacked with the dagger. Kellen headed to join him. “You were seated at Gillian’s side. Did you notice aught amiss?”

Royce gave an angry shake of his head. “Nothing. Would that I could name the blackguard who desires Lady Corbett’s death. I have questioned each of my men and many of the servants and they saw nothing awry. I suspect treachery from the north.”

The Scottish? Kellen doubted it. He scanned Royce’s men, but again, suspicion failed to take hold. Royce would not benefit by Gillian’s death.

“What can I do?” asked Royce. “I would help in your investigation of the matter.”

Kellen shook his head. “We will manage the search.”

Royce’s mouth tightened, but he nodded. “I understand. The less people milling about the better. But do not hesitate to call upon me if I might be of assistance.”

Kellen followed Royce and his men outside, watched as they mounted up, and wondered at Royce’s earlier assertion. Could it be the Scots? Two of their men resided in his dungeon. But the Scots generally dealt in physical attacks: rescues, ransoms, thievery, and the like. Not poison. And what would Gillian’s death profit them? If they murdered a lady, their men would be executed, there would be war, and they could gain nothing by antagonizing England. If they wanted their men back, they had only to return the cattle. Killing Gillian would accomplish naught.

Owen and Tristan returned. “No strangers were seen lurking about, and no one suspicious passed through the gate,” said Tristan.

A growl issued from Kellen’s throat as he went back inside, his men following. He could not fight who he did not see.

Group by group, the stragglers were questioned then sent on their way. The dwindling crowd was a relief after the earlier madness. Kellen headed for the kitchens and, upon entering, found Cook crying. She looked up at his entrance. “Is Frederick truly dead?”

Kellen hesitated, then lips tight, nodded. “Aye. ’Tis true.”

Cook turned away and started cleaning, banging pots and pans, instructing servants to throw out food she had doubtless worked the day through to prepare.

“I am truly sorry about Frederick. I know he was a friend to you. We will find his murderer.” He paused. “Did any come in here who should not have?”

Cook shook her head. “No one came in but Lady Gillian herself. No food left this kitchen poisoned, I can tell you that. I do not let just anyone dally about.” Cook grabbed a piece of cooked meat, lifted it for Kellen to see, and stuffed it in her mouth. As she chewed with difficulty, tears ran down her face.

Kellen put a hand on her shoulder. “I assure you that I do not distrust your loyalty in the least. I have known you my entire life and none could be so entirely above reproach as yourself.”

Cook swallowed, nodded, and wiped her eyes; but the tears continued to flow as she turned away.

Owen and Tristan appeared in the kitchen doorway. Tristan elbowed Owen, and sighing, he pulled Kellen aside. “In considering the matter,” said Owen, “I note that on most occasions, poison is a woman’s weapon.”

He shifted on his feet, his cheeks reddening, but his gaze remained steady. No doubt he thought on Catherine, but Kellen couldn’t care less about her at the moment and only nodded.

“Marissa, her ladies, and Gillian are the newest members of the keep,” said Owen, his tone careful.

Brows rising as he caught Owen’s meaning, Kellen shook his head. “Nay. Marissa and her ladies could have no motive for killing Gillian.”

Tristan and Owen exchanged a glance. “If you were to die, Marissa’s elder son would be heir to your father rather than yourself; but regardless, I agree. I do not suspect Marissa, nor her ladies.”

He hesitated, looked at Tristan who nodded again, then continued. “But Gillian’s sister tried to kill you. Perhaps this day you were the target again, and not the Lady Corbett. The platter was to have fed you both. Perhaps she’d not meant to dine?”

Kellen shook his head again. “I knocked meat from her hand as she was about to eat.”

“But she did not actually partake, did she?” asked Tristan.

“Someone attacked her with a dagger also, remember?” said Kellen. “She is the target.”

Owen took a breath. “We have only her word there was an assassin. A common knife was found and she the only witness.”

Kellen remembered Cooks claim that Gillian had gone to the kitchen before the meal started. Perhaps to arrange something? Immediately he shook his head. If it was Gillian, she was the best player he’d seen in his life. He’d known Catherine had despised him, but Gillian’s feelings seemed quite the opposite.

But she did continue to try and leave the keep. To visit the rocks and the cemetery. To meet someone? To acquire poison left by another? Did she blame him for her sister’s death? Or for her broken betrothment? Would she have Kellen dead rather than wed herself to him?

His chest tightened and, turning away from his men, he waved a hand. “Go talk with the men. See if they have learned aught.”

They left, but he could not erase the suspicion forming in his mind and burning deep in his stomach. Perhaps Gillian was simply more clever than her sister? Did she think to gain his confidence, draw mistrust from herself, then kill him?

He had never asked about her broken betrothal but thought on it now. If Kellen were dead, would she return to a former love? Or was her father the enemy? Had her father ordered both his daughters to kill him? Did Lord Corbett desire his death?

Closing his eyes tight, he lifted a hand to rub his forehead before turning and heading up the stairs. He needed to speak to Gillian. If she knew anything, he would get it from her.

Chapter Twenty-three

“Why would anyone want me dead?” Gillian paced across the floor to the fireplace, tremors occasionally running through her body. She turned her back to the flames, hoping to capture some warmth. “I mean, poisoning? Seriously? The whole thing is… it’s just… crazy.”

The three ladies, busy with embroidery, looked at each other; and Marissa set her sewing in her lap. “Perhaps it has naught to do with you? Perhaps Kellen has an enemy and you were simply in the way?”

“In the wrong place at the wrong time?”

Lady Yvonne nodded. “Aye, just so.”

Gillian couldn’t help a laugh and wasn’t surprised when the ladies exchanged another glance. Even she could hear the touch of hysteria. “Then I guess I’d better get back to the right place at the right time. Aye?”

All three sets of brows furrowed and Marissa lowered her sewing once more and motioned toward the maid. “Beatrice, help your lady to lie down.”

Beatrice jumped up, but Gillian hugged herself and snorted. “Yeah, because I’d be able to sleep.”

As Beatrice subsided to her chair once more, Vera shook her head but, needle flashing, didn’t look up. “Sarcasm is never becoming. If you refuse to lie down then why not sit and—”

There was a knock on the door, and Gillian hurried forward; but Marissa, who jumped up faster than Gillian would have thought possible, beat her to the door. She leaned her head close to the wood. “Who is there?”

At Kellen’s harsh but recognizable command, Gillian scrambled to help Marissa lift the bar and open the door.

Once inside, Kellen’s sharp-eyed gaze scanned the room, lighting on each woman. When his attention moved to her, Gillian crossed the space between them, threw her arms around his waist, and pressed her head to his chest. He tensed and, when he didn’t reciprocate or react in any way, Gillian slowly sank away, looking up to meet his harsh gaze.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Frederick is dead.”

Gillian’s hand flew to her throat and she took a step back.

“The food-taster?”

Kellen nodded once.

“It was poison?”

Kellen nodded again and continued to study her, his gaze penetrating.

Feeling vulnerable, she turned away. The room, Kellen, the ladies, everyone and everything suddenly seemed so foreign, unfriendly, and frightening. She pressed a hand to the ache in her stomach and shook her head. “This isn’t right. This just isn’t right. Did he have a family? A wife? Children?” She glanced back to see Kellen shake his head.

“He was unmarried. None will carry his name, though he did have many friends and will be sorely missed.”

Tears filled her eyes. Kellen watched a moment longer before turning to answer the questions Marissa peppered him with.

Gillian pivoted away. The room spun and she grabbed the back of a tall chair to steady herself. People didn’t die of poison. In her whole life she’d never known one person who’d died of poison. But here… Catherine had died, and now a man was poisoned with food meant for them?

She wiped a hand down the front of her gown and stumbled as she walked to the window and looked out, seeing nothing. She had to get out of there. All along it had been a given that she needed to leave before Edith and her family arrived, but now she needed to go before someone actually killed her.

She lifted a hand to her throat, remembering the dagger. Whether this was about Kellen or not, it felt very personal. Like someone wanted her personally dead. Because she was Kellen’s fiancé? She had to get out of there.

She turned to look at Kellen. The thought of leaving him tore her apart. What if he missed her as much as she was sure to miss him? What if he would go with her if she only had the courage to tell him everything? What if she would be saving his life too?

Kellen was still talking to Marissa but glanced up, as if feeling Gillian’s gaze. “I must needs question Gillian. Alone.”

Marissa hurried forward to put an arm around her. “Now is not the time. Note how pale she is. The girl has been through too much this night. On the morrow is soon enough.”

Gillian shook her head. “No, it’s okay. Really. I want to talk to Kellen.”

“Nay.” Marissa’s tone was firm.

After one brief frustrated glance, Kellen turned to the other ladies. “Come. I offer escort to thy chamber. You need not fear, I am well aware of whom the murderer targets.” He looked at Gillian.

Gillian put a hand to her throat. “Do you know something you haven’t told me? Do you know who the poisoner is?”

Kellen stared for a long moment before shaking his head. “Not yet.”

After they left, taking Beatrice with them, Marissa rebarred the door; and they started to undress, neither speaking as they went about getting ready for bed. Gillian pulled a nightgown over her head. Why had Kellen been so indifferent toward her? He’d been icy cold, his expression grim.

She huffed out a half-sob, half-laugh. How should he act? His friend had just died instead of the two of them. She was freaking out, why shouldn’t he? If only she’d had a chance to talk to him about it, to comfort him over his friend’s death, to be comforted.

“Do you feel unwell?”

Gillian climbed into bed. “I feel sad.”

“That is to be expected. But worry not, Kellen will find the murderer and he will be punished.”

It still wouldn’t change the fact that Frederick was dead, and it didn’t change the fact that Gillian couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t make any more half-hearted plans to go home. She had to go. But that didn’t mean she had to be happy about her decision.

Marissa’s breathing grew heavy, and Gillian turned onto her side, tears filling her eyes and dampening her pillow at the realization that this was likely her last night here.

She was going to miss Kellen so much. She wished she could stay. She wished things were different. That she really was Kellen’s fiancé. That they loved each other and could raise a family together. That no one was trying to kill her.

She’d give up a lot to have him: modern medicine, her career, indoor plumbing, and chocolate. But she wasn’t willing to give up her life. Especially since he probably wouldn’t want her anyway once Edith arrived with her bags of gold, her land, and her family connections.

Or would he?

That was the thought eating at her. What if he would choose Gillian if given the chance?

She remembered how he’d looked when he’d left the room. Cold, indifferent, frustrated.

What if that was the last time she ever saw him? What if he were busy in the morning or gone when she got up? What if she never got the chance to ask him to go with her or to say goodbye?

Some time later Gillian slid out of bed to the sound of Marissa’s soft snores. If this was her last chance to see Kellen, if only to say goodbye, she was taking it.

* * *

Kellen had almost talked himself out of his suspicions and was considering his warm bed, when he heard the scraping of a bar being lifted. Immediately tense, he straightened from the wall, moved back into the shadows, and waited.

The door opened and a small figure slipped into the darkness of the hall, her motions furtive and stealthy, the blonde hair that flashed in a slice of moonlight unmistakable.

Trying to rein in his doubt, to excuse her somehow, to squelch the dark suspicions rising within him, he watched and followed silently as Gillian made her way down the hall.

Perhaps she simply wanted to make use of the garderobe? Or mayhap she was hungry? After all, she’d had little supper this eve. None of them had.

But no, she went directly to his chamber and slowly pushed the door open. His jaw clenched, and a slow burn started in his chest as his mouth tightened into a straight line.

He should have known.

He should have known she had no true feelings for him. He should have sensed that beneath the lighthearted and cheerful facade she was a betrayer like her sister.

Did she think to kill him, as well? To finish what she’d tried to accomplish earlier when Frederick had been struck down? Perhaps she thought to stab him in his sleep? Smother him?

When she slipped inside, he was directly behind her, watching by the light of the small fire burning in the hearth, blood starting to throb painfully in his head, fists clenching. Kellen had truly believed in her, in her feelings for him, in their future together.

And it had all been a lie.

Darkness spread inside him, dangerous and vicious, as he watched her approach the bed. She hesitated and he waited for her to act. Was it to be poison dripped into his mouth? A knife? At this point he’d not be surprised if she drew a sword.

She stopped short of the bed, hesitated, then took a step back, seeming almost on the verge of leaving. Had she changed her mind? Did she harbor a small bit of the feeling she’d feigned for him? Had a portion of it been real?

She straightened her shoulders. “Kellen?” she whispered his name, and took a step forward. “Kellen? Are you there?” She closed the distance and reached out to feel the blankets, then sighed as if disappointed when she realized he wasn’t there.

What was she doing? He hadn’t expected her to wake him. He shut the door behind him with a solid thud and threw the bolt.

Gillian whirled and put a hand to her heart. “Kellen? My goodness, you scared me.”

She ran at him and he tensed, ready for anything. She threw herself at him and he grabbed her wrists, felt for a weapon, but found nothing.

“Kellen? It’s me. Gillian.”

Kellen slowly let her go and instantly his arms were full of soft, fragrant female. He allowed the embrace, but didn’t relax his guard. Just because she didn’t have a weapon at the ready, didn’t mean she wasn’t carrying one.

He closed his arms around her and resumed his search, hands skimming over her back, her hips, up the arms she’d lifted around his neck, kneading and tightening every few inches, sure there was a trick somewhere, a hidden danger.

She giggled and pressed closer and he realized the danger too late as his anger drained away. His breath caught and he broke into a sweat and escalated his search, bunching the sides of her nightgown in his fists, fighting his body’s reaction to hers.

If he could find a weapon and prove she intended to kill him, he could protect himself, harden his heart. He truly needed to despise her right now. Before it was too late.

* * *

When Kellen’s hand touched her thigh, Gillian jerked away, startled. She tried to read his expression, but his back was to the fire and she couldn’t see his face in the shadows. He reached for her again and continued his octopus impression, his hands wandering above her waist again.

Sheesh. Whatever happened to romance? She’d never tried to seduce anyone before, but was pretty sure it was supposed to start slower. His hands moved up her sides, cupping her shoulders, then around and under her chest.

Gillian gasped, jerked again, then giggled. It was sort of endearing that he hadn’t had much practice with seduction and was so clumsy at it. Not that she was an expert, but rubbing his hands all over her seemed a bit abrupt. Maybe she should do the same to him and see how he liked it?

She smiled. He probably would. “Kellen, slow down. We have all night. What if we start with a kiss?”

His hands stilled. “A kiss?”

He sounded so confused she worried she’d offended him by questioning his lovemaking skills. She knew she had to be careful. She’d heard men had fragile egos where stuff like that was concerned.

She petted his chest and the muscles bunched, making her shiver in response. She looked up and tried an alluring smile. It was probably wasted as it was so dark, the fire mostly burning embers, but it made her feel enticing anyway.

“Yes. A kiss,” she practically purred the words. Then thinking about the way his hands had just roamed her body she thought she might want to be specific. “On the lips.”

He was still for a long moment before clearing his throat. “You left the protection of your room for a kiss?”

She nodded.

“You could have been hurt. Injured.”

She smiled and moved closer. “I knew you were just down the hall. I knew you’d protect me.”

The flattery didn’t work. He stayed stiff and stilted, so she reached for him, placing a hand on his arm. They were in the dark, just the two of them, and her heart was certainly pounding. If his roaming hands were any indication, he seemed to like her well enough, too. This might be her first attempt at seduction, and off to a slow start, but she wasn’t giving up.

“So,” she tried to sound like a temptress. “Is that what you were doing? Checking me for injuries? Did you find anything interesting?”

As if reminded, his big hands started to move again, up and down her arms, clenching every few inches. It was almost as if he were searching her. He checked her fingers one at a time, pausing to feel her ring, then his hand went up to her hair, feeling every inch of her scalp, then trailing down its long length. She laughed again. “Kellen! What are you?—”

Was he searching her?

Surely not. She was almost embarrassed to ask. “Are you… are you frisking me?”

“Frisking?”

“Checking me for weapons?”

Kellen stepped back, and his hands fell away. He sighed. “None but you saw the dagger-throwing villain. And this night you could have easily poisoned our trencher when you entered the kitchen. I but thought to wonder if your father sent you to murder me, and if perhaps Catherine was trained to the task, as well.”

Gillian’s breath caught and her mouth went slack as she gaped at him, unable to speak.

“Gillian?”

She sucked in air and jerked away. “How… how dare you! You think I’m a suspect in my own murder attempts? You think I’m responsible for the attacks? For a man’s death!” Her voice rose on the last word.

Moisture filled her eyes and, disbelieving, she lifted a hand to wipe away tears. Why was she crying? She’d never been so angry in her life and she was crying? She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get enough air.

“So much—” she gulped in oxygen. “So much for the big seduction. I wouldn’t seduce you now if you were the last man on earth. The last man in this century!” Face crumpling, she turned away. “You can stay here and rot!”

More tears flooded her eyes as she ran for the door. She never wanted to see him again. She hated him! She unbolted the door and at the last moment remembered what she’d come to say. She didn’t bother to turn. “Goodbye, Kellen. Goodbye forever!”

She fled toward her room. She would never forgive him for this. Never!

* * *

Gillian had not sought to kill him but had desired to seduce him instead? Confusion held Kellen rooted to the spot. Why would she want such? Did she… did she bear true feelings for him?

He shook his head and the movement somehow loosened his feet, and he started after her. Who was he to think to fathom the workings of a female mind? All he knew in truth was he’d mismanaged the entire event and was the veriest of louts.

Within moments he spotted her white nightclothes floating ahead in the darkness. “Gillian, wait! I beg you, hold up!”

Moving fast, he caught up just before she reached her chamber. “Please! I beg you,” he said. “Take pity on my vile and wretched self.” He gently gripped her shoulders but she spun away.

“Don’t touch me!”

He tried again, but she was slippery as a trout. He couldn’t get a good hold without handling her roughly and, unwilling to risk hurting her, moved to block access to her room, his arms spread. “Please hear me. I am truly the worst of bunglers. I have spoiled much with my unfounded suspicions. ’Tis obvious you are no murderer. My wits had gone begging.”

As she tried to slide around him, he managed to catch her wrists and hold her. She tugged, trying to free herself, making a sound of frustration when she couldn’t. “You are such a jerk!”

She tugged again but he held fast. “Do you know that?” she said. “You’re a big, fat, stupid jerk. Let go of me!”

“Agreed on all points. I am also a half-wit and a fool. Come back to my chamber. We must needs discuss this further.”

She reared up, taut as a bow, to study his face in the darkness. “I’m not interested in talking to you.” Her voice was low, yet fierce, and the underlying hurt tugged at his heart. “Or in going to your room. Or in doing anything with you, ever again!”

Turning her face, she sobbed, just once; and concerned that he injured her, he released her. She quickly ran around him into her room and shut the door. The bar dropped into place.

He grimaced, thumped the door with the side of his fist, then turned and paced down the hall before returning to knock. There was no response. He leaned his forehead against the wood. He truly was an idiot. He’d gotten it all wrong. Of course she was no murderer. The idea was ludicrous. Where had his wits been? He must make it up to her somehow.

He paced again as he considered items in his treasury, which might bribe his way back into her good graces, when a torch appeared and two of his men climbed the stairs. ’Twas unfortunate they were not the miscreants who’d cast suspicion on Gillian’s honor, thereby turning his thoughts to mush. Those two probably had more sense than to show their faces.

“My lord? All is well?” asked the knight holding the torch.

Embarrassed to be caught skulking in the hall, Kellen threw out a hand. “All is well. Go. You are not needed here.”

The man lifted the torch high and waved it back and forth, apparently trying to penetrate the shadows, then with a nod, went back the way he’d come, his friend following.

Kellen knocked again and this time the door opened, only slightly, and Kellen was disappointed to see Marissa. “I must see Gillian.”

When he moved forward, Marissa held up a hand. “You may see her in the morning.”

Kellen could hear Gillian crying and tried to look into the room. “But I must needs speak—”

“In the morning.”

“I’m never talking to him again!” Gillian half-yelled, half-sobbed.

Kellen started forward and tried to push the door open, but Marissa held her position, her body blocking the door, and perhaps her bare foot also. Kellen stopped, unwilling to risk harming her.

“In the morning,” she said again.

With a growl of frustration, Kellen pivoted and stormed away. What difference would sunlight make to the situation? He doubted he would sleep a trice until he had put things to rights with Gillian. Marissa was a meddlesome busybody. Why, he wondered, had he invited her to stay?

Tomorrow could not arrive soon enough.

* * *

Gillian lay on her side with the covers tucked around her and sucked in a shuddering breath as she tried to stop crying. “He is such a… a jerk.”

Marissa appeared around the side of the bed and handed her an embroidered handkerchief, and Gillian blotted her eyes. “I had to work up my courage to approach him, you know?” said Gillian. “I almost chickened out, and then suddenly everything seemed to be going so well.”

Gillian remembered the dark, just the two of them, his hands roaming her body. It had been a bit awkward at first, but exciting nonetheless. She snorted and rolled her eyes. “He’d seemed willing enough.”

She took a deep breath and leaned up on one elbow. “And then he accuses me!” She patted her chest. “He thinks I’m the poisoner!” Another pat. “That I faked the knife that was thrown at me. I hate him!”

Marissa moved to stand at the end of the bed, arms crossed and lips pinched. “Then why do you cry so?”

“Because I’m mad at the big creep, that’s why!” She sobbed out the last two words. “He’s ruined everything!” Another sob and her face crumpled. And afterward, he hadn’t made much of an effort to get her to listen, had he? “Jerk!”

Marissa continued to stand at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, a disapproving expression plastered to her face.

“What?” said Gillian. “You think I’m the murderer, too?”

Marissa waved a hand. “Not at all. I am simply concerned with thy lack of morals. This sneaking about in the middle of the night like the basest of serving girls is unacceptable. What would thy mother say? Apparently I must needs sleep with one eye open so as to keep abreast of the goings on after dark.”

Gillian snorted. “Don’t bother. I certainly won’t be sneaking off to meet Kellen any more.” Gillian’s fist tightened around the handkerchief. “To think I was going to seduce him! That I was going to try and find a way to take him home with me. And all the time he thinks I’m some sort of murderer? Like his horrid first wife! What a suspicious man!” Tears pooled in her eyes again. “I’ll die a virgin before I ever go near him again.”

Marissa bent her head and put a hand to her mouth.

Gillian sat up in bed and sank her face into her hands. “Do you know what the problem is? Our relationship happened way too fast. Our feelings probably aren’t even real.” She shook her head. “His obviously weren’t.”

“True,” said Marissa. “Else he’d have trusted you.”

Gillian’s head reared up and she threw out a hand. “But why should he have trusted me? He doesn’t really even know me. And neither does anyone else around here. So who is trying to kill me? And why?”

Suddenly she worried Kellen would be harmed when she left, but tried to suppress her concern. He didn’t deserve it. Anyway, he was on his guard now. He’d be okay.

Gillian glowered. “If I had died, he’d probably forget all about me and marry Miss Perfect and Polished who no doubt already knows how to run a castle and how to live happily ever after in it.”

More tears flooded her eyes. “What if tonight really was our last goodbye? What if I never see him again?” She started to cry once more and held a hand, palm up, to Marissa. “Look at what this place is doing to me? I’m a mess. I need to get out of here. That should make you happy, right? Won’t you be relieved to get rid of me?”

Marissa didn’t respond, and her lips were pressed tightly together.

Gillian hung her head. “The fact that I’ll never see Kellen again is for the best. I’m glad he’s not coming with me. In the future men only want to cheat on you. They don’t accuse you of trying to kill them. He’s welcome to his flawless, faultless wife who—”

Trilling laughter rolled out of Marissa, a deep belly-laugh, and she gripped her stomach and doubled over before finally taking a breath so she could do it all over again. It surprised Gillian enough that she stopped mid-rant. Marissa never unbent enough to smile, let alone laugh until she had tears in her eyes.

About a minute later, still smiling, wiping her eyes, Marissa finally got hold of herself. “I must say you are most amusing, Gillian.”

Arms now crossed, Gillian glared at her.

“I suddenly feel grateful my relationship with my own husband is much more subdued,” said Marissa. “I almost feel sorry for Kellen.” She studied Gillian’s face for a moment, then looked down and placed both hands on the bedspread, and sighed. “What you must needs remember is that, before all else, Kellen is but a man, and males are often wrongheaded.” She glanced up. “For all that, he is intelligent, and will soon see the error of his ways.”

Gillian glowered. “Too little, too late.”

Marissa threw her hands up, laughed again, and rounded the bed. She blew out the candle on the table and climbed under the covers. “All will look better in the morning.”

Hearing the smile in her voice, Gillian lay down and rolled onto the side facing away from Marissa, hunching her shoulder. “Yes, way better. Because I’m going home in the morning.”

Gillian heard what sounded suspiciously like a muffled giggle.

She sighed. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

Chapter Twenty-four

Anger carried Gillian away from the keep, and Beatrice’s pilfered dress swished around her legs. She glanced back at the imposing castle in the semi-dark, early morning air. It had been easier to get through the gates than she’d thought. While the guards were thoroughly checking the villagers entering, she’d barely gotten a second glance. Cloaked and dressed as a maid and carrying the blanket-covered basket, she’d left the castle.

And she wasn’t going to feel guilty, either. After the way Kellen had accused her, he deserved to wake up and find her gone. She knew he’d be upset, but only until his real bride showed up. Then he’d forget all about her.

At that thought, tears unexpectedly filled her eyes. She willed them back and concentrated on making her way through the bustling village, dodging animals and people alike. When the buildings began to thin, she ditched the blanket and basket at the side of a hut, put on her backpack, and headed up the hill toward the cemetery.

How long would Kellen search? Edith wouldn’t arrive for several weeks; and while Gillian was mad at Kellen, she didn’t necessarily want him to suffer. She’d considered leaving a note but doubted anyone could read her modern handwriting. She’d also briefly thought about giving Beatrice a watered-down version of her travel plans but knew she’d have run straight to Kellen and tattled.

Gillian’s brow furrowed. If he’d just cooperated, she could have taken him and his daughter with her. They could have been a family. Her steps slowed. Was she leaving too soon? With her gone, what would Kellen think when Edith arrived? After he found out Gillian was an imposter, would he believe she’d really been the one trying to murder him? If he did, would he let his guard down and give the murderer a free shot at killing him?

The last of her anger evaporated, and she admitted to herself that the further away she got, the more miserable she was. Maybe she’d just go to the cemetery and see if she could get back to the twenty-first century. She could see if a time travel portal opened or something; and once she’d assured herself that she could go, then she’d turn around and stay with Kellen for a bit longer. Surely she could find a way to talk him into going with her?

When she heard horses hooves thundering behind her, relief flooded her, and she let out a breath. Kellen. Sure, he’d be angry, but he’d get over it. She’d just tell him she was upset and had gone for a walk. He’d take her up on his horse and feel so bad he’d take her the rest of the way to the cemetery. She’d somehow prove she was from the future and give him the chance to choose between her and Edith. He’d forgive the deception, marry her, and love her the rest of her life, right?

Gillian suddenly remembered the hard look on Kellen’s face the night before. He could be incredibly ruthless when he chose to be. What if she ended up in the dungeon? What if he chose Edith instead?

The horse came closer and she finally turned to face him. A man she’d never seen in her life grinned at her as he swung off his horse quicker than she could process. Her mouth fell open and the man, muscular and wild, gave her a flourishing bow.

“Greetings, Lady Corbett. I be Quinn McGreager. ’Tis verra nice to make yer acquaintance.” From his accent, the guy was Scottish and from the looks of him a barbarian, all animal skins, plaid, and long, tangled hair. “Laird McGreager will be wanting his men back, so I’ll just be takin’ you as a bit o’ insurance. How does that suit ye?”

Her mouth snapped shut and she glared at the guy, unaccountably angry that he wasn’t Kellen and that one more guy was trying to tell her what to do. “Are you freaking kidding me? I’ll tell you what I think. I think this is really not happening today. I have some important things to get done, and I want you to step away from me and perhaps go find somewhere to bathe. Get lost.”

At his grin, she shook her head, clutched the shoulder harnesses of her pack, turned, and walked away.

Laughing, the man easily wrenched the pack from her back and threw it in the long grass, snatched her up, and mounted his horse in seconds.

“Let. Me. Go!” Gillian kicked and squirmed, but her effort proved fruitless; she was thrown over strong legs and smacked on her bottom. Hard. She took a breath to scream and got smacked again.

“I’ll bash ye on the head next time if ye doona settle,” he said cheerfully. “Ye ken?”

Fuming, she settled. As they rode for the trees, she looked back at the castle in the distance. The sun was barely lighting the tips of the parapets, and she doubted anyone had seen a thing. She’d really messed up this time.

When they hit the tree line, three more men joined them, one taking the lead, and two bringing up the rear. Her anger quickly dissipated as fear had her heart beating hard in her chest. Her captor rearranged her, easily swinging her around so she was seated behind him. “Hold on. If ye fall, ye’ll just get hurt and ’twill make no difference ta us. We willna leave ye behind.”

After a quick glance at the distant ground, she gripped the washboard abs in front of her as all four men urged their mounts to run.

“What does Laird McGreagor want with me?” she yelled.

Quinn turned his head and she saw he was still grinning, clearly enjoying the situation. “He’ll be sure ta use ye as ransom. Think you Lord Marshall values ye enough to pay the price?” He ran a hand down her leg and laughed.

She pinched him on his stomach, hard, and he laughed again but did release her leg. “Ye made it easy,” he said over his shoulder. “We saw ye leavin’ the village, had heard tale of yer wee bright pack and couldna believe our luck when ye slung it on. It fair glowed in the darkness.”

“But why go to all this bother?”

“The MacGregor wants the men that Lord Marshall keeps in his dungeon. And he’ll no’ be gettin’ ye back ‘til he returns them.”

“Why not simply give back the cattle you stole?”

“Give it back? Are you addled?”

“It would be the right thing to do.”

He snorted. “’Tis the principal of the thing. Besides, we doona have to as we have ye now.”

Gillian closed her eyes. Kellen was going to kill her for giving the Scots this advantage. Of course she might be headed directly toward the guy who wanted her dead, so Kellen might never get the chance. This just wasn’t her day.

* * *

Kellen walked to where Owen and Tristan trained with the men, unsheathed his sword, and started hacking at them both, forcing them to defend themselves.

“Uh,” Tristan gasped after a bone-jarring strike. “You seem in a foul mood this day.”

“Think you?” responded Kellen, not letting up and using all his strength to drive both men backward, alternating his strokes between them.

Owen, face aghast, defended himself when the sword slashed his way. “My lord? Has aught occurred we should know about?”

Kellen struck out at him. “Let.” Another strike. “Me.” Another. “Consider.” Their swords clashed and held, and Kellen was happy to see the strain shaking Owen’s arm and the nervousness on his face. “What could have happened betwixt the last time I saw you both and this moment?” Kellen used his strength to throw Owen back a few paces. “Ah, yes. The lady Gillian did not show to break her fast this morn.”

Tristan defended himself when Kellen turned on him. He skipped back a few paces, trying his best to anticipate Kellen’s slashing movements. “Nay? Was she not hungry then?”

Kellen disarmed Tristan and he went scrambling after his sword. Kellen slashed the air twice and turned his attention back toward Owen. “Mayhap she was not. Of course,” Kellen’s sword clashed with Owen’s. “The two of you could not know she was absent as you did not show yourselves either, else you might have noted the way I mooned about, also not eating, as I waited for the fair Gillian to arrive.” He slashed again. “Which, as I’ve stated, she did not.”

“She did not then?” Owen deflected, but Kellen threw him back so hard he stumbled, coming down on one knee before jumping back to his feet again.

“She did not.”

Owen and Tristan shared a look and Tristan hastily raised his sword as Kellen attacked him again. “Is there any reason the fair Gillian did not break her fast this morn?”

“Hmm.” Kellen cut with a sweeping stroke, forcing Tristan to jump back. “Let me consider. Oh, that is right. It was because, after being influenced by two of the most feebleminded men in the kingdom, I accused her of being a poisoner last eve. Of murdering Frederick. Oh, and also of staging the entire event whereby a villain attempted to stab her in the throat.” He slashed hard, driving Tristan to his knees; and then as Tristan scrambled back and tried to regain his feet and his balance, Kellen turned his sword on Owen.

“Did I mention that my attack on my fair lady occurred when she did come to my chamber intent upon seduction? Of course, after getting such wise counsel from my two most trusted men, I did not chance to grasp what she was about. Oh, no. I believed she tried to murder me and searched her for a weapon before accusing her thus.”

Owen sidestepped, but Kellen kicked out and knocked him to the ground. Owen scooted backward as Kellen held the sword to his throat. He swallowed audibly. “Dear, me. What did she do?”

Kellen stepped back, then went after Tristan again and knocked him to the ground next to Owen. Kellen, breathing hard, stabbed his sword into the dirt in disgust. His men looked at the waving sword, obviously aghast that Kellen would treat his weapon thus.

“What think you she did? With wounded feelings, and a newfound disgust of me, she ran to her room and barred the door.”

Owen lifted a hand to his forehead. “Kellen, I do most humbly apologize.”

Tristan backhanded Owen’s shoulder. “We most humbly apologize.”

Owen lowered his hand. “It had seemed—”

Kellen raised a palm, and shook his head in disgust. “Would that I could blame you. You are both idiots, ’tis true, but I am the biggest of all. When Catherine tried to poison me, ’twas no great surprise. But the thought of Gillian doing so? It shocked me to my bones. And why? Because she is no murderer. I knew this in here.” He pounded his chest. “So you can imagine her dismay when I accused her thus.”

They were all silent a moment, then Owen shook his head. “We are truly imbeciles.”

Tristan blew out a breath. “It seemed most reasonable last eve with Frederick dead on the floor and no enemy in sight; but in the light of day, the charge does seem exceedingly foolish.”

Tristan and Owen regained their feet as Kellen sheathed his sword. They looked around to see the men watching them and Owen shouted for them to get back to their training. But for themselves, they continued to stand about saying nothing. Finally, Tristan whistled. “So, you did not comprehend her attempt to seduce you?”

Owen pushed Tristan’s shoulder and Tristan barely maintained his balance. “Mayhap if you were to offer a bauble or two?”

Kellen pulled out a pouch of gems tucked in his belt and shook it. “She has to actually see me ere I can gift them to her.”

“Ah,” Tristan grinned. “You have already considered such. Mayhap you could send them with a love poem?”

Owen nodded. “Or we could deliver them for you and admit our part in turning thy thoughts.”

“What if—” Tristan paused then pointed and Kellen turned to see Marissa running toward them, her skirts lifted.

Marissa never ran.

The men surged forward to meet her.

She put a hand to her heaving chest. “Lady Gillian is nowhere to be found. She is gone, as is her pack.”

Kellen seized Marissa’s upper arm. “What do you mean, gone? She must be about somewhere.”

Marissa shook her head. “When I awoke, I thought her elsewhere. We’ve looked everywhere, my lord. She is not to be found.” Marissa hesitated. “Gillian had claimed she was going home this morn. She was upset. I had not thought to take her serious.”

“Keep looking,” said Kellen. “Get everyone to search.” Kellen headed toward the gatehouse, as Owen and Tristan shouted orders to the men.

* * *

Bread crumbs would be nice right about now, thought Gillian. A nice long trail of them leading back to Marshall Keep. Because hours later, she had no idea where she was or how to get back. Panic nipped at her again, rising and falling with her thought process, leaving her exhausted.

The horses moved at a steady pace, walking single file through the forest. There wasn’t even a real path and certainly no trail to follow home.

She could hear the two horses behind her and one leading the way, but with her arms locked loosely around Quinn’s waist and her head ducked behind his back to avoid the occasional branch, she felt pretty isolated. Luckily she’d gotten used to Quinn’s smell, because it didn’t bother her anymore, which was a blessing.

She should have fought harder. Why hadn’t she fought harder?

Once their ride through the forest had begun, it hadn’t taken long to realize how much trouble she was in. No one knew she’d been kidnapped, and no one knew where she was.

Kellen was not going to come charging to her rescue. He wouldn’t even know where to look until a ransom demand was made; and by that time, he’d think Gillian had gone home to her father. He’d look for her at Corbett Castle and find Edith there instead. He’d have his new bride in hand by the time he got back home to find a ransom note for Gillian. He’d probably just throw it in the fire with a hearty good riddance, glad to forget all about her once he realized she was a liar.

There would be no help for her, no ransom paid, no way back to the cemetery, and no way home.

So, now what did she do?

* * *

An hour later, Kellen was convinced the woman was a half-wit. And so was he for not putting a guard on her door after she’d gone to bed the night before.

She’d snuck out at dawn without protection, which meant she’d been gone for hours at this point. One of the guards remembered a maid carrying a basket, and it had been found at the edge of the village.

Guilt tightened his chest as he crossed the bailey, dodging people scurrying hither and yon. The entire keep and village were still in an uproar looking for her, but Kellen was convinced she wasn’t about. He never should have accused her. This was his fault for making her unhappy.

She’d told Marissa she was going home, which made no sense. The horses were all accounted for and she could not walk the entire way. She’d be accosted or murdered if she tried. She had never struck him as stupid, but obviously he’d have to rethink his judgment.

Some of his men were already on the way to her father’s keep with instructions to retrieve her even if she’d made it all the way home, which he deemed doubtful. If she had gone that direction, she would not have gotten far. Kellen would follow the minute he was convinced he’d done all he could here.

One of his men brought a young village boy forward. “This child claims to have witnessed a man on horseback early this morn.”

The thin boy’s frightened eyes were visible under his cap of messy blond hair, and Kellen knelt before him and tried to tamp down feelings of dread. “You saw a man on horseback?” he asked softly.

“Aye, my lord.”

“Did you know him?”

“Nay, my lord. I tried to see but ’twas too dark and too far away to see much of anythin’. But I saw him riding up toward the graveyard. I thought maybe it ’twere a headless ghostie comin’ for the dead.” The boy suddenly grinned, showing he’d recently lost a few baby teeth. “Me brother would have near died of envy had I seen such!”

With a nod, Kellen sent two of his men to the cemetery. They mounted horses and were gone within moments.

“Did you see or hear aught else?”

“I waited, and then he went back the way he come and ’twas the slightest bit brighter; and I saw hair flying about his head, so I knew he weren’t headless.” The boy’s disappointment was palpable.

“Did he have anyone with him?”

The boy shrugged, then looked up, hope gleaming in his eyes. “Think you he carried a spirit or two?”

“Mayhap. Where did he go?”

The boy pointed toward the northern tree line and Kellen’s teeth clenched. Scots? Would they dare? “Did you see my lady?”

“Nay, my lord.”

After dismissing the boy and telling him to find a treat in the kitchen, Kellen paced as he waited for his men to return. Minutes later, one rode fast through the gate house, only pulling up short when he approached Kellen. “My lord!” He lifted Gillian’s pack. “We did a quick search, but did not find her.”

Kellen’s jaw tightened as he grimly accepted the brightly colored bundle. She was very attached to her treasures and would never have willingly left her possessions behind. Could she have been taken so close to the village? Perhaps by the man who’d tried to murder her?

His guts clenching, Kellen mounted up and he and his men headed toward the tree line. After only a short search they found evidence of three or four horses. And tied to a tree branch was a piece of Scottish cloth.

A message? Or a trap? Either way, Kellen was immensely relieved they’d not found Gillian’s dead body. “Gather the men,” Kellen yelled. “And bring the Scottish prisoners.”

If Gillian had been harmed, he’d gut the men while their people watched. Then he’d slaughter the lot of them.

Chapter Twenty-five

Gillian heard people before she saw them.

Her captors, fists raised in the air, shouted in triumph as they rode out of the trees and into a camp where a band of wild-looking, filthy men gathered. Some stopped their training, others came out of tents, and more stood from where they lounged near a campfire. But one and all they moved forward, at least forty men, some shouting responses to her captors, and every one of them staring at her.

Gillian’s throat tightened and, mouth dry, she gripped Quinn and watched as a huge guy made his way toward them. Men moved out of his way and, the closer he came, the more Gillian tensed. The man’s thick dark hair and beard was randomly braided and messy, though it at least appeared clean. His shoulders and arms bulged with muscle. Tall, strong, and in command, he was obviously their leader. When he reached them, Quinn half-turned, a wide grin on his face.

“Laird MacGregor, meet Lady Corbett, recently of Marshall Keep.”

The laird bowed mockingly. “My lady, welcome.” His voice was deep and loud. “I am most pleased to make thy acquaintance.”

The men around them laughed.

Before she could respond, he spoke to the men on horseback in a language she couldn’t understand and, when Quinn laughed and responded in kind, the laird grinned. Without any warning, he grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her off the horse, catching her before she plummeted to the ground. She screamed, slapping, scratching, and pushing for freedom, her feet touching the ground as the men around her laughed. She could barely walk after hours on the horse, but tried to run anyway.

The behemoth easily caught and held her with her back against his front, his arms around her, her wrists crossed and captured in his large hands. He laughed. “Little cat, sheathe thy claws.”

Gillian bucked, trying to get away, but all she did was amuse the crowd, if their hoots and hollers were any indication. “Let go of me!” Breathing hard, she twisted and turned but remained trapped.

The man’s warmth seeped into her chilled body, his wild, campfire smell settling over her with every gasped breath. The guy simply held on and let her wear herself out.

She finally stilled. Was he planning to assault her? Kill her? It was too much: leaving Kellen, being captured, the travel, the men surrounding her, and her helplessness. She started to cry. “Leave me alone.” She bucked one more time. “Just leave me alone.”

“Calm thyself.” His chest rumbled against her back. “You willna be harmed, lass.”

“Then why am I here?” She kicked at his shins with a running shoe. He grunted but remained unbending. “What do you want?” When he didn’t respond, she tried to think of a way to keep herself unharmed. “Do you want to marry me? Is that it? For my family’s wealth?”

He turned her around to look at her, keeping one hand tight on her wrist, speculation in his expression as he looked up and down her body. He grinned, his gaze settling on her chest. “Ye come well dowered, do ye?”

As the men around them guffawed and snickered, Gillian ignored his lewd implication and decided Kellen was the best weapon to threaten him with. “Yes, my family settled a large amount on me. Lord Marshall already has it.”

The laird chuckled. “Clever man. But it doesna matter. We simply mean to use you as ransom to get our men back.”

“But Kellen… Lord Marshall, doesn’t know where I am.”

“He does by now.”

Gillian stared at him for a moment and then tension drained from her, leaving her weak and unsteady. “You left a note?”

He nodded once. “Aye. My men left a message.”

Kellen would be coming for her? Gillian bowed her head as relief surged through her. With his hand still clamped around her wrist, Laird MacGregor hauled her, unresisting, to a tent; and she stumbled behind him. He pushed her inside and pointed to a blanket. “Sit there. I’ll return directly.”

Gillian considered running but realizing how pointless it was, sank to the blanket, and pulled her knees to her chest.

A moment later Laird MacGregor returned with meat and dark bread. He passed her a portion and sat across from her. “Eat.”

Gillian hadn’t eaten since noon the day before and didn’t have to be told twice. She bit into the meat, some kind of fowl. The wonderful campfire taste hit her tongue, and she moaned then glanced up to find him watching her. Self-conscious, she stopped chewing. “What?”

“Ye just surprised me, lass. Ye didna cross yourself against me, nor,” he pointed to a stick nearby, “wave the elder branch over thy food, nor even pray over the fare. I hazard I am used to the superstitious lot out there.” He jerked a thumb toward the tent’s entry.

Gillian swallowed then broke off a small piece of the dry bread and popped it into her mouth. “How are they superstitious?”

The laird shrugged. “In all the ways a man can be. My men think me a warlock if I forget to stir my oats in the proper direction to ward bad spirits.” He pointed to the stick again. “I humor them in favor of peace.”

When she snorted, his brows rose. “Have I shocked you? Do you fear me the worse now?”

She chuckled and relaxed a bit more. “No. I don’t believe in warlocks.”

He smiled slightly. “Don’t you then?”

She shook her head. “I believe in evil men and women doing evil deeds but not in witches and warlocks.”

He studied her for a moment. “Now ye’ve shocked me, lass. I’ve not met a female who doesna cast wards against evil, cross herself ten times in a day, throw salt over her shoulder, and plant mugwort, foxglove, and the like. Do ye none of those things?”

She chuckled again and shook her head. “I’ve been known to salt my food on occasion, but only for the taste.”

“Hmm.” He finally applied himself to his food, and she had the chance to study him while they ate. He truly was scary to look at, savage. His brown tunic, stained at chest and hem, hit his knees when standing but now, rucked up, exposed most of his strong, bare legs. Fortunately, he looked to be wearing shorts of some kind. He also wore an animal skin vest and had wool plaid draped over one shoulder, fastened somehow. There wasn’t a kilt in sight, which she had to admit surprised her.

He met her gaze and she asked, “Have you been planning to kidnap me for long?”

It was his turn to snort. “We had no thought to take you at all. We thought you too well protected. You fell into my men’s hands like a plump partridge.”

Well, of all the rotten luck. Brows drawn together, she bent her head to hide her chagrin. “Why were your men there then?”

“Hoping for the chance to rescue their kinsman.”

“You sent them?”

“Aye.”

She finally lifted her head. “You’re very loyal to your men.”

He laughed in a humorless way. “I could but wish my men were as loyal to me.”

“What do you mean?”

He didn’t explain and resumed eating.

“What do you mean?” she asked again.

He shrugged.

Gillian sighed. “So… Scotland is nice. It’s really pretty. I’ve always wanted to come here.”

He shot her an incredulous look.

“So… who are you, anyway? What’s your name, rank, and serial number?”

He ate some bread.

“So… why are you camping in the forest? Are you related to Robin Hood?”

He gnawed the meat off a bone.

She took a breath and he threw up a hand. “Stop nattering on!”

“Then tell me why you think your men aren’t loyal!” she whispered fiercely.

He sighed. Shrugged. “’Tis no great secret. My mother is English and I did much of my training in England. When my father died, I was expected to come back and lead, which I did. But loyalty has to be earned through time and action.” He threw a handful of bones through the tent opening.

Gillian resumed eating and studied the man. While he looked and acted tough, he’d actually seen to her comfort, fed her, and put her at ease. Maybe she could do something to help him. “I once read a book called How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie. It said that you need to smile, be friendly, treat people kindly, and find out their interests and try to share them.” She nodded. “You need to make people feel important and appreciated and always try and remember their names. Maybe you could try that with your men?”

He stared at her, brows raised, mouth agape, and then laughed. When she glared, he laughed harder, openmouthed, until he fell over backward.

Gillian straightened her spine and pursed her lips. When he finally sat up, his laughter subsiding to chuckles, she said, “Don’t knock it until you try it. When I was in junior high, I didn’t have any friends and my mom read the book to me. It’s good advice.”

He chuckled a few more times then shook his head and wiped at his eyes. “You’re an agreeable lass to talk to. You must keep Lord Marshall well entertained.” He studied her, and she refused to look away. “You’re also verra easy to look upon.”

She grinned. “Flatterer. You’re kind of cute too, in a barbarian-at-the-gates sort of way. A girl could feel very protected with you around.”

He actually looked down and blushed above his facial hair, and it was Gillian’s turn to laugh at him.

He glared. “Watch yourself ere I lose my patience.”

She managed not to roll her eyes. The guy was turning out to be a pussycat. “So, obviously you don’t live here in the forest. Why aren’t you home? What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

He shrugged. “The usual. Trapped between two kings who use us as puppets for their own amusement.” Gillian heard bitterness in his tone.

She studied him for a moment. “You don’t seem very happy in your chosen occupation. Couldn’t you just give it up? Stop being Laird and go back to England?”

He shrugged. “I am the MacGregor. There’s no altering that. Ye cannot change what is.”

“You’d be surprised.”

When she finished her meal, he cut an apple with his knife, gave her a piece and then grinned when she made a face at its tartness. He then cut and ate a slice himself before giving her another.

“Are you married?” she asked.

“Are ye offerin’ for me, lass?”

She looked at him. Under all the hair, he was young, probably mid-to-late twenties and might even be good-looking. He was as tall and broad through the chest as Kellen and had shown he could be kind. All in all, he sort of reminded her of Kellen. A decent man hardened by the time he lived in. “Let me ask you something. Would you take a wife without a dowry?”

“O’ course. Chances are I will. Heiresses are not thick about the ground for men such as me.”

“What about Lord Marshall? Do you think he’d take a bride without a dowry?”

“Why do ye ask? I’ve said I’ll return ye to him, and I will. So if you’re worried on that score, put your fears to rest.”

“Just answer the question.”

He shrugged. “By all accounts the man is wealthy, but you ne’er ken. Some men are ne’er satisfied but with more. You know him. What is your take on the man’s character?”

Gillian shrugged and looked down. That was the problem. She did know him. She knew how much his land and people meant to him. How responsible and practical he was. She loved him, but didn’t have the courage to tell him the truth about herself and hope he’d choose her over Edith and her money.

“So what’s it to be? Did you not fancy Lord Marshall then? Is he a cruel man? Disfigured? Would you prefer to take your chances on me? Lord Marshall would never give up your dowry, but I’d never rebuke ye for the lack.”

Startled by what sounded to be a genuine proposal, she glanced up, warmth flooding her. Would Kellen feel the same? She smiled at Laird MacGregor and gently said, “I’m afraid my heart has already been given to another. But thank you. I’m honored.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Ye’ve crushed me, lass.”

She laughed. “Like I said. Flatterer.”

He grinned, and when she’d finished the apple, he gave her some water from some sort of bag. He stood and held out a hand. “Come, I’ll let you have privacy behind a tree, ere we get ye settled for the day.”

Embarrassed, but grateful, she was once more dragged through camp and allowed a few minutes to herself. She was thankful for the thick foliage and, after briefly considering escape, discarded the idea as foolish and impossible and returned. Wouldn’t this group of crazy men just love to chase her through the trees? The laird took her by the wrist again and led her back to the tent. She noticed the men breaking camp.

“Why are you packing up?”

He didn’t answer but simply stopped in front of his tent and shoved her inside. “You’re to stay here and keep quiet, ere my men decide you be a witch with your strange way of speaking.” He followed her in, pulled out some long cloths, took hold of her wrists, pushed her to the blanket, and knelt beside her.

She glanced up, startled. “What are you doing?”

He quickly bound her wrists together.

She tugged against his hold. “Stop it!”

He paused and gave her a fierce look. “Doona fight me. ’Tis for your own protection.”

With one hand holding her, he reached for another cloth and Gillian tugged again. “Don’t!” She fought him with all her strength, got free, and bashed him in the face with her bound wrists before he recaptured them.

Holding his nose, he laughed and swore. “Blast it, lass. Ye’d make me a fine wife. If you reconsider, the offer stands.”

“Let.” She continued to struggle. “Me.” She pulled as hard as she could. “Go!”

He released her and she fell backward onto the blanket and he held up a strip of cloth. “Is it to be the gag then?”

At the thought of that filthy material in her mouth, all the fight flowed out of her. “No. I’ll be quiet.”

“There’s a good girl.” He quickly tied her ankles together, taking time to study her athletic shoes, twisting them one way, then the other. “I’ve never seen the like. Doona let my men see them.” He finished, covered her feet with her skirt; and when he was done, looked to see her glaring at him. He grinned, reached out, put a hand on her cheek, and rubbed his thumb over her tight lips. “I truly am tempted to keep ye but my clan would likely not accept an English woman, especially one who talks and acts so strange. You’d as like be burned as a witch.”

“Thanks a lot.” He turned to leave and Gillian struggled to sit up. “Wait.” He turned back to look at her. “What will happen if Lord Marshall doesn’t come for me?”

He stared at her for a long moment then chuckled. “Oh, he’ll come for ye. Of that I have no doubt.” And with a quick grin and a wink, he was gone.

* * *

Teeth clenched and mouth tight, Kellen rode with his men deeper into Scotland. He tried not to think of what could befall Gillian in this foul place, tried to convince himself the savages wouldn’t harm a woman. If they acted on even one of the things riddling his thoughts, if they… well, he would kill them all.

Again, he couldn’t help but question her motives. What had she been doing? Why had she left the protection of the keep? What had she been thinking? None of it mattered at the moment, of course. All that mattered was getting her back safely. When he had her in his possession, then he could strangle the answers out of her at his leisure.

A new thought worried at him. What if, once they had spoken to her, looked upon her, they decided to keep her rather than ransom her? She could be headstrong and capricious but also charming and fascinating, and she was far too beautiful for her own good.

Or what if that were the true purpose for which she’d been taken? Not as a prisoner to ransom or exchange, but as a bride. The Scottish savages were known for kidnapping brides. It was no doubt the only way they could get them. Had Gillian been kidnapped by a man looking for a wife? Kellen’s hands clenched and unclenched on the reins. Had she been brought before a priest? Handfasted? What if—

“My lord, look ahead,” Tristan yelled and pointed to a man in dirty plaid coming out of a grove of trees. His hair, braided, uncombed, and wild, looked a good place for nesting creatures.

Kellen pulled up and the man rode forward, his teeth flashing straight and white.

“Out for a ride in our fine woods?”

“Where is she?”

“Where be our men?”

Kellen stilled and the tension in his body lowered a notch. Was this simply to be a trade then? Were they to willingly give her back? “We have them with us. Who are you?”

“You may call me Sir Ian.” The man smiled at the claim of gentry. “I’m to take you to The MacGregor.

“I will you Sir Horse’s Arse. Lead the way.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “We thought you wasna comin’. ’Tis been hours since the lass was snatched.”

Kellen had no intention of telling the oaf he had not known his own bride was missing. While he had been mooning over ways to win her favor.

“We thought perhaps you’d changed your mind about your English bride. That mayhap you dinna want the lassie after all.” He raised a brow. “She is a handful.”

Had that given them reason to believe they could hurt her?

Kellen’s muscles clenched and his horse moved under him skittishly until he tightened the reins. Kellen could feel heat rising in his body. Through clenched teeth, he grated, “If she has been hurt, you will all pay with your lives.”

“They would not dare to harm her, my lord,” said Owen. “They know if they do they die.”

Ian snorted. “She was aright when last I saw her.”

If he lost her, if she was gone from him… he pushed the thought aside. If they failed to give her up, he’d kill them. If he could not find her, he would call in every ally he possessed if needs be, and he would find the culprits and kill them. If they hurt her—

He swallowed. She was delicate, but fearless. Always wandering about without protection. What if they accidentally killed her?

He found himself sweating as they followed Ian MacGreagor.

* * *

“What if the English don’t come for her?”

Gillian hugged her knees to her chest and listened to the group of men. It wasn’t as if she had a choice. For all their attempts at whispering, they either weren’t very good at it, or the clear Scottish afternoon air easily carried sound through the tent.

Anyway, she shared their concern. What if Kellen didn’t come? What if she had to spend the night there? She shivered at the thought of being surrounded by these men overnight but didn’t so much as move otherwise. She didn’t want to draw their attention.

“Perhaps the plaid tied to a tree wasna enough of a message?”

“Everyone knows the English are slow-witted. Mayhap we should deliver a note?”

“But then another of our men might be captured.”

“Perhaps they rode in the wrong direction and never met up with Ian?”

“Nay, we left a trail a half-wit could follow.”

“Mayhap they killed Hamish and Donald? Mayhap they have naught left to bargain with.”

“They are not dead!” A man bellowed. Gillian heard footsteps stomp to the tent and a corner was pulled back to reveal a bushy, red-bearded face. “Girl!” Gillian jumped. “Be our men murdered by your lord?”

Gillian swallowed. “Nope. Last I heard they were doing just fine.”

“See. They are well.” The tent flap fell again and Gillian breathed a sigh of relief. She knew a mob mentality when she heard one and didn’t want them reminded she was there.

It was quiet for a while. “’Tis said he killed his first wife. Perhaps he willna be fashed should this one disappear, as well?”

“She’s comely enough and has plenty enough atop to please a man. Her hips seem shapely, as well.”

“And she’s young.”

“Still, mayhap she could be infertile?”

“Nay, not with those hips. Perhaps he hopes to find a wealthier bride?”

“If he doesna want her, I’ll take her.”

Gillian took a breath and decided that keeping quiet might not be such a good strategy after all. “I can hear you.” She called out through the tent. “I’m right here.”

The men were silent a moment, then she heard more whispering before another man approached the tent. “Does your lord care for you, lass?”

“He likes me just fine.”

“His first wife died and you were left to wander. Mayhap he seeks to rid himself of encumbrances? Think you he will come for you?”

“Yes.” She tried to infuse confidence in her voice. “He will come for me. In fact, you’d better treat me well or I’ll tell him that you didn’t.”

She could hear more whispering as the man went back to the group.

“I’ve heard he can cleave a man’s head off without breaking a sweat.”

One man scoffed. “No he canna.”

“’Tis true. ’Tis said he has the eyes of a warlock and he can freeze a man so as to split his head without hindrance. ’Tis said he’s not lost a fight. If he comes after nightfall, we will all be killed!”

“Mayhap his bride is a witch, as well!”

This was getting out of hand. “I’m not a witch.”

“Witches are paid in gold. Her ring looks to be worth a fortune. Mayhap we should take it ere we trade her for our men.”

“It doesna come off! I tried to pull it from her finger and ’tis stuck as if by magic!”

Gillian heard a gasp or two and rolled her eyes.

“If someone cut off her finger—”

She took a breath, determined to show no sign of weakness. “Yeah. I dare you to. My betrothed, Lord Marshall, surely won’t notice my finger missing or me bleeding all over the place. I’m sure Mr. MacGregor will be pleased, as well.”

It was silent again for a moment, and she hoped they were cowed by the threat of Kellen’s name but she cursed MacGregor for leaving her unprotected with this bloodthirsty lot.

“Look at my arm! ’Tis covered in gooseflesh. She must be a witch!”

“Mine, as well!”

“Witch… ”

”Witch… ”

”Witch!”

“She’s no witch,” said a deep, authoritative voice. “Just a scared lass surrounded by a pack of slathering idiots. Now mount up men, and bring the girl. The English come!”

Gillian couldn’t help it. She actually sagged with relief. As much as she wanted to bash the guy, she was thrilled MacGregor had returned. She wondered if Kellen were actually there or if the barbarian was simply trying to control his men. Either way, she’d be glad to get out of the tent.

Chapter Twenty-six

Kellen arrived at a big meadow and stopped. The men behind him followed suit as their guide hurried forward to greet his kinsmen.

Kellen’s gaze took in the line of men seated on horseback. The Scottish Laird, reputed to be a large man, was no doubt the hulking giant in the middle. Other fighters were thick upon the ground, weapons at the ready; however, Gillian was nowhere in sight.

Kellen looked to the trees, trying to determine how many men they might have to fight. As far as he could tell, his forces outnumbered the Scots both in men and training; but he wouldn’t underestimate them. He knew them to be sly and vicious fighters.

As the two forces faced each other, the biggest of their men urged his horse forward, confirming Kellen’s suspicions as to his identity. “Wait here,” Kellen said to Owen and Tristan. “Be ready.”

“Aye, my lord,” said Tristan, man and horse spoiling for battle.

“Aye. Be on guard against trickery,” said Owen.

Kellen nudged his mount forward until he faced the other man and was surprised to find he recognized Laird MacGregor. “What do you here? We have met on the jousting field.”

“I remember. You won my horse and armor. The armor was shite, but I hope you treated the horse well.”

“I did. ’Twas a fine animal. Again, I ask, what do you here? Are you not English?”

A shrug. “Half.”

Kellen’s brows rose. “And your men accept a leader with English blood?”

“I am The MacGregor,” he said simply.

Kellen lost interest and got to the point. “Was she harmed?”

“Nay. You have my word that she’s no’ been harmed. I canna say the same for my nose. She’s a feisty thing, is she not?”

Kellen sucked in a breath at the thought of Gillian having to defend herself against this towering savage and suddenly wanted to kill the man.

From the smirk on the other’s face, Kellen could see his feelings were obvious.

“A man in my keep was poisoned. Your doing?”

“Nay. Nor that of my men. Do not think to blame us for thy failure to clean house.” MacGregor motioned with his hand and Gillian was pulled through the crowd of Scots and given a shove.

She started walking toward them and Kellen was so relieved to see her it was all he could do to wait while she crossed the distance. Kellen motioned to his own men to release the two prisoners and then waited while the three crossed the field.

“She has a strange way of speech, does she not?”

“’Tis charming,” growled Kellen.

“Ah, you care for the girl then? She wondered, you know, if you would want her if she came undowered. A question a girl asks if she’s feelings for a man. I offered to marry her without payment, but she turned me down.”

Feeling murderous, Kellen snapped, “She’s mine.”

“Aye, well, as to that, I let her know the offer stood were she to change her mind.”

Kellen tried to tamp down his rage. “Was she touched?”

“She was not.”

Gillian finally arrived.

“Are you hurt?” demanded Kellen.

Eyes wide, she looked at them both for a long moment, her gaze moving between the two and, the longer she didn’t respond, the more tense Kellen became.

The MacGregor, losing his mocking grin, tensed as well, his horse moving skittishly beneath him.

Someone was going to die if Gillian uttered so much as a word of complaint.

“Gillian?” Kellen waited for her reply and gripped his sword. If she was so much as breathed on, he was going to kill them all, starting with the giant before him.

“No. No, I’m fine.”

Both men relaxed and both exhaled.

Good. That was good. She was aright and still his alone. Kellen held out his hand.

After a hesitant glance at his horse, she reached for him and he hauled her atop his lap, turned his mount, and moved away.

Behind him MacGregor called out, “Watch thy back about thy kinsman, English.”

Kellen turned his horse around. “What is your meaning? Is that a threat?”

The laird laughed. “Not at all. A warning. One of yours told me of the, ah, delicious cattle to be found were I to cross the border.” He smiled at Kellen, then gave Gillian a less mocking smile. “Doona forget my offer, lass.” His tone gentled. “’Twas genuine.” He laughed at Kellen’s thunderous expression and turned his own mount away.

“Someday I will get the chance to pay you in kind,” said Kellen. “Count on it.”

The MacGregor saluted him. “I look forward to it, English.”

* * *

At first, Gillian was so happy to see Kellen, to get away from the Scots, and be on her way back to England, that she didn’t realize how angry Kellen was. It didn’t take long for the excitement over her rescue to fade or for the questions to start.

“Why did you leave the protection of the keep?”

Kellen’s clipped, angry tone had Gillian’s arms crossing and her lips thinning. She didn’t answer.

“Did someone lure you out?” he asked, his voice hard and forbidding. “Or mayhap you simply had a fit of temper and placed yourself and others in harm’s way?”

Tristan and Owen, riding on each side of them, tried to intervene. “’Tis simply that his lordship was considerably worried on thy behalf, my lady,” said Tristan. “Such things can upset a man, and the fright has overset our lord greatly.”

“Aye, my lady,” said Owen. “Pay him no heed. He’ll soon be back in high spirits and will be more civilized company.”

“Both of you fall back,” snapped Kellen.

After a few minutes, and with the men behind them, Kellen spoke again. “Well?” his voice was slightly calmer, but still frosty. “Have you naught to say?”

Goaded, Gillian said in a pleasant tone, “The weather is nice today. Not too hot, not too cold. The breeze feels good. Also, I think the trees are pretty.”

They both sat stiffly and after a moment, the strain became too much and she cleared her throat. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather ride with Tristan or Owen.”

Kellen’s arms tightened around her. “We will discuss this,” he said, ignoring her request. “You will tell me why you left.”

Gillian sighed and threw up one hand. “I wanted to visit the cemetery, okay?” Her tone was belligerent but she didn’t care. “I told you I wanted to, remember? I asked you to take me there and you wouldn’t.”

“Why did you want to go?” he snapped. “I see no point.”

“I lost something there and I want it back.”

“What?”

Seven centuries she wanted to say, but since she couldn’t; and since he was waiting for an answer, she crossed her fingers under her rough work skirt and lied. “Um… a bracelet?” Not necessarily a bad lie. Maybe having a reason to go search would get Kellen to take her there.

Kellen snorted impatiently. “I would give you a hundred bracelets if I but knew you desired such. There is no need to place yourself in danger for a trinket. You will never go there again, do you understand?”

She let out a breath. Or maybe he’d dig in his heels instead.

“I want that bracelet. It has special meaning to me.”

“Why? Did a male give it to you? A sweetheart? Perhaps Sir Elton John?”

“What?” She craned her neck to look at him. “What are you talking about?”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “Think you I forgot thy affection when speaking of the musician? ’Tis a wonder your mother allowed such a man in your company.”

She let out a breath, faced forward again, and shook her head. Incredible. Fighting over a fake bracelet and a faker boyfriend? Like she didn’t have real problems to solve? “Just so you know, my father gave me the bracelet, and Sir Elton John prefers men to women.”

After a long moment, Kellen cleared his throat. “Ah, well then. I wondered that your mother would allow him so much time in your company.”

She rolled her eyes. “Back to the subject at hand. The cemetery? My bracelet? I need to go there. I need to look for it.”

“If you insist on its return, I’ll send others.”

“No. I want to go myself. I told you I like to go sight seeing.”

“Sight seeing? As you did this day?” his voice roughened again.

“Well… yes.” A quick glance showed that, yes, indeed, he was clenching his teeth. “Granted, today I saw more than I’d intended, but Scotland is pretty.”

She felt him stiffen again and sighed. “Kellen, I’m not an idiot. I know today was bad and that people could have died.” Some of the tension eased out of her. “You know you’re my hero for saving me, right?” She turned and put her hand on his cheek and finally looked at him so he could see she meant it. “Thank you for coming to get me. I was so scared. I didn’t know if you knew where to find me, and I didn’t know if you’d come.”

His jaw slowly relaxed as he searched her eyes. “Gillian,” his tone was less harsh, but still frustrated. “Perhaps the real reason you fled was because you are angry with me for accusing you of treachery. Truly do I beg thy pardon.”

Gillian turned away again and bent her head so he couldn’t see her face and couldn’t see that she was still hurt by the accusation.

“Why did you accuse me?” She rubbed at a stain on her brown skirt. “Because of your first wife? Because we have the same blood you think I’m tainted by association?”

His grip tightened on her. “Nay. I truly do not believe such. My wits had gone begging in the heat of the moment. I know you to be steadfast and unlike your sister. In truth, I have no excuse and ask your forgiveness.”

After a long pause, she finally let out a breath. “Okay, but I’m only going to say this once. I may not be perfect, but I’m no knife thrower, or poisoner, and I’m certainly not a murderer. I’m going to forgive you this one time, but I have no intention of paying for Catherine’s sins ever again. I have enough of my own to worry about.”

He hugged her to him. “Nay, you are perfect. Thank you, Gillian. I do not deserve you.”

“You’ve got that right.” She considered how he’d react when he discovered she wasn’t Edith, but a liar and a fraud. “I’m not perfect, you know.”

He sighed. “’Tis true. I only said such to cool thy temper. You are overly stubborn, obsessive about the oddest concerns, and quick to cause inconvenience.”

She elbowed him lightly in the gut and he laughed. “Thy father will no doubt arrive soon, as I sent men to Corbett Castle to find you. Shall I take him to task for all thy faults to spare you more chidings?”

“What?” Gillian actually felt blood drain from her face, leaving her dizzy. She slowly straightened in Kellen’s arms and stared unseeing at the landscape. “My father is coming?”

“Aye. Marissa said you had thought to go home. When I couldn’t find you, I immediately sent men toward your father’s keep. No doubt he will be worried to hear you’ve gone missing and come to help the search.”

Gillian’s body stiffened further. No doubt the man would be surprised to find someone was impersonating his daughter and come to find out what was going on!

Gillian’s heart pounded furiously in her chest. She no longer had the luxury of waiting to go home. She had to go now.

“What ails you? Why do you tremble?”

Gillian tried to force herself to relax. “When do you expect my father?”

“’Tis about eight days fast travel there and back.”

Eight days.

“Are you fearful?” Kellen gave her a slight tug. “Lie back again and do not worry so. I’ll not allow thy father to scold you.” When she remained stiff, he sighed. “Peace?”

She finally remembered to breathe. “Uh, yeah, sure.” She was a dead woman. She was so, so dead. Slowly she sank back against Kellen, glad for his warmth since she suddenly felt chilled. “Peace.”

She had eight days before she had to be out of Medieval England. She slid her hand down Kellen’s arm until she found his hand at her waist and held it tight.

He gripped hers in return and kissed the top of her head.

She had eight days to get to that cemetery. Eight days to convince Kellen to go with her. Eight days until she was exposed as an imposter.

* * *

Hours later as they passed the cemetery in the distance and stayed on a straight path to the castle, Gillian considered asking Kellen to turn. She might be able to talk him into taking her there if she insisted enough; after all, they’d have the protection of his men.

Only two things stopped her. First, if something strange or unusual occurred, which it might, and she didn’t or couldn’t get back to her own time, the last thing she needed was a bunch of witnesses branding her a witch. Again. And second, if she could swing it, she was taking Kellen and his daughter back with her, which would require some extra thought and planning.

Before long, they arrived at the castle and Kellen dismounted in the bailey, handed the reins to a waiting squire, then reached up and easily lifted Gillian off the horse. When she would have turned away, he cupped her cheek. “You’ve been quiet this day. Are you sad, then? Worried?”

“Truthfully?” She looked around and feeling tired and vulnerable, told him the truth. “I just want to go home.”

“You are home. I am your home.”

Gillian bit her lip and couldn’t help it, she moved forward, wrapped her arms around his waist, and lay her head on his chest. She hoped he still felt that way when she took him back with her. “You have no idea how much I want that to be true,” she whispered.

“Shh. Shh. You are not to worry. I will keep you safe.” His arms engulfed her for a long moment then he leaned back to regard her, expression serious.

“Think you I know not where your true concerns lie? Come.” Kellen took her hand and tugged her to the middle of the bailey so she could see into the gate. “Look you there. See the extra men guarding the gate?” He pointed up. “The towers? I know you are concerned that whoever murdered Frederick will try for thy life once more. You need fear no longer. None will be allowed in or out without my express permission.”

Her mouth parted as dread built in her chest. In or out?

“There is more. Let me show you.” He tugged her toward the entrance of the keep and dragged her through to the kitchens, where Cook and her helpers prepared food.

“Thy lady fears more poison. Can you not set her mind at ease?”

Cook’s ample chest puffed up and she shook her head. “You’ve naught to fear, my lady. Any food you eat will have no chance at poison. None but myself will serve you, I can assure you of that.”

“You see? I learn from my mistakes. A guard will be set at your door each night. My enemies will never again threaten what I prize most.” He cupped her face and looked as if he were making a vow.

Gillian’s knees weakened. “Kellen—”

In an abrupt move, he once more grasped her hand and pulled her after him, rounded a corner, and pressed her into an alcove. “I want you to feel safe and happy here. I have decided I will court you, and then you will desire to stay with me always.”

“Really,” she said weakly. “That’s not necessary.”

“I assure you, what I want is you, relaxed and happy, looking forward to our wedding day.” He dipped his mouth toward her ear. “And night.” His lowered voice caused her to shiver, which made her mad. She didn’t have time for this right now. She gave him a shove and he backed up a step, his eyes questioning. “Gillian?”

He just didn’t get it. He wanted her relaxed and happy? He wanted to court her? With Edith’s father no doubt riding toward the castle to expose her as an imposter, with Kellen making sure she couldn’t slip out to the cemetery again, and with her uncertain of whether she could even return to the future, she was stressed to the max! And now he wanted to court her?

She felt like smacking the seductive look right off his face. What she wanted was his assurance that when Edith showed up he wouldn’t like her better. A silly thing to worry about in light of everything else, but there it was.

What she wanted was the assurance that he’d choose her, Gillian, over Edith if given the chance, even without a dowry, even without Lord Corbett as her father. What had he said the day she’d arrived? That he’d stick her in the dungeon or hang her as a spy if she didn’t turn out to be Edith?

Gillian gave a slight laugh and a shake of her head. She had other things to worry about right now besides being courted.

“Fine. Whatever. Give it your best shot, big guy.”

In the meantime, she had some planning to do.

* * *

As Gillian approached the long table the next morning, Kellen rubbed his sweaty palms against his tunic then fingered the pouch at his waist. It felt heavy but that was no doubt his imagination as the gold bracelet, set with pearls and sapphires, did not weigh much at all.

He had retrieved it from the blacksmith early that morn. The man had worked the night through to craft the piece and, though not an artisan, he had done a credible job. The sapphires, shining brightly between the pearls, reminded Kellen of Gillian’s eyes. He also had gems he could gift her to decorate her gowns, or they could be made into jewelry if it so pleased her.

He tried to decide whether to give them all to her at once or to keep some back so as to have more to offer later. The decision was easy. He’d spread them out and thus have more opportunities for gratitude coming his way.

He stood as she neared, as did Tristan and Owen; but while the other men easily exchanged greetings with her, Kellen swallowed a few times and could feel sweat slicking his back. He could do this. He could court Gillian without mucking it up.

Gillian stopped in front of him. “You’ve assigned guards to follow me?” He finally noted the scowl on her face as she threw both hands in the air. “Really, Kellen?”

He took a breath. “’Tis for your safety. A good morn to you, my lady.”

Gillian took a seat on the bench. “Good morning. All I’m saying is I just don’t think it’s necessary.”

Kellen resumed his seat. “Regardless, you will humor me.”

Cook brought food and, bushy brows drawn together over a red face, mumbled to herself, “I should like to see them try it again. Poisoning my food and killing my friends? Threatening my lord and lady thus? I will deliver it my own self and see if they dare such trickery again.” She left the food and a somber mood as she marched back to the kitchen.

“I will try it first.” Kellen picked up a piece of bread and took a large bite.

Gillian reached for a different slice. “Don’t think I don’t know why you’re so willing to put your life on the line. You just took the best piece.”

When she winked at him, Kellen laughed and finally relaxed a bit. “You know me well, my lady.” He considered how to gift her the bracelet, how to charm her. He would chat with her, put her at ease, have more of her smiles, then give her the gift. “I trust you slept well?”

Gillian didn’t answer, didn’t seem to hear, only stared across the table and over Tristan’s shoulder at the stone wall behind him.

“Gillian?”

Her head jerked and she looked down at the piece of bread in her hand as if surprised to see it. “Hmm?”

“Did you sleep well?”

“What? Oh, yes. Thank you.”

“You look beautiful this day.”

Her attention was caught by Marissa and her ladies joining them and he wasn’t sure if Gillian heard his compliment over their chatter. What he really needed was to get her alone and have all her attention to himself. “I would be most grateful if you could find the time to walk—”

“Lady Gillian, you must tell us about Laird MacGregor,” Lady Yvonne interrupted. “Is he as fierce as they say?”

Lady Vera seated herself and leaned forward. “Was he handsome?”

Gillian shrugged. “He had hair all over his face, and he’s pretty wild looking; so it’s hard to say if he was handsome or not. He’s big and strong like Kellen, and I thought he was nice enough. We had a pleasant conversation in his tent, and he was a perfect gentleman the whole time I was there.”

The two ladies exchanged a look and giggled.

Kellen’s fists clenched and he snorted. “Would that I had killed him when I had the chance.”

Gillian turned to see his expression, laughed, and touched his arm. “Are you jealous? That’s so sweet.”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. She found him sweet when he was not trying.

“His men seemed a bit superstitious,” said Gillian. “They actually thought I was a witch.”

“A witch?” Kellen thumped his fist on the table. “Would that I had killed them all when I had the chance.” As he’d hoped, Gillian laughed again and he reached for his pouch. With her laughing, cheerful, and looking at him thus, now would be the perfect opportunity to gift her the bracelet.

“We buried Frederick yesterday,” said Marissa. “In a place of honor.”

Kellen’s hand dropped away. Or not.

Gillian’s brows furrowed. “In the cemetery up the hill?”

Marissa nodded. “Aye.”

“I’d like to go and pay my respects today,” said Gillian.

Marissa waved a hand. “There is no need. My ladies and I stood for our family.”

Gillian placed her hand on Kellen’s arm. “I insist. He died protecting us.”

Kellen placed a hand over hers. “That he did. Do you really want to disrespect him by placing yourself in danger? When I have discovered the villain who is throwing knives and poison about, you shall have more freedom. You may pay your respects then.”

“But—”

“Frederick would be the first to agree.”

Gillian searched his face, scowled, then shot a glare at Tristan and Owen, who murmured their agreement from across the table. She looked down at the trencher in front of her.

“Come, Gillian. Let us have no hard feelings between us this day.”

“You keep forgetting that I’m the one who owns you, not the other way around.”

Amused by her crossness, by the reminder of the day they had met, Kellen smiled. “I wholeheartedly agree. I am yours.”

Gillian looked at him, her eyelids fluttered, and she glanced away. “Then take me to the cemetery.”

Kellen sighed. She was like a dog with a bone. “I will send villagers to look for the missing bracelet. If it is there, they will find it.”

He’d thought to please her, but she continued to frown. He reached for his pouch, sure he had something to put a smile on her face.

Tristan slapped the table. “I have no doubt ’tis the mangy, puking, Scots scum who are responsible for Frederick’s death.”

“What think you, my lord?” asked Owen. “You spoke to their laird. Did you sense the Scots are behind the attacks?”

All eyes turned to Kellen and, with a sigh, he dropped the bracelet back into the pouch. Why could they not discuss such matters when Gillian was not about?

“I cannot see them trying to slay Gillian. Kidnap her? Aye. Ransom her? Most assuredly. But poison? Murder? Nay. There is no point to it. But it would be easier were it the case, because the thought of one of my own doing the deed sits ill.”

Everyone went silent, and Gillian placed her hand on Kellen’s arm and rubbed it for a moment. At her softening, he thought to get her alone, to give her the gift in private, and perhaps earn a kiss or two. “Would you care to take a turn about the orchard?”

Sir Owen cleared his throat. “Do you forget we hunt this day?”

Gillian looked to Sir Owen, then back. “You’re going hunting?”

“Aye,” said Sir Tristan. “’Twill be great sport.”

Kellen shot a glare in his direction. “We go because we need the meat, and to train the men. ’Tis of necessity, not for the sport of it.”

Gillian’s brows drew together. “If you’re leaving anyway, why can’t you just drop me off at—”

“You, however, are to stay here.”

“So you get to go out, but I don’t? That is so unfair! You were targeted for poison too, you know.”

Kellen sighed. So much for any kisses coming his way. He shot Tristan a glare that promised retribution as he cast about for another subject. “No doubt you have much planning still to do for the wedding?”

When her eyes narrowed, he stood. Forget trying for charm, at this point he would go for appeasement. With fumbling hands, he pulled out the bracelet and set it in front of Gillian on the table. “A betrothal gift for you.”

It suddenly occurred to him he didn’t want her thinking it had been Catherine’s. “It did not belong to my first wife. I commissioned the blacksmith to create it especially for you. I chose the sapphires as they are the color of your eyes.”

The ladies leaned forward for a better look, but Gillian just stared at it, her face expressionless. Kellen could feel himself start to sweat again. “Do you not like it?”

She bit her lip then slowly looked up. “You have to marry me, right? Because you need more land, more money, and an heir. Would any of my… um… sisters… have been just as good?”

Kellen’s mouth parted. “Nay!” The last thing he wanted was Gillian believing such. He truly wanted none but her.

Wishing they were alone, Kellen spared a quick glance at their audience, but there was no hope for it. He could not leave Gillian believing such nonsense. “More land means more opportunity for my knights, my dependants, and someday, for our children. So, aye, the dowry you bring will be of much benefit to all. Those are the reasons I have to marry you.”

Gillian nodded and looked down at her hands as Tristan and Owen frantically motioned him to cease talking.

Kellen sank to the bench and took her hand. “But now let me tell you the reasons I want to marry you.” He gently squeezed her fingers. “Your sweetness, intelligence, and playfulness. The way I cannot help but smile when you are about. Your willingness to argue with me which tells me that, despite my size, you know I would never harm you, which I would not. Your kindness and humor.” He cleared his throat as it started to close. “The way you returned my daughter to me.”

She finally looked up, her gaze questioning.

He shook his head. “You are the reason I want to marry you. You alone.”

One of the ladies sighed and Gillian looked hopeful. “Do you mean that? Even if I came to you with nothing but the clothes on my back, with no dowry, would you still mean that?”

“Aye. I mean it with everything in me.”

Tears in her eyes, Gillian clutched his hand, then released him, picked up the bracelet, slipped it on her wrist, and admired it. Finally she smiled. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

He cleared his throat again. “But not half so beautiful as you.”

Another sigh from the ladies and a smile from Gillian.

Kellen, deciding it was time to leave, stood and bowed. “My lady.” He strode away, unable to stop his chest from swelling with pride.

The bracelet had been an excellent idea. And although he’d thoroughly embarrassed himself in front of his men and the ladies, he decided Gillian’s was the only opinion that mattered.

His men followed and Kellen stopped at the entry and looked back to see Gillian still watching him. He raised a hand and she nodded at him, smiled slightly, but still looked a bit worried.

When she looked at him like that he wanted to go back, take her in his arms, remove all her concerns, and slay all her dragons. He was glad he’d have the rest of his life to do just that.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Gillian held the stick over the pot with both hands while Marissa coated the wool string, hanging down the middle, with beeswax. “My husband will be one of the guests, of course.”

The tiny bit of breathlessness in Marissa’s voice had Gillian smiling as she jiggled the stick to shake off the excess drips into the warming pot, splattering the table in the process. “Missed him, have you?” Gillian wiggled her brows and was rewarded by Marissa’s blush. “If he shows up early, does that mean I get to sleep in Kellen’s bed?”

“Gillian! The things you say.” Marissa turned away to busy herself at another table the servants had placed beside the rosebushes. “Now pay attention. These candles are for your wedding procession and if you are not more careful, the beeswax will harden before you get the desired shape.”

As if she cared about Edith’s stupid candles. Gillian grimaced at the dripping string, the melting pot, and the small mess she’d made on the table. She had more important things to worry about. “So I was thinking we might plan another picnic soon, you know, right outside the village. What do you think?”

“I think you need to keep your mind on the wedding. After the candles are finished and bleaching in the sun, I would like you to help Vera and Yvonne with the altar cloth.” She gestured to where the two ladies sat on chairs on the lawn. “I know you will want to have a hand in the embroidery so you can remember it with fondness in the years to come. Then we must needs finish planning the feast and alert the musicians as to the…

Gillian felt a tug on her apron. “I want to go on a picnic.”

Gillian glanced down at Amelia’s cute little face and smiled. “Of course you do, darling. And you’re the first one I’ll take with me. I promise.”

As the little angel grinned, Gillian wanted to grab her up, give her a hug, and spirit her away. Along with her father, of course.

“Gillian, are you listening? ’Tis time to spoon more wax on. Keep your mind on task. The wedding will arrive before you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gillian dutifully spooned more wax on the string. “So about that picnic— ”

“You do not fool anyone as to your purpose, Gillian. There will be no picnic and no visit to the cemetery, of that I can assure you. What there will be is attention to seating arrangements and flowers. You will turn your attention there after the embroidery.”

Yep, that’s what she wanted to think about. Kellen seated next to Edith while Gillian languished in the dungeon. “As if I give two hoots about seating arrangements.”

Marissa clapped her hands. “Enough! You will cease being difficult and will act with grace and decorum.”

Gillian carefully set the stick along the top of the pot, untied her apron and threw it on the ground. She shot Marissa a glare. “You think I’m being difficult? I haven’t even begun yet.” She turned and walked away.

“Where are you going?” More clapping. “Gillian!”

Gillian headed for the front gate, marched under the long stone arch and, when she finally reached the exit, completely out of breath, held her head high and attempted to pass by the two guards stationed there.

They scrambled to block her path. “You will halt, Lady Corbett.”

Gillian tried to get around them, dodging their flailing arms this way and that, but it was no use. She finally took a step back and sighed. She looked at the taller of the two guards and her eyes narrowed at seeing his overlarge nose. “Hey, I remember you.” She looked at his brown-eyed companion. “And you, too. You guys tried to stop me from going up to the battlements when I first arrived.”

The brown-eyed man’s brow creased. “Aye, my lady,” he said apologetically.

Big Nose snorted. “Aye, you were difficult then and look to be difficult now; always going where you should not.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Aye, my lady,” said Brown Eyes.

“That’s right. I am your lady. Basically that makes me your boss, so stand aside.”

The big nose lifted into the air. “Never.”

“I’m sorry, my lady. We have our orders.”

“Who gave you these orders?”

Big Nose threw back his shoulders. “Lord Marshall, himself.”

Gillian crossed her arms. “Lord Marshall has gone hunting. With him away, who do you suppose is in charge?”

They looked at each other then back at her. “Lady Marissa?” asked Big Nose.

“No, not Lady Marissa. I am the lady of the castle.”

“Er… not yet,” said Brown Eyes apologetically.

She sighed. “Look. I just want to go to the village. What would be the harm in that?”

“Only that our lives would be forfeit if we disobey our lord.”

Gillian tried to get past them again and ended up in an undignified wrestling match before she was thrown back, barely retaining her balance. They both tried unsuccessfully to hide smirks and laughter.

Gillian felt heat rising in her cheeks, looked down, and brushed at her skirt. “Fine.” She looked back up and narrowed her eyes. “But you know what? Maybe there’s a secret exit you don’t know about.”

They looked at each other then back at her. Brown Eyes looked worried again.

“That’s right. I will find a way out; you just see if I don’t. And when Lord Kellen comes back and I’m out in the village, I’ll tell him you guys let me through.”

“My lady, I beg of you,” Brown Eyes held out a hand. “Please do not do this thing.”

Who was smirking now? There might even be a hidden passageway but, if so, she had no idea where it was. At least they looked worried. It would have to do.

Footsteps crunched on the path behind her, and Gillian glanced over her shoulder to see Marissa approaching. She turned her back and rolled her eyes but managed to hold in a scream.

“Gillian, come here.”

Gillian held up her hands to the guards in a pleading gesture. “Please let me through and I won’t tell Lord Marshall,” she whispered.

Big Nose and Brown Eyes drew their swords and it took Gillian a moment to realize they weren’t threatening her as they turned as one to confront three riders traveling up the path on the other side of the gate.

Marissa arrived in time to watch as wedding presents were delivered. Wedding presents for Kellen and Edith. She smiled. “Ah, yes. We’ve already received cattle and other goods. Is that not wonderful?” When Gillian didn’t react, Marissa nudged her shoulder with her own. “So generous. Do you not agree?”

Tense and overwhelmed, Gillian’s throat tightened in sudden fear, and she couldn’t respond. She couldn’t even look at the wedding gifts. They made it seem so real, so scary. The wedding would be here before she knew it. Lord Corbett would be here before she knew it! What would happen to her then? Kellen said he’d want her, only her, but when the truth came out, what would happen?

“Gillian, is it not generous? Are you not pleased?”

Gillian shook her head and Marissa sighed. “’Tis very generous. We must make sure we are ready when the guests arrive. That the menus are planned and entertainments provided. Come, Gillian, all must be in order.”

Gillian wanted to scream but restrained herself. She really, really, needed to go and find the place where she was attacked. That had to be the place she could travel back to her own time. It had to be. She sucked in a shuddering breath and followed Marissa. “What I desire is to forget it; to forget the whole thing. I’m going to take Kellen and Amelia and elope.”

Marissa laughed.

But Gillian was dead serious. The three of them were out of there at the very first opportunity. She didn’t have a choice.

* * *

“Father Elliot, can you remain?” With dinner cleared away and everyone gathering in the great hall, Marissa played the part of the good hostess, talking to guests, instructing servants to set out games for the men, and readying a sewing area for the women. It was not as if Gillian stepped forward to do the task. “The men are to play games and would greatly enjoy thy company. Please stay.”

“Gladly, my lady.” His fingers tapped his overlarge belly, and he smiled as he looked about the hall. “I thank you for the invitation.”

Marissa found a seat among her ladies, enjoying the antics and yells of the men as they started playing games of chance and skill. “Come ladies, what plans have we tomorrow to prepare for the wedding? Think you we should… ”

Marissa realized she was talking to herself. Vera and Yvonne watched Kellen watch Gillian flirt with Sir Royce. Kellen’s face started to flush with anger. Foolish girl.

Marissa hated to admit it, because she enjoyed Sir Royce’s company so much, but she should not have insisted their neighbor gain entrance when he came calling this eve. Kellen had turned all Sir Royce’s men away, but let Sir Royce in to please Marissa. She wished now she’d not interfered.

Gillian curled a piece of blonde hair around one finger as she smiled up at Sir Royce. “The thing is, I lost my bracelet and… ”

Gillian was yammering away about the bracelet again?

Kellen moved forward to join the pair. “As I told you, I have instructed the villagers to search, but none have found it as yet.”

A sharp pang of jealousy bit Marissa and she tugged too tightly on the embroidery string, puckering the material. If her husband felt half so possessive of her as Kellen did of Gillian, she’d be a happy woman.

When Kellen continued to glare at Royce, the man finally turned away to flirt with Vera and Yvonne. Moments later, when Kellen’s attention was distracted by Father Elliot, Royce turned his attention back to Gillian. ’Twas like watching a live game of chess, acted by very poor players.

Gillian did not help matters by laughing and flirting with the man. Kellen’s attention was soon back upon her; and he was so obviously incensed, Marissa wanted to feel sorry for him. Instead, all she could do was wonder how Gillian did it? How did she make a man such as Kellen feel so possessive?

Yes, the girl was pretty, but she did so many things wrong. She was not proficient at running a household, her sewing was barely passable, she spoke sharply, and could be demanding. She never left Kellen in any doubt about what her needs were, and yet he seemed willing to do anything to keep her happy.

It no doubt helped that she was also kind, caring, and merry. But still, the girl seemed to instinctively know how to get what she wanted from the man in her life. And Kellen seemed so different around her, no morose or dour moods. It gave Marissa hope and made her wonder if perhaps she might change, as well.

Mayhap she could smile and simper her way into her husband’s heart? Mayhap she could even make him forget his perfect first wife and fall in love with her instead?

Marissa dropped the sewing to her lap and sighed. She was tired of suppressing her emotions, tired of trying to convince herself love wasn’t necessary, and tired of being last in her husband’s affections.

Royce moved forward and bowed to Marissa. “My Lady, you look stunning this eve, but then you always do.” Marissa couldn’t help but smile. It was gratifying and it soothed her ego that he made the effort to speak with her.

“I thank you, Sir Royce, I—”

“Sir Royce!” Gillian called out, then glanced flirtatiously at Kellen once more. Marissa could almost see the girl thinking to cause mischief as she purposefully gave Royce a big smile. Royce certainly seemed happy enough with the attention as he hurried once more in her direction.

Marissa sighed again. Men were such simple creatures. Could Royce not see Gillian was using him to make Kellen jealous? Could Kellen not see? Marissa wondered if she should interfere but decided against it, curious to see what Kellen would do.

Gillian played with fire, whether she realized it or not. She smiled at Kellen’s frowns, seeming pleased, and then flirted with Royce all the more. “Sir Royce, I feel so safe with you. If you were to take me for a ride tomorrow, I know I’d feel protected. I’ve been completely cooped up here with nowhere to go.”

Royce’s chest expanded and he smiled, obviously flattered by the attention. Marissa rolled her eyes. Flattered? Truly? And Kellen was jealous? Truly? Could not they both see she was using them to achieve her own ends? Verily, men were simpletons!

“If you could take me to the cemetery, I know a big strong man such as yourself wouldn’t fear anything.” Gillian reached up and placed a hand on Royce’s arm; and Kellen growled, surged forward, grabbed Gillian’s wrist, and dragged her away.

Marissa half rose from her chair, thinking to intervene, but the foolish girl didn’t even look upset. If anything, she looked triumphant!

Marissa sank down again. It would serve her right if Kellen took her off to beat her for her unseemly behavior.

Everyone in the room quieted as they listened to Kellen yelling at Gillian and then… laughter? Kellen and Gillian were laughing?

Marissa’s mouth parted. How? How did that girl do it? How did she wrap Kellen around her finger the way she did?

Perhaps Marissa should be asking herself how she could do the same with her own husband? She wondered what he would do if he caught her flirting with Sir Royce. Would he drag her off to laugh with her?

Perhaps Marissa should be more demanding and… and… flirtatious with her husband? Her heart started to beat hard in her chest at the thought.

“My lady? Are you well?” asked Sir Royce.

“I am well,” she answered, her voice breathless.

Perhaps instead of trying so hard to teach Gillian lessons she had no desire to learn, Marissa should pay more attention to the girl and learn from her.

Learn to flirt with her own husband. Learn to seduce her own husband. The thought made Marissa feel faint. She would not dare to talk to her husband the way Gillian spoke to Kellen. Would she? Could she act like Gillian?

She remembered catching Gillian kissing Kellen in the solar like a common maid. And what was her reward for such base behavior? Only that Kellen looked upon her as if the moon and sun rose from her as he lavished gifts on her.

“Lady Marissa? Are you well?” asked Lady Yvonne.

Marissa waved a hand. “I am fine.” She smiled. She was more than fine. She stared at the exit where Kellen had dragged Gillian and considered how she would feel if her own husband did the same to her. Perhaps she would wear a look of triumph on her face as well.

She sucked in a ragged breath, caught the look Vera and Yvonne shared, forced herself to smile at everyone, and picked up her sewing as if nothing was wrong. As if nothing had changed.

But it had.

Lady Marissa Hardbrook was going to start paying attention and figure out how to seduce her husband. As a man, and therefore a simple creature, he did not stand a chance.

* * *

Gripping Gillian’s wrist, Kellen pulled her out of the great hall and around the corner from the kitchens. He needed privacy to discuss the fact that he was Gillian’s betrothed, and she needed reminding.

When he reached the relative privacy of the alcove, he whirled her about, only to catch her smiling at him. His brows pulled together and he frowned. “You flirt with another man in my presence and think it amusing?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. You’re easy to tweak and I got exactly the reaction I’d hoped for.”

He gaped for a moment, at a loss for words, then finally inhaled. “You made me feel this,” he hit his chest for emphasis, “apurpose?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head, trying to clear his wits. “So you do not have feelings for Sir Royce?”

Gillian laughed. “Hardly. He’s like a little boy next to you. I was only trying to make you jealous.” She reached up to pet his arm and, when his muscles bunched involuntarily, she practically purred. “Mmm. I have to say, it was pretty easy to do.”

He could not think clearly with her touching him, muddling his thoughts, but was so relieved she touched him, that she did not want Sir Royce, he could not help laughing. He intentionally tightened his arm, and his mood lightened as she tested his strength with her fingers, a pleased expression upon her face. “To be more precise,” he said, “Royce is like a little girl next to me.”

She laughed and slapped his arm. “Don’t be mean,” she said, but continued to giggle. Triumphant, he laughed again, finally able to relax completely, the rage and confusion gone.

“I am surprised you would admit to a desire to make me jealous.”

Gillian tilted her head. “Why wouldn’t I? It worked, didn’t it?”

His brows drew together. “Aye. It worked all too well. I wonder that you would do this thing? To what purpose? Mayhap to capture my attention?” Strangely enough he could not help feeling flattered; no one had ever cared to try and make him jealous before.

She chuckled. “You like that, huh? Well, don’t get too excited. It turns out you’re a pushover and an easy target.”

“Well, then? Why would you do such a thing?”

“I’m glad you asked. I am,” she poked him in the chest, “going out to that cemetery. If you don’t take me, I’ll keep trying until I find a way there; even if I have to find someone else to help me.”

Kellen looked down at her stubborn expression and raised chin. He had a difficult time believing a lost bracelet meant so much. “What of the bracelet I gave to you? Do you not care for it?”

She bent her head and touched the metal, running her fingers over the stones. “I like this one too; if I ever lose it, I’ll certainly go looking for it.”

He’d noted before she was an acquisitive little thing, carrying her pack about at the oddest moments. Mayhap she would get it into her head to acquire him and be as unbending and possessive? He would not mind if she did.

Kellen lifted his head, listened, and realized the hall was silent, everyone no doubt trying to hear their conversation. He exhaled a pent-up breath, grabbed Gillian’s wrist again, and dragged her away.

“Now where are you taking me?”

“Wait and see.” Accompanied by Gillian’s occasional giggle, he dragged her across the bailey, started up the stairs, and headed for the top of the wall. He easily held her upright when she tripped and, when she giggled again, he had a difficult time biting back his own smile. No doubt he was a fool for Gillian, but there was no need to bare the fact to the guards manning their posts.

When they reached the top, he gestured to his men and they melted into the darkness. Gillian moved forward to lean into the short, stone wall and lifted her face to the slight summer breeze. She glanced at the torchlight, then out over the ramparts, and into the darkness. “It’s so romantic up here at night.”

“Think you?”

She looked over her shoulder and grinned at him. “You’re not planning to throw me off, are you?”

“’Tis tempting, to be sure.” Placing hands on the stones on either side of her, he trapped her within his arms, bending his head to hers so he could press his cheek against her own. “It would be no more than you deserve for upsetting me so.”

“Mmm.” Gillian moved her face against his, and he couldn’t help a tremor of pleasure. He’d thought to take her to task again, either for her stubbornness or for succeeding in driving him mad; but when she leaned back into him, his breath caught and, instead, he wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her cheek.

“We are to be married soon,” his voice deepened at the thought. “I can hardly wait for our wedding night.”

Gillian shivered and he smiled, well pleased with her response.

After a few moments, Gillian stirred in his arms. “Kellen, about that picnic—”

“Nay. Mayhap later in the summer.”

“Fine. No picnic. Just take me out there for a short while and let me look around.”

“Nay.”

After a long pause, Gillian shrugged. “Maybe you’re worried you can’t protect me. That you aren’t strong enough, after all, to fight off any threats.”

Kellen tensed and thought to pull away, but she held fast to his arms wrapped around her waist and he settled. He was not an idiot. He could see she tried to manage him again. He could also see she would not give up the idea. She was relentless.

He hoped it bade well for their future. If she were to fall in love with him, would she be as unmoving in her feelings? He could only hope. He inhaled her intoxicating scent, like the sun after a storm, and gave in. “All right.”

Gillian squealed and turned in his arms. “Really?”

Kellen straightened, stepped back, crossed his arms, and sighed long and loud so she would know he was put upon. “I will take you. I will have the men search the trees, the rocks, any hiding places beforehand. You may look about the place to your heart’s content, but that is all. No picnic, and there is to be a price.”

“Tomorrow? You promise?”

“Aye. For a price.”

“What price?”

“A kiss.”

Gillian laughed and he tensed, which only seemed to make her giggle all the more. “That’s not a price. I’ve been wanting to kiss you again anyway. But I accept your terms.” She pushed at his stiff arms until he opened them, pressed against him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and tugged.

After a moment he allowed his head to drop, and she pressed her mouth to his. He could not help the moan that escaped when her lips moved against his own in the lightest of kisses.

His arms encircled her, tightened, and pulled her closer, higher, his mouth tasting hers, one hand rising to slip into her hair, to hold her close, as he gave himself up to the moment, to the feel of her lips against his own.

Minutes later, heart pounding in his chest, he broke away from the kiss and was glad to note he was not the only one breathing hard.

“More,” she whispered and, gratified, he bent his head and kissed her again, holding her to him, and loving the way she clung. He finally ended the kiss with one last gentle brush of his lips across hers.

Trembling, she pressed her face into his chest as she tried to catch her breath and he laughed softly. “Gillian,” he whispered as he held her tight. “What am I to do with you?”

“Keep me forever?”

He chuckled, bent and kissed her soft neck, and was gratified when she shivered. “I will have to, will I not? For I have not the strength to let you go.”

“Then don’t. Don’t ever let me go. I feel safe and protected in your arms, weak against your strength.”

He could not help it. He leaned back and kissed her once more; one quick kiss to her soft lips, then taking a deep breath, he forced himself to release her, to step back while he still could.

She clung and he could not help but feel pleased by her reluctance to let him go. She might be bossy, opinionated, and difficult; and she did not stay where she was told; but by the saints, she pleased him.

“Come.” He took her soft hand in his rough one and descended the stairs. He did not regret letting her goad him into going to the cemetery on the morrow. It was becoming over important to her.

He just needed to let her visit the place, get it over with, then allow her to focus all her obsessions onto him. A fine plan, if ever there was one.

Chapter Twenty-eight

“Kellen, I’m taking her.”

“Nay, Gillian, you are not. You already have your pack and there is no place for the child.”

Gillian raised her chin and shifted Amelia on her hip. “Then we can walk. I’ll carry her.”

Kellen threw his arms up in the air, turned away, and then back again. Muttering under his breath, he took Amelia, set her on the ground, lifted Gillian onto his horse, handed Amelia up, then mounted.

He sat unmoving for a moment. “Must you take your pack?” he asked with exaggerated patience.

She risked a glance at his gorgeous face, at his lips, compressed in a tight line, and tried to shift so the pack on her back wasn’t against his chest. “Yes, I must,” she said in a small voice.

He sighed, giving up any pretense of patience. “I will yield. But only as I want this finished. I do not wish to give you an excuse to insist we go once more. I want your word that after this day you will not mention the blasted place again. Not once until I am an old man and ’tis time to place my weary, browbeaten bones into the ground. Only then may you remember the location.”

Gillian laughed at his vehemence. “You have my word.” When they finally moved forward, she couldn’t help glancing back, missing the place already. To the best of her ability, she’d said her goodbyes to Marissa and her ladies, to Sir Owen and Sir Tristan, to Beatrice, Cook and the others. She hoped they’d remember her fondly and felt bad for the confusion they were sure to feel when the three of them didn’t return.

She tried to ignore the heavy weight of guilt squeezing her chest. She couldn’t imagine this place without Kellen. But Sir Owen and Sir Tristan would keep things running smoothly until something could be figured out. She loved Kellen and, selfish or not, was taking him with her.

Anyway, who was to say it had to be forever? She didn’t know how the whole time travel thing worked. They might be able to come back again. Right? After his ring was on her finger and Edith could no longer lay claim to him.

Kellen took them outside the gates and looked around. “My men have searched the area.”

“No!” She tightened her arms around Amelia. “I just want it to be the three of us.”

Another exhalation, then he spoke again. “My men are further afield, ’tis simply a safeguard. They have been told to keep their distance unless needed. We will be alone.”

“Oh. Okay.” She hesitated. “Thanks.”

They rode slowly through the village, and Gillian tried to soak it all in. She waved at two young women who waved back energetically, watched a group of children tease a kitten with pieces of long grass, and noticed the respectful way the men greeted Kellen as he rode past. She was well aware this could be the last time they saw this place and these people who depended so much on him.

Guilt pinched her conscience. She wished she could let him know this might be his last chance to say goodbye to everyone but, of course, she couldn’t.

For some reason, it seemed to take forever; but they finally arrived at the cemetery, and Gillian’s heart pounded with fear and excitement. She wondered what Kellen would think of the future and couldn’t wait to show him everything, couldn’t wait to see his amazement.

After he helped them off the horse and they stood on solid ground, Gillian held hands with Kellen and his daughter, took one last look at the castle, and jerked her head toward it. “Look how beautiful it is.” She wanted him to remember it as it was, not the crumbling ruin he’d soon see in the future.

Kellen, not particularly interested in the view, searched the ground.

“Kellen, look at the castle.”

He finally glanced up, smiled, and his chest lifted with pride. “Aye. ’Tis impressive, is it not?”

“Yes. Very much so.” And so was he. Large and strong, with chiseled features, his dark hair lifting in the wind, a lord surveying all he owned, in his element. She hoped he wasn’t too angry with her for stealing all this from him; for taking him from his time, his people, and from Edith. Surely she could make him understand?

She studied the two of them, Kellen back to kicking the dirt, and Amelia squatting down to pick tiny yellow flowers with chubby fingers. Why did Gillian feel she was about to kidnap them both?

She remembered how confused she’d been and knew they’d feel the same. But she’d be there to guide them through it. Maybe they could even come back again sometime. She did like it here. She just had no desire to find herself in the dungeon awaiting execution when her deception was discovered.

Anyway, the future had a lot to offer them. She was sure both Kellen and Amelia would thrive there. She’d love them so much they wouldn’t have regrets.

Tugging them both forward, the hair rising on the nape of her neck, she took a deep breath, and walked onto the grounds.

Nothing happened.

She didn’t know what else to do; so she kept walking, moving forward, trying to feel something. Kellen tried to release her hand as he searched the ground, but she held tight.

He started kicking at tufts of dirt and grumbled again. “’Tis doubtful we will find the bracelet as the villagers went over every tuft of grass and clod of dirt. But for your sake, I will search.”

Gillian could feel tremors start to run up her arms, causing her to shake a bit. She glanced back to see the castle still there. It wasn’t working. She tried to remember the day she’d arrived.

She’d shoved the ring on her finger and, the next thing she knew, the castle was before her. She reluctantly released Amelia and Kellen and tried to tug the ring off so she could put it back on, but it held fast. Regardless, she’d worn it that day and wore it now; so if the ring had anything to do with it, it should be okay.

She’d also been running. Grasping their hands once more, she dragged Kellen and Amelia to the far side of the cemetery. “Okay, I’m going to try and recreate where I went that first day.” She tried running with them but it was slow going with Amelia. The little girl laughed, thinking they were playing a game.

“What are you doing?” asked Kellen. She could see he thought her crazy but thankfully, went along with it, his large strides easily keeping up with the slow pace.

When they finally exited the cemetery on the other side, nothing happened. The castle was still there, sturdy and strong, the village in front of it. When they finally stopped, Kellen was staring at her, his brows raised.

“What? I’m simply trying to remember what happened the day I arrived.”

“You were running?”

“Yes, I was being chased.”

His eyes narrowed. “Who chased you?”

She could see he was getting angry and tried to let go of his hand, but he held tight. “Just some young men.”

“No doubt they stole your bracelet after you dropped it. Describe the knaves and I assure you they will be caught and punished.”

Gillian barely heard him. The boys chasing her hadn’t come with her. Did that mean she might have to go alone? That she might not be able to take Kellen and Amelia with her?

“Gillian? You will answer my questions.”

She tugged her hand free. “I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now I need you to stand right here.” Reluctantly, she had them stand at the edge of the cemetery. “Stay here. I need to try something.”

Her heart pounded as she tried not to cry. She knelt and gave Amelia a kiss on her soft cheek and hugged her. “You are such a good girl.” A wisp of Amelia’s blonde hair lifted in the breeze, and Gillian’s chest ached when the little girl smiled and offered her a tiny yellow flower. Gillian took it, sniffed the flower, and tucked it in her hair by her ear, making Amelia smile. “Thank you, sweetie.” She so badly wanted to be Amelia’s mother.

Gillian straightened and turned to Kellen. She took his big, warm hands in hers and looked up at him. “Kellen… ” She found she didn’t know what to say. She wanted to tell him she loved him. That the thought of living without him made her heart ache in her chest and that she needed him.

But she knew it wouldn’t be fair to tell him and then leave, so instead she let go of his hands and wrapped her arms around his neck. At his look of surprise, she smiled, tugged him closer, and he willingly bent his head and kissed her, his arms closing around her.

She kissed him back, her lips clinging, relishing the feel of him, yet unable to help the tears springing to her eyes at the thought that this might be the last time she saw him, touched him, kissed him.

He broke off the kiss, lifted his hand, and gently wiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb. “Gillian?”

“Stay here.” Wiping her eyes, she pulled out of his arms, turned, and walked away; shaky, nervous, and so sad she felt her heart was breaking. She walked to the other end, tightened her pack, then started to run toward them, fast like the day the boys chased her.

Kellen’s brows were drawn together and Amelia grinned and jumped up and down as she held tight to her father’s hand. Gillian’s heart ached in her chest as ran, as she waited for them to disappear. She finally ran out of room and overshot the cemetery boundaries.

It hadn’t worked. She could feel the blood drain out of her face; and breathing hard, feeling strangely lightheaded, and relieved, she glanced wildly about.

The castle, the village, Kellen, Amelia, nothing had changed. Why hadn’t it worked? Suddenly dizzy, Gillian placed her hands on her knees and bent over, trying to catch her breath.

It could be anything. Was it because she was wearing medieval clothes? The time of year? The day? The month? The temperature? The season? The weather? The spot she’d exited? The boys who had been chasing her? She really couldn’t rule anything out. There were too many variables. Even if Kellen would allow it, she could do this all day long and still be unsuccessful. Whatever the case, she was stuck.

“Gillian?”

While her breathing evened out, she walked back toward Kellen, whose incredulous gaze never wavered from hers.

She threw herself at him and burst into tears, so glad to be with him still, yet so scared to be with him still.

He held her tight. “Gillian, have you lost your wits, then?” He gently rubbed her back. “Never have I seen lost articles searched for in such an unlikely manner.”

She cried harder.

“I am trying my best to understand why the loss of some trinket matters so much to you. You must tell me that I might make it right. What is the matter?”

Gillian gripped his tunic and wanted to blurt out that she wasn’t Edith, that’s what was the matter!

He tried to pull away, but she clung. “Listen to me. I will make you a new bracelet. A better one. There is no need to upset thyself this way. I did this to please you. If you but describe its likeness, I will have an exact copy made. Better yet, you could use your skill to sketch a likeness and I will send it to London to the best of artisans. ’Twill be better than the original and surely of more value.”

He continued to rub her back. “Come, Gillian. Cease. I do not care for your tears.”

She pressed her cheek to his tunic, sucked in a shuddering breath, and made an effort to stop crying. She didn’t know what to do. She’s been so sure this would work that she hadn’t planned any further. So now what? Should she run away? Wait and see what Kellen did to imposters? Explain everything to him and hope he chose her? If he threw her out, what would she do to survive? She didn’t know. The tears started up again, and she sobbed.

Kellen growled, grabbed her by the waist, and set her on his horse. His face pulled into tight lines; he grabbed Amelia and handed her up then mounted behind them. “I brought you here to make you content. To give you what you desired. Not to upset you.”

Maybe she should just tell him and get it over with. Let the chips fall where they may. What was she waiting for? Edith to witness the spectacle? She took a deep breath and looked forward, over the horse’s ears. “Kellen… I… I don’t belong here.”

“This is your home now.” His voice hardened.

“I… I… came from the future.”

“You came from the south. We are not so backward here as you would make us out to be.”

She shook her head. “No. No, you don’t understand. I’m from another time.”

“Gillian, I will not take you to task if you desire to do things differently here. As lady of the castle, ’tis your right to make changes. If your preference is the way of your father’s keep, I’ll not interfere.”

“I’m not Edith.” Fear tightened her throat as she strangled the words out, making it hard to breathe, but she’d said it. She’d finally said it.

“I will always call you Gillian. ’Tis my preference, as well.”

Her shoulders slumped as she ran out of courage and his arms tightened, drawing her back against him. She had to face facts. She might never go home. She might live here forever or die here quite soon.

Fine tremors shook her stomach and, when Amelia started to cry, Gillian realized she was scaring the little girl. She hugged her tight and kissed the top of her head. “It’s okay, sweetie.” She sniffed. “It’s going to be okay.”

“By the saints! Two crying females are more than I can bear! I will fix this if you will only give me a task! I will take you directly to my treasury and let you have whatever you like; whatever catches your eye. I promise you I have treasures worth much more than your wretched bracelet, but you must be silent!”

Gillian nodded, sucked in a shuddering breath, and tried to control herself. Anyway, she needed to be clearheaded so she could decide what to do next. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the slightest clue.

* * *

The next morning, one hand hidden behind his back, Kellen waited behind some shrubbery as Gillian approached. He was determined to court his lady. If he did it aright, perhaps Gillian would settle and cease pining for her old life. Mayhap if he did it correctly, she would even cede her heart and reward him with a kiss or two.

When she rounded the corner, his heart beat harder as he quickly moved forward to walk with her. “My lady?”

Gillian started and stared up at him, her eyes blank as if lost in thought, her face pensive, her usual vitality missing. “Oh. Hello.”

“Good morrow. Where are you off to, then?”

“What?”

“Where go you?”

As if looking for an answer, Gillian glanced around the bailey at knights, servants washing laundry, and at the wagon rumbling through the gate. She seemed a bit distracted, which to Kellen’s mind, was not necessarily a bad thing. Taking her arm, he pulled her to a stop at the other end of the shrubbery, blocking her view of the goings-on around them.

“I have something for you,” he said. “A gift.” Taking his hand from behind his back, Kellen dangled a string necklace on two fingers, the pearls and gold beads gleaming in the sunlight.

Gillian’s eyebrows rose and her mouth parted. “Oh, wow.” She placed a hand to her heart. “It’s gorgeous.”

Kellen smiled at her reaction. She had not been interested in recreating her bracelet or in choosing something from his treasury, but he hoped the shiny piece would please her and in some way make up for the missing trinket. Perhaps it would even cause her to forget the cursed piece.

“I thought you might wear it on our wedding day.” Kellen spread the necklace apart with both hands and lifted it toward her head. “May I?”

Gillian bent slightly and Kellen slipped it over her hair and smiled when she arranged it against her bosom where it looked very lovely indeed. She glanced up and smiled weakly. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“Ah… ” Kellen rubbed the back of his neck. “I have something more for you.” He glanced around, glared at one of his men who happened to walk too close until he hurried away, and then reached inside his tunic and pulled out a piece of parchment. “I’ve written a poem for you.”

Gillian tilted her head to the side. “A poem? Really?”

Kellen cleared his throat. The troubadour had declared his efforts feeble. Mayhap the man had even dared to laugh until Kellen had half-strangled the pansy-faced she-goat. But afterward he’d been in the proper frame of mind and tried to help Kellen finish the missive. Kellen had not allowed it; however, at that point he’d realized he’d wanted it to be from himself and no other.

Another quick glance assured him they were alone, and he took a breath and began to read. “My lady’s smiles do suffer my heart to wake. Take pity on the pain, for ’tis drunk on thy beauty and laughs for the future; for when I die, I will know I have lived well. For passion is a pleasing thing and bonds as strong as horse or hound or blade.”

Kellen swallowed, held his breath, and looked to see if Gillian understood what he was trying to say.

Laughter erupted from directly behind the shrub. Kellen recognized the high-pitched squeals of his foster sons as, still shrieking, Peter, Ulrick, and Francis ran along the length of the greenery and out the other side.

Face heating, Kellen was about to go and thump the spying miscreants when Gillian grasped his arm, and he allowed her to pull him in the other direction. He should have let the troubadour help him after all.

Gillian stopped and faced him. “Did you write it yourself?” she asked softly.

Kellen swallowed. Glanced at the retreating figures of the boys, who had best run faster if they wanted to escape unscathed, then reluctantly turned his attention but did not lift his gaze.

“Did you care for it?”

“Yes. Very much.”

Kellen let out a breath and nodded. “Aye. I did. I wrote it myself, with no aid.”

Gillian held out a hand. “May I?”

Kellen gave over the small bit of parchment and Gillian took it, looked at it for a moment, then gazed up at him. She pressed it to her heart. “Thank you. I’ll treasure it always.”

He sucked in a breath, nodded, willed the heat to leave his face, and finally met her gaze. She still did not seem herself, her usual liveliness absent. “Is aught amiss, my lady?”

Gillian shrugged then smiled wistfully. “Will you make it better if it is?”

“Aye. Think you I cannot carry your burdens?”

Her blue eyes looked troubled, but finally she nodded. “You probably could.”

He longed to erase the look. “Then let me. What were you thinking of? Earlier, when I stopped you.”

She tucked the poem inside the bodice of her gown and held out her hand. “Come with me.”

After a lingering glance at her bosom and a fleeting press of envy for his poem, he grasped her small, soft hand and walked with her toward the gardens.

“I never told you about… well… about the couple who raised me.” Gillian took a breath. “Their names were Alan and Christina, and they were wonderful people; I loved them so much. They had a son named Nicholas and he was… like a brother to me.”

Kellen squeezed her fingers, willing her to continue.

“They all died in an accident and, well, I wanted to die, too. I felt very alone. I’ve been thinking about them today and wondering what they’d want for me.”

Kellen squeezed her fingers again. “’Tis hard to lose loved ones.” He led Gillian toward a bench and, after a quick glance around, sat and pulled her onto his lap, feeling pleased when she did not protest.

Kellen opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then tried again. “I did not truly know Catherine. She went about her life, as did I. When she died, I felt cheated and angry; my chance at an heir gone with her. While I did not love her, I wanted to. I tried to be a good husband and was happy about the coming babe.” He lifted a hand and tucked a length of blonde hair behind her ear so he could better see her profile.

“Life can be difficult at times, Gillian, but you will never be alone again; I swear it. You have me now. It sounds as if your foster family treated you with love. I believe they would want you happy. Can you be happy with me?”

Gillian turned and placed her arms around his neck, pressed her face against his skin, and hugged him.

Kellen, pleased by her reaction, wrapped his arms around her, held her tight, and realized he was the one in danger of falling in love. He only hoped it was requited.

After Catherine, he’d not thought to trust a woman again; but Gillian easily breached his defenses with warmth, sincerity, and candor. Catherine had been cold, unscrupulous, and deceitful.

He admitted to himself that Gillian had captured his heart completely.

He felt hope again, anticipation, and desire. His arms tightened further, but she did not protest, relaxing against him, her arms about his neck, her breath warm against him.

“Can I ask you something?”

Kellen relished the feel of her in his arms. “Aye. Anything.”

“What are you planning to do with the dowry my father paid you?”

“It will go to help our people. I also want to improve our position here on the border. The more men we have, the better trained and outfitted they are, the better our situation and strength.”

“Oh.”

“Do not worry on that. I will always keep you safe.” Kellen considered what more he might do to further his suit and remembered her curiosity about his marriage proposal. She had wondered at the romance of it.

For her, he could be romantic. He could propose and it would be everything she might wish for. He would capture her heart as she had his. She could depend upon it.

* * *

Hours later, Gillian lay in bed, wondering once more what she was going to do. The Corbett’s impending arrival and the imminent threat of exposure had left her exhausted, feeling like a sword was hanging over her head. Maybe she deserved it for blatantly stealing Kellen’s affections from Edith, but she couldn’t dredge up even a smidgen of regret. Kellen was hers now and Edith could get lost.

Gillian turned over, unable to get comfortable. She was going to have to tell Kellen everything before the Corbett family arrived. Either that or run away.

She snorted. She could leave a note, don’t look for me, it might be plague; because, yeah, for sure she’d be able to survive in medieval England on her own.

Anyway, even if it were an option, she wasn’t sure she could get herself to leave Kellen at this point. She loved him. Really, really loved him. And she was starting to suspect that he just might love her back.

Earlier, she’d practically melted into a puddle at his feet when he’d asked if she could be happy with him. If she just told him everything, threw herself on his mercy, surely he’d choose her and forget about the fortune Edith brought?

Gillian turned over again. “Marissa, are you awake?”

Marissa sighed. “Must you move about? Are you not tired?”

“When you got married, did you bring a big dowry to your husband?”

“Of course.”

Gillian hesitated. “Kellen wrote me a poem today. It was so incredibly sweet. He was so sweet. Do you think he’d take me without a dowry?”

Marissa jerked the covers up. “The land and money are for the good of his people. Your people now. Never underestimate what you bring to this marriage. Lord Marshall has many to care for.”

“But my sister already brought him a dowry. Why does he need another one?”

“It will make his position even stronger. It will help more of his knights secure a place. It means more property and crops to feed his people. It will earn gratitude and respect for you, as well. You must cease trying to turn everything into a romantic gesture.”

“Right. Of course you’re right.” Gillian sighed. “But you should have seen his face today when he read me that poem. He was so earnest and wonderful and… and… just so cute.” She knew she was gushing but couldn’t seem to help herself. “Is your husband romantic?”

Marissa turned onto her side, her back to Gillian. “He has no flowery words but is dependable and offers loyalty and protection.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Go to sleep, Gillian,” Marissa said wearily.

Gillian turned over. She wished she could sleep and forget about her troubles, if only for a little while. She knew she’d soon have to tell Kellen everything and throw herself on his mercy. She probably ought to do it tomorrow.

She remembered the way he’d looked at her earlier, his expression tender and possessive. Would that change? She had to admit, despite the poem and the way he’d held her so close, she was concerned. Her ex-fiancé had been romantic, too, but in the end he’d only wanted her for what she could give him. Would Kellen be any different?

As worried as she was about being put in the dungeon or hanged, she was actually more troubled about her heart. When her fiancé had revealed his true colors, it had definitely hurt, but she’d gotten over it. If it turned out Kellen only wanted her for the money she was supposedly bringing, if his expression changed from tender to contemptuous, she just wasn’t sure she’d recover from the pain.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Marissa would not lose her temper. She would not allow Gillian to affect her mood. Lord Corbett was expected soon and perhaps his family as well, so they needed to finish the final touches for the wedding. But it was not easy to concentrate with Gillian pacing about the solar.

“Gillian,” Marissa forced a genial tone. “Will you please settle? We need to finish stitching these gifts for your mother and sisters.”

Gillian walked to the window, yet again, and looked out. “I can’t. I need to talk to Kellen.”

Marissa forced her jaw to relax. She would be patient. She would not let Gillian drive her to madness. “Later. At the moment, you need to work. Perhaps you can help Beatrice sort her… feathers.” Marissa stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Was no real work to be done this day?

“No, now. I sent the boys to go and find him.”

Marissa’s mouth opened and shut as she tried to decide how to chide Gillian without losing her temper. Finally she gave up. “Honestly, Gillian, you will cease moping and pacing about. ’Tis affecting us all and getting on my nerves.”

She set her stitching aside. “Kellen is mooning about and trying to find ways to please you and must I remind you, yet again, that as lady of the castle, ’tis your responsibility to set the tone for your home. If you have your husband running about after you, trying to win your smiles, then he has no time for his duties. You must needs—”

“Lady Hardbrook! Lady Hardbrook!”

The three boys, Peter, Ulrick, and Francis came running into the solar.

“Gentlemen.” Marissa shot them a stern look as they slid to a halt. “You forget your manners.”

Ulrick bowed quickly and the other two boys copied him. “Apologies, my lady, but Lord Hardbrook is at the gates!”

“He is riding a huge stallion!” said Peter. “Come on!”

As the boys ran out Gillian stopped, turned to look at her, and Marissa found she was struck dumb.

Gillian’s head tilted to the side and she looked concerned.

“Are you okay? What’s the matter?”

Marissa’s fingers started to shake and in that moment she hated Gillian more than she’d ever hated anyone in her entire life.

If Gillian’s husband were to turn up unexpectedly, she would toss her dignity to the wind, run down the stairs, and throw herself at him; regardless of the fact that she’d only embarrass them both.

Of course, Kellen never seemed embarrassed. He seemed to admire Gillian more than any husband Marissa knew of.

Marissa was suddenly at a loss about what to do. She was fearful to meet her own husband or at least fearful to meet him in the manner she’d been intending.

Gillian’s brows furrowed. “Marissa, are you all right?”

The longer Marissa stared at Gillian the more she thought about her decision to follow Gillian’s silly and immature lead in this. What if she were to act like Gillian? What if she were to go downstairs, right this moment, and throw herself at her husband? What if she were to flirt with him? Kiss him?

Her stomach tightened so much it ached and, when dizziness assailed her, she remembered to breathe. Would he set her aside in disgust? Would he shove her away in embarrassment for them both? He might. But what if he hugged her back? What if he greeted her in kind?

Before she could turn coward, she stood. “Come with me, ladies. I need your assistance.”

Vera and Yvonne jumped up at the urgency in Marissa’s voice; and they followed, as did Gillian.

“Not you, Gillian. You, you just… ” She waved her hand. “Just… do something.”

Her ladies hurried with her to her bedchamber. She needed to change into her most beautiful gown, uncover and brush out her hair, one of her best features, pinch her cheeks and bite color into her lips.

“Wait!” called Gillian from behind them. “What’s happening? Where are you going?”

Marissa found she could not answer. She was scared spitless.

* * *

Determined to talk to Kellen and tell him everything, Gillian waited until Marissa was out of sight before leaving the solar. She’d explain who she was, or rather, wasn’t. She’d tell him where she was from, how she felt about him, and her hopes for their future together. Everything.

At the thought, her heart rate increased and her hands felt cold and clammy; but she really couldn’t stand the suspense a moment longer. With shaking fingers, she slipped on her pink pack for the proof it contained to back her claims, smoothed her yellow dress, and headed out to find Kellen.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she immediately saw Kellen talking with a well-dressed older gentleman below who, from the looks of him, could be none other than Kellen’s father.

Kellen looked up, smiled, and beckoned to her. “Gillian,” he circled his hand a few more times. “Come and meet my father.”

Taking a shaky breath and feeling a bit deflated by the fact that she’d have to put off her talk, she went downstairs and joined them, slipping her hand around Kellen’s arm, linking them.

He patted her hand possessively then held his own over it. “Gillian, this is my father, Lord Edward Hardbrook. Father, this is Lady Edith Corbett, my betrothed. I call her Gillian.”

Gillian smiled at the pride in Kellen’s voice and held out a hand, which Lord Hardbrook took in one of his, and bowed over in a graceful gesture before kissing the back. “I am very pleased to meet you, my dear.”

Gillian arched a brow at the smooth move. “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, too. I can certainly see where Kellen gets his good looks and charm from.”

Kellen grinned and Lord Hardbrook laughed in surprise. “Thank you, my dear.” She could see he was flattered, but she’d meant it. His father was just an older version of Kellen, and it was nice to know Kellen would still be yummy to look at in a quarter-century. The thought made Gillian’s hand clench on his arm. Would it be her at Kellen’s side or some other wife?

“My son seems well pleased with his choice of bride, as am I,” said Lord Hardbrook. “I welcome you to our family.”

“Thank you.”

Lord Hardbrook’s eyes widened as he looked beyond Gillian and up the stairs. Gillian turned to see Marissa descending, dark hair floating about her shoulders, looking pale but beautiful in a royal blue gown, her fine features slightly strained.

When she reached the bottom, she took a deep breath then ran at her husband, throwing herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck. Lord Hardbrook’s mouth dropped and he gaped for a moment but quickly encircled his wife and chuckled as she clung to him. “Hello, wife, I have—”

Before he could say more, Marissa grasped his head, pulled him toward her, and kissed him thoroughly. The man seemed frozen in place for a moment, but quickly relaxed and got into the spirit of the kiss, his arms tightening about his wife.

Gillian wiggled her brows at Kellen who brought a fist to his mouth to clear his throat and hide a smile. As the kiss continued, they both looked everywhere but at the couple in front of them.

Finally Kellen took a step back, pulling Gillian along with him. “Well, yes, then. We will see you at supper,” he said, as he turned around, caught Gillian’s hand, and pulled her away.

They both walked fast until finally they were almost running out the front doors. They barely made it outside before they burst out laughing.

* * *

When her husband finally broke off the kiss to gaze down at her, surprise, pleasure, and interest in his expression, Marissa was pleased to see his breathing was as unsteady as her own. His gaze fell to her lips, his color heightened, and he clasped her in his arms as tightly as she could have ever wished for.

Her hands lowered to his chest and she could not help but smile up at him as she gasped for breath. “I have missed you, husband.”

A smile curved his lips as he gazed down at her. “I can see you have. I have missed my own sweet wife, as well.”

At his words, tears filled her eyes and the last of her misgivings melted away. She leaned up on her toes to whisper, “My ladies have moved Gillian’s things to their chambers. I thought perhaps you would wish me to show you our bedchamber and help you get settled?”

Edward glanced about quicky, nodded, released her, and practically shoved her toward the stairs, his hands firm on her waist. “I would like nothing better.”

Disbelief, relief, and happiness bloomed inside Marissa as she hurried up the staircase with her husband directly behind her, urging her onward.

She conceded that she had definitely been too harsh with Gillian. It turned out the girl knew a thing or two about managing a household, after all.

* * *

Kellen headed with Gillian across the bailey, toward the training field, and smiled when she giggled. “You are amused?”

“I couldn’t believe that was Marissa. I never would have guessed she had such a passionate marriage. Never.”

Kellen laughed. “Nor I. I have not seen the two of them act in such a way as that before, but I am happy for my father.” Marissa had seemed cold in the past, and he knew what it was to be married to a passionless wife.

Looking down at Gillian, he let go of her hand and put his arm about her shoulders, pulling her close, enjoying the sunshine, the walk with his lady, the way she so easily slid her arm into place about his waist, and the way his heartbeat sped at her touch. “My father is here, and soon yours will be, also. I cannot wait for you to be mine.”

He could not help but notice the way Gillian tensed at his words, her expression bordering on fear.

“You need not distress yourself. I will be gentle with you; I swear it.”

Gillian nodded and squeezed his waist. “I know you will.”

“Are you worried over the wedding?”

She shrugged but remained silent.

“I cannot wait until is it over, as well. Life will be more peaceful afterward. I swear I will do all in my power to help you settle into your new role. I want you to be happy, Gillian.”

Gillian pulled him to a stop and looked up at him. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and then sighed.

“What is it?”

She took his hand. “I have something I need to tell you. It’s important.”

Gillian looked about as if searching for privacy, and Kellen realized this could be the perfect opportunity to carry out his plan. “And I have something to say to you, as well. Come.”

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her toward the training fields, past his men and the orchard, and to the private garden beyond. He was relieved to see it was unoccupied as he dragged her toward a pretty little bench and settled her upon it.

She slipped off her backpack. “Kellen?”

“Aye. Give me a moment.” He could feel the pulse beat in his own throat, and could feel himself start to sweat as he paced back and forth. Finally he stopped, took a breath, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Gillian, you are… ”

He studied her beautiful face, the soft blue eyes, thickly lashed, the full and inviting lips, the high cheekbones framed by her disheveled blonde hair, and tried to remember the words so painstakingly memorized. Finding the distance between them intolerable, he knelt on one knee, his face almost even with her own, and grasped her hands in his.

His mind blanked, all the memorized words going straight out of his head. He swallowed and looked into her eyes. “Gillian, I have not the pretty words that some men do, but I… I have loved you from almost the moment we met.”

Tears filled her pretty eyes and, when she tried to speak, he put a finger to her soft lips, silencing her. He had to finish this or he’d kiss her and be done with it.

“The first day I met you, when I took you from Royce, I knew you were mine. But do you remember at the rocks? When you took my hand as we walked back to the keep?”

She nodded.

“When you took my hand, I was certain I was yours.”

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the back, turned it over and kissed her palm, and then holding her trembling hand to his cheek, gazed into her tear-filled eyes. “You are everything. My life, my love, my all. Will you marry me, Gillian?”

* * *

“Oh, Kellen… ”

Gillian felt her face crumple as he blurred before her. She’d been concentrating so hard on what she was going to say to him that when he’d sunk down on one knee, when she’d realized he was proposing, she’d been taken completely by surprise.

She blinked against tears as she looked into his earnest face, felt his warm, raspy skin against her fingers, and all the problems between them fell away.

She loved him, and he loved her. She could see it in his face; feel it as he looked at her. She wanted him to choose her so much, and here he was, this strong, capable, gorgeous man, barely breathing as he waited for her answer. He had such a tender expression on his face, it was all she could do to not simply melt into a puddle at his feet. He’d choose her when given the choice between her and Edith. She really believed he would.

His brow creased in sudden worry and he swallowed audibly. More tears rushed to her eyes. “Kellen, I love you so much.”

He let out a breath, grasped her hand on his cheek, and turned his head to kiss her palm again. “You had me worried for a moment, dearest.”

Her heart fluttered at the heartfelt endearment, and she watched as he dug in the pouch at his waist and pulled out an intricately braided silver ring. Tears blurred her vision. “It’s beautiful.”

“You have not answered my question. I know ’tis all arranged, but I would have you want me for your own self, as I want you, and not out of a sense of obligation.” He swallowed again as he studied her face, his vulnerable expression clearly revealing how much her answer mattered to him. “I would call it off if you did not truly want me.”

Gillian’s heart pounded. She loved him so much at that moment her heart ached. “Yes. If you could ever want me, just for me, then yes, I’d marry you in a heartbeat. It’s what I want with everything I have in me. I want to marry you, and be your wife, and have your babies, and love you until the day I die.”

He released a breath, lifted one of her hands, and kissed the knuckles hard. “Good, that is good.” He glanced up and grinned at her. “Particularly as I am not sure I was being honest and could let you go if you said otherwise.”

She laughed. “Oh Kellen. I do love you. So much.”

He took a deep shuddering breath, slipped the ring on her finger, stood, and swept her into his arms. He kissed her roughly on the mouth, holding her almost too tight, before gentling.

A moment later he pulled back to study her expression and whatever he saw there made him smile. “You have made me very happy. I will make you happy, as well. I swear it.”

He leaned in to kiss her once more and as she clung to him; she hoped his words were still true when he learned the truth. And she’d tell him. Just as soon as he stopped kissing her.

* * *

A long while later, Kellen’s head lifted and he glanced around. It took her a moment, but Gillian realized she heard voices and started to pull away, to move out of Kellen’s arms, but he wouldn’t let her go. He quickly stole another long kiss, and another, smoothed back her hair, then reluctantly released her, and stepped back.

Peter’s voice called out. “Lord Marshall! Lady Corbett! Are you there?”

Excited chatter from the foster boys gave Gillian the strength to finger comb her hair, press her fingers to her swollen lips, and ease back a few more paces before the boys rounded the corner.

They let out a cheer when they spotted them. “There you are!” said Ulrick.

Peter glanced between the two of them, one brow arching.

Francis hooted at the sight of them. “We’ve searched everywhere for you! What have you been doing?”

Kellen cleared his throat, and Gillian bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling as Kellen, still catching his breath, stumbled out a hearty greeting. “Just showing Lady Corbett the flowers in the garden.”

Three faces crumpled in disgust. “Flowers!” said Francis.

Kellen shot Gillian a wide-eyed look that said help me out; but she only smiled and glanced down, glad she wasn’t the only one flustered.

It was good the boys had shown up. Kellen’s kisses were mind-scrambling, and they needed to talk. She needed to admit she was from the future, that she wasn’t Edith Corbett, and hope he still chose her. After his heartfelt proposal, she was starting to believe he just might.

“Flowers are foolish!” said Peter. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you! Lady Marissa has sent everyone out searching, and we found you first!”

“Ah, yes, very good, boys. You are clever indeed to have found us.”

“Lady Marissa promised an extra tart after dinner if we did!” exclaimed Ulrick, but his brows suddenly furrowed. “Do you think she means us to share one, or to have one to ourselves?”

Kellen’s expression was grave. “I’ll talk to her and make sure you each get one.” He winked at Gillian.

Gillian, her heartbeat finally slowing, asked, “What does Lady Marissa want?”

Peter grinned. “Oh, we did not tell you! Your family, come from Corbett Castle, have finally arrived! Lady Marissa and Lord Hardbrook had to wake from a mid-day nap to greet them without you, and she is quite put out at your absence. You must come quickly!”

Francis nodded vigorously. “Before she changes her mind about the tart!”

“My family is here?” Gillian’s voice trembled.

Kellen turned to smile at her. “We are one step closer to being wed.”

Fright had Gillian pressing a hand to her chest and she could actually feel her heart speeding, thumping. “But… but… you said it would take them three more days to get here.”

He shrugged. “Mayhap they had already left. No matter, let us greet them.” He reached forward to rub Francis’s hair. “I am sure young Francis is glad to see his parents again, as well.”

The boy smiled at him, but when the other boys took off running—yelling how they must tell Lady Marissa they’d found them first—he was quick to follow.

Kellen helped Gillian put on her backpack, tucked her into his side, and they started walking. Cold inside and out, she didn’t resist, didn’t know what to do. Her heart beat rapidly, thudding in her chest as they left the gardens and headed toward the orchard. Her instincts told her to run and hide, but she was well aware it was too late for that.

There was nowhere to go, and the moment she’d been dreading was upon her. She looked up at Kellen, who gazed down at her, a pleased and loving expression on his face and, again, though her throat had closed and her mouth was dry with fear, she felt a spark of hope.

Maybe Kellen really would choose her?

She swallowed and pulled to a stop. “Kellen, wait a moment. I… I… have something to tell you.”

“And I am anxious to hear. I want to learn each detail of how you came to love me. I want you to assure my poor heart that I am not alone in this feeling.” He suddenly pulled her into his arms and gave her another long, mind-blowing kiss.

When he finally broke it off, he pressed his forehead to hers for a moment, then smiled, grabbed her hand, and tugged her along. “We will talk later, without fear of interruption.” His smile widened. “Mayhap tonight?”

“But… ” She let out a shaky breath. It was too late. She’d left it far too late and didn’t know what to say, anyway. She’d just have to face the music and see if Kellen chose her. The thought made her shiver.

She stumbled and he caught her easily, smiling down at her, his expression excited, eager. “Careful, we do not wish your father to think you ill-used.”

She sucked in a shuddering breath, nodded, and tried to return the smile. She’d never been so afraid in her entire life.

Chapter Thirty

When Kellen and Gillian entered the great hall, Tristan and Owen surged forward and tried to stop him, to tell him something; but he pushed past them, anxious to see Lord Corbett, and to assure the man he was a good choice for his daughter. To assure Lord Corbett that Kellen was well pleased with the match.

All eyes turned toward them—Marissa and his father, Lord and Lady Corbett, their daughters, even Kellen’s knights and servants—and the silence was unnerving.

Regardless, Kellen moved forward to warmly welcome Gillian’s family. He had no doubt Lord Corbett had taken great care to give Kellen his best daughter this time, so ’twas important to Kellen to show there were no hard feelings from the nastiness with Catherine. Now that Gillian was his, he could afford to be high-minded and forgiving. “Welcome, Lord Corbett. Lady Corbett. I see you have brought some of your lovely daughters, as well. You are all most welcome here.”

Pandemonium ensued as everyone started speaking at once, or rather, yelling at once.

Lord Corbett, his voice rising above the others, pointed at Gillian and demanded, “Who is this girl?”

Kellen turned to look at Gillian who, rather than greeting her family stood stiffly next to him, clutching his hand, her face a mask of fear.

Kellen quickly placed a comforting arm around her to protect her from her crazed family. First her sister Catherine had proved to be unsound, and now her father did not know his own daughter? Were she and her brother the only sane ones among them? Little wonder she’d arrived early. She had no doubt run away from home.

Lady Corbett now yelled at Kellen’s father, who bellowed in return as he pointed repeatedly with his finger at one of the Corbett daughters. Another of the girls, a younger one, cried and carried on in the most irritating way.

Kellen finally lost his temper. “Quiet! What is happening here?”

Silence reigned for a few moments, then Lord Corbett, spittle dotting his lips and beard, pointed his finger at Gillian. “That is not my daughter, the Lady Edith Corbett.” He turned and pointed at one of the girls in the gaggle behind him. “That is.”

Kellen followed the new direction of Lord Corbett’s finger to see a girl who closely resembled his dead wife. Instantly repulsed, he scowled. “I think not.” Did the man think to renege on the betrothal and foist off an inferior daughter? Did he think to give Gillian to another? His arm tightened around her shoulders. He’d not give her up.

Lord Corbett’s jaw thrust forward. “What is happening here? You think to go back on our agreement? You insisted you have another of my daughters. I had to break her betrothal to make it so. Now you do not want the girl and have replaced her with another? Do you seek revenge, after all?”

Kellen looked at Gillian, then at Corbett’s daughter, at Lord Corbett, and then back to Gillian’s fearful expression. Lord Corbett may have gone insane, but he swore to himself he would never hold Gillian’s parentage against her. He lifted her chin and forced her to meet his gaze, anxious to reassure her. “Tell me they are lying and I will send them all away.”

Gillian looked up at him, her gaze wide-eyed and afraid. She slowly shook her head.

“Gillian?”

* * *

Gillian’s racing heart felt as if it might explode. “K-Kellen,” she stuttered, barely able to say his name. Face hot, she glanced around the room and could practically feel the weight of the hostile gazes drilling into her. Finally, she took a deep breath and tilted her head to meet Kellen’s worried gaze.

“I-I’m not Edith Corbett.” Her voice, barely a whisper, broke on the last word. “My name is Gillian Corbett and I traveled through time. I-I’m from the future.” She swallowed hard. “I’m Lord Corbett’s granddaughter, seven hundred years from now. At least, I think I am.” She lifted a pleading hand to Kellen. “I wanted to tell you. I tried. I didn’t know how.”

Kellen’s mouth parted and he looked at her and then at the others around him. “Is this entire family gone mad?”

Gillian didn’t move, didn’t say another word, just stood frozen within Kellen’s arms.

Kellen glared down at her. “You truly believe that girl,” he jabbed his finger in the air twice for emphasis, “is Edith Corbett?” Kellen gestured toward the beautiful girl Lord Corbett had pointed out. The girl straightened her shoulders as several of her sisters laughed and her mother’s expression turned especially snide and haughty.

Gillian nodded, her heart pounding so hard in her chest it hurt. “Yes.” She took a gasping breath. “But if you’d rather ch-choose me, I-I’m okay with that.”

Kellen didn’t respond for a moment, his expression colder and angrier as the seconds ticked by. He suddenly let go of her, took a step back, and thrust his fingers through his hair. “You deceived me? You are not the Lady Edith Corbett? You lied?”

Gillian swayed on her feet. He wasn’t going to choose her. She could see it in his face. Despair sank deep within her. He’d just told her he loved her, and now was looking at her as if he hated her. Did people really only want her for what she could give them? Couldn’t he just love her because he did? “I am not Lady Edith Corbett,” she said again, trying to rein back tears.

Marissa stepped forward and instructed her husband to remove Gillian to the chapel. “We will come to you when this discussion is decided.”

Kellen’s father moved forward and gently took her arm. Gillian left with him, stumbling a few times as they headed out the doorway. Angry voices broke out once more behind them. She no longer cared what happened. All she could see was Kellen’s cold, angry, bitter face.

She glanced back once, but tears blurred her vision. Apparently she’d been right to be afraid for her heart. If she didn’t come with money, he didn’t want her.

* * *

Kellen watched Gillian walk away and saw the betrayed look she cast him. It was as a knife in his gut. He was not the betrayer here, she was. Deceiving him, leading him on, lying to him. Just as Catherine had done.

No, she was worse than his wife. At least Catherine had not attempted to sway his affections before trying to kill him. He felt as if his guts were being ripped out. His heart. And then to spout nonsense besides? He was simply at a loss, hollow, and empty as he watched her go.

Lord Corbett started to yell again, demanding and grating, his voice curiously insubstantial as numbness spread throughout Kellen’s body. When Kellen ignored him, unable to think or care enough to form a reply, Marissa stepped forward to appease the man; and Kellen glanced at Edith, the real Edith, who looked so much like Catherine he had to turn away.

He accepted that Gillian was not Lady Edith Corbett but was having a hard time believing Gillian was not still his, that she was not the girl he’d been given to marry. The girl he’d fallen in love with.

Now he had to decide what to do. She’d lied to him, betrayed his trust, used him, and all he wanted to do was run after her and force her to admit she truly did love him.

Again he compelled himself to look at Edith, who stared impassively back, her chin rising. She arched a brow in a disdainful fashion he well recognized and, again, he felt revulsion. His decision was made.

He would not marry a woman he did not love. He would marry Gillian. Even if she was a lying, deceitful, double-tongued pretender. She had convinced him of her feelings, made him feel impassioned and alive, and she could bloody well continue to do so. She would keep her promises to him. He would insist upon it.

Kellen looked at the door and wanted to follow Gillian and have this out with her. Whatever her purpose in coming here, he could not give up on the idea that she did love him. He could not believe their entire courtship had been a ruse. When she had told him earlier she loved him, he’d believed her, and the relief had fair weakened his knees.

Regardless of her deception, he loved her still. But what of her true feelings? Her true motivations in coming here? He thought of her strange way of speech, so unlike anything he’d heard before. The pack she carried about so frequently. Was she a spy? A girl who sought to improve her station in life through marriage? A thief? He wanted to see her face as he asked these questions. He needed to know.

His jaw ached as he clenched his teeth. Regardless of her answers, he would do whatever was necessary, including paying a fine to the king if he had to, but would marry none but her. If she did not love him, she could learn to do so. He would insist upon it. She was his.

He looked at Edith’s stiff expression again and acknowledged he had been arrogant. He had thought one wife as good as the next so long as she gave him an heir.

Not so. Gillian was the only woman for him. He could not be happy without her and would not give her up. Not only for his own sake but for Edith’s, as well. He was sorry for the humiliation she would suffer, but she also deserved better than a loveless match. He’d been on the other end of one of those before and it hurt.

As Lord Corbett continued his rant, his finger now pointing repeatedly in Kellen’s direction, Sir Tristan and Sir Owen moved to stand beside Kellen, ramrod straight, in a show of support.

Kellen eyed Edith one last time and shook his head. He would not give Gillian up. He looked at Lord Corbett, held up a hand and, when the other man stopped talking, Kellen informed him, “The wedding is off.”

Lord Corbett gaped like a landed fish, his face blooming redder than before. “How dare you?”

Kellen, uninterested in any discussion that did not involve Gillian, turned and headed for the doors; but Lord Corbett ran after him and grabbed his arm, fingernails digging into skin. Kellen reluctantly stopped and exhaled a pent-up breath.

Lord Corbett, practically frothing at the mouth, shook Kellen’s arm. “You will marry my daughter! I had to break a betrothal with Lord Phillip’s son so you could have her.” Spittle flew. “It cost me much.”

Kellen’s eyes narrowed and he bit out, “Only fitting as your eldest daughter cost me a son.”

Corbett gaped and drew his hand to his chest. “But… but… you do not understand! He will not take her back. Only my alliance with you keeps Lord Phillip from attacking.”

Marissa stepped forward, composed and serene. “Sir Tristan is in need of a bride, my lord. Might he not be persuaded to take her?”

Edith’s mother burst into tears.

“My lord!” Lord Corbett sputtered. “Take her? Take her indeed! He should be so fortunate!”

Kellen remembered Tristan mentioning how lucky Kellen was to marry an heiress and arched a brow at his friend. “Well, then?”

Tristan looked at Edith, who eyed him back.

Her coldly blank expression reminded Kellen of Catherine once more, so he stipulated, “Only if you are willing. I’ll not force the issue.”

Tristan smiled. “Aye, if she’ll have me, I’ll take her and be glad of it.”

Lord Corbett’s wife wailed and Lord Corbett sputtered, but Marissa raised her voice to be heard. “A marriage between Lady Corbett and Sir Tristan would be beneficial for all concerned.” She turned to Kellen. “Except, of course, there will be no dowry for you. It will go to Sir Tristan.”

Kellen started forward again. “I care not.”

Lord Corbett made a wild grab for Kellen’s sleeve. “I care! He has not your standing! He can offer me no protection against Lord Phillip.”

Kellen shrugged him off. “You need not worry on that score. I will stand behind Sir Tristan.”

Feeling the matter concluded, Kellen slapped Tristan on the back and headed out the door toward the chapel. He needed to find out just who it was he was marrying.

As confused and angry as he was about Gillian’s identity, he did not wish to doubt her. There must be some explanation for her behavior. He thought of her strange speech again and wondered at her origins. In all his travels he had never come across such.

No matter. He would solve this mystery and marry the lady. She was no doubt fearful and confused, and he meant to go to her with assurances that all would be well. He’d find out how she came to be here, who she was and, most important, if she really did love him.

He hurried, having the strangest feeling that if he did not, she would disappear from his life as quickly as she’d appeared.

Lord Corbett followed, yapping at his heels. “This is unacceptable. I will not be treated this way. What of our alliance? What of your daughter, Amelia? Does she not have Corbett blood running in her veins? Do you wish to diminish her position by marrying this girl?”

Kellen stopped and glared at the man. “Were it not for Gillian convincing me otherwise, I would not have a daughter. Catherine thought to steal her from me, along with my heir. As she lay dying, she claimed Amelia was not my child, but her lover’s.”

Lord Corbett’s mouth dropped. “She would never!”

“Aye, she did.”

“’Twas the poison polluting her mind!”

“You were not there. She was most convincing.” Kellen strode away.

After a long moment, Lord Corbett ran to catch up. “You must attend me!”

When they finally reached the chapel, Kellen stood in the doorway and watched Father Elliot trying to comfort Gillian, who was crying, the two of them seated on a bench, her pack beside them.

Kellen sighed, tension draining out of him, his feeling of dread subsiding. He caught his father’s gaze upon him and his own brows rose in question, but his father simply shrugged.

Lord Corbett pushed past Kellen to point at Gillian. “She is a fraud, a liar, and insane!”

Kellen dragged the man back, yanking him around to face him. “You will not talk of her in such a manner!”

Lord Corbett attempted to shake him off. “Why should I not? She could be anyone. A temptress, a swindler, a villain sent by your enemies to defeat you from within. Or even my enemies, to prevent this advantageous match.”

“You will cease such slander or I will be forced to make you. I will—”

“There will be no such talk in this chapel!” Father Elliot raised both hands. “Saint Cuthbert himself blessed this sacred place, and there will be no fighting within these walls. Until you can comport yourselves in a manner fitting Lords and Knights, you will stay outside.”

Kellen met Gillian’s reddened gaze and, seeing she was safe enough, he dragged Lord Corbett outside. He did not want the man slandering Gillian in her hearing and needed to convince the old fool to accept Tristan and be on his way.

Lord Corbett grabbed at Kellen’s tunic. “What of Edith’s dowry? We will double it!”

Kellen took a breath, determined to be patient.

“Think what you could do with the coin Edith brings! This girl? Who is she? Who is her family? She has nothing. She is nothing.”

With a growl, Kellen grabbed the man by the throat.

* * *

She has nothing. She is nothing. Gillian’s stomach clenched at the words Lord Corbett yelled so convincingly. It almost sounded as if the man was trying to bribe Kellen to take Edith over Gillian. She almost felt… hope. Was Kellen going to choose her? Regardless of everything? Could he?

She knew Kellen would lose out financially by marrying her. She knew he had plans for the money: To help more of his knights secure a place, to expand his property and his crops, to improve his influence and his military along the border.

All along she’d consoled herself with the thought that he’d received Catherine’s dowry. If his wife hadn’t died, Kellen wouldn’t have more. But now Lord Corbett was offering double the amount if he married Edith.

Gillian’s hands clenched open and closed on her skirt. She desperately wanted Kellen to choose her. She’d been risking her heart and counting on it, risking his heart. Only now was she considering, at what cost to others?

On the other hand, if he didn’t choose her, what would happen to her? She had no way back home. She was basically at his mercy. Hysteria bubbled in her chest. Did she take Laird MacGregor up on his offer of marriage?

A few minutes later Kellen came back inside; and Lord Corbett followed, rubbing at his throat. Both men looked grim as they moved toward her and, at the last moment, Lord Corbett grabbed Kellen’s arm, pulling him to a stop. “She could be an assassin, sent by your enemies to slay you.”

Kellen jerked away. “If I feared murder, I need only marry one of your daughters.”

Lord Corbett gasped, then shook his head. “What of the king? Think you he will not exact a high price when I tell him of your refusal to wed Edith? After your demands to produce her? ’Tis yet another way this girl will cost you.”

“Think you your reputation will survive the revelation of the manner of Catherine’s death?” Kellen’s voice was low and fierce. “Perhaps I shall run to the king with tales of my own if you interfere in my affairs.”

Kellen’s father stepped forward. “I, for one, would be pleased to have my son’s name vindicated.”

Gillian made an inarticulate sound as tears flooded her eyes. It did sound as though Kellen wanted to choose her. But again, at what cost to himself? To others?

Father Elliot patted Gillian’s hand and stood once more. “My lords. I believe I have been quite clear on the subject of fighting within the chapel. You must remove yourselves if you wish to continue in this vein.”

Kellen ignored the man and moved forward to stand in front of Gillian. “Who are you?” His tone was gentle. “Where do you come from?”

Gillian wiped her eyes and reluctantly lifted her gaze as all four men stood in front of her. “I told you. M-my… name is Gillian Corbett. I was born in the future, seven hundred years from now. I was running through the cemetery and,” she shrugged. “I just a-appeared here.” She gazed into Kellen’s eyes, willing him to believe her. “I think that I may be a descendant of Lord Corbett.”

The man made a scoffing noise.

“Look.” She lifted her hand and revealed her ring.

Lord Corbett grasped her fingers. “Where did you get that? You stole this from my rooms at Corbett Castle!”

She snatched back her hand. “No, I didn’t! It belonged to my father.”

Lord Corbett held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

Gillian tried to take off the ring but, as always, it stuck fast.

Lord Corbett shook his hand, palm up. “Now, girl!”

She yanked again, sobbing with effort, and pulling so hard she cut her finger; and blood welled up, bright red against the white of her skin.

Kellen slammed the back of one hand into Lord Corbett’s chest, knocking the man back a few paces. “Now look what you’ve caused with your shouting and abuse!”

Gillian looked at the blood coating her finger and ring. Her hand seemed to waver a bit, like a mirage; and the ring seemed to loosen. She sucked in a breath.

The blood.

She’d been bleeding when she’d arrived. She’d cut her finger when she’d shoved the ring into place, and then right after, she’d traveled through time. She looked around and the men seemed to fade, the chapel to crumble, and another thought occurred to her. The chapel had been blessed by Saint Cuthbert, the same as the cemetery. She didn’t know if that meant anything or not, but Father Elliot sure seemed to think highly of the man. Or rather, the saint.

Goose bumps erupted all over Gillian’s body as the men came back into sharp focus, the chapel new again. She was on the verge of time travel.

She suddenly had a choice.

Would she stay and fight Edith for Kellen and possibly endanger his future?

Or did she let him go?

It wasn’t a hard choice, only difficult to make herself comply. She loved Kellen so much and wanted him to have everything he needed. She wanted him to have the money. If she stayed, if she fought for him and won, he could lose everything. Kellen needed that dowry. She didn’t want the king angry at Kellen, fining him, and jeopardizing everything he had. He’d end up hating her in the end.

He couldn’t choose her. Too much was at stake. Too many other lives depended on him. She knew he was having a hard time with all this. She’d deliberately stolen his affection thinking they could have a life together. That being the case, she should be the one who made things easy on him. Even if it devastated her.

She stood, slid on her backpack, and tightened the straps. Her heart started beating too fast, a staccato rhythm thumping in her chest and ears.

She looked at Kellen and tried to memorize his face, his chiseled features, the thick, tousled, black hair, the dark stubble covering his bold, masculine jaw and strong chin. The amber eyes, and even the scars on his cheek and forehead. The memories would have to be enough.

Her lip trembled. “Kellen.”

He continued to argue with Lord Corbett.

“Kellen.”

He glanced up.

“Goodbye, my darling.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I-I will always love you. I swear it.”

All four men turned to look at her, but she only had eyes for Kellen. She tried to burn his image into her mind one last time as she slipped off the ring.

Chapter Thirty-one

The hair on the back of Kellen’s neck rose and he surged forward when Gillian started to waver, fade, and then disappear. He was too late. She was gone. There was nothing but empty air where she’d been standing. His mouth open, his heart beginning to thunder, every muscle stretched taut; he turned wide eyes on his father, Lord Corbett, and the priest. “Did you see her?”

Father Elliot’s mouth was open as he loudly sucked in deep breaths. “’Tis the second miracle of Saint Cuthbert!”

Kellen searched the chapel, but there wasn’t much to explore; only the altar, and a few benches, including the one Gillian had been sitting on. He even looked up at the beams in the ceiling.

He felt the air where he’d last seen his bride, but she was truly gone. He threw back his head. “Gillian! Where are you? Come back to me!”

White-faced, Lord Corbett sank onto a bench. “Perhaps the girl was speaking the truth?” His voice was hoarse. “Perhaps she truly was my granddaughter? That or a witch.”

Father Elliot snorted. “No witch could ever cross this particular threshold, or take communion herein. ’Tis a miracle.”

Kellen’s clenched his fists, battling the desire to destroy the room, to smash walls, tear off window shutters, and lay waste to everything. He looked around wildly. “Gillian! Come back!” Kellen stared at the empty space where last he’d seen her and swallowed. If Gillian had been telling the truth about where she was from, then mayhap she’d told the truth about loving him as well.

So why would she leave him? Why would she abandon him? He had every intention of asking her just that when he found a way to get his hands on her. She had to come back. He could not live without her.

* * *

Gillian’s eyes burned, dizziness overwhelmed her, and she fell, landed on one knee, and hit a rock. Pain, sharp and intense, bit hard around her kneecap and her vision blacked for a moment. She couldn’t breathe.

Finally, sliding off her pack, and clutching her knee, she groaned, reached out, and touched rough stone. Her shaking fingers grasped for a handhold, found one, and she pulled herself up.

As she blinked away tears and glanced around at the graffiti-decorated stone and crumbling walls, she realized she was definitely in the ruins of the chapel. She could see what was left of the keep beyond and knew she was back. Back in her own year? She hoped so. She was counting on the fact that she didn’t leave Kellen only to show up in some other time not her own.

At the thought of Kellen, her face crumpled and the tears started to flow. She sank against the crumbling stone wall as it really hit her. She was never going to see him again. He’d marry Edith and she would be the one to give him children. She would be the one who made him smile. It would be Edith who held Kellen close, teased him out of his somber moods, and saw the vulnerable man beneath the strength.

Gillian started to cry in earnest. Edith would never love him as much as she did. Never! Edith couldn’t possibly, and it wasn’t fair!

A long while later, Gillian swiped at her tears and took deep, shuddering breaths. She looked at the drying, congealing blood on the finger of her left hand. She was pretty sure the blood had somehow loosened the ring and triggered the time travel.

The ring had become so much a part of her; she’d been convinced she’d wear it the rest of her life. Her eyes filled with tears once more. She’d also been convinced that somehow she’d have Kellen for the rest of her life, and look how that had turned out.

She opened her right hand to see the gold circle still within her cupped palm and picked it up to study the engravings on the inside. Again she wondered at the words before closing her fingers around it once more.

According to the priest, she’d been on holy ground both in the cemetery and in the chapel. If the combination of blood and holy ground had somehow sent her back, that meant she could have returned at any time.

If she had, she’d have never met Kellen, never have fallen in love with him, or had his love in return.

Gillian leaned back against the crumbling wall, completely worn out, eyes swollen, and tried to hold back a fresh onslaught of tears.

So what did she do now? Did she go home and somehow put her life, and her shattered heart, back together? Or did she do what her heart was telling her to do and put the ring back on?

The memories she’d made just didn’t seem enough. She sat in the rubble of the chapel for a long time, remembering, crying, and feeling sorry for herself.

Finally, completely chilled and shivering, she got up. Yes, she was tempted to put the ring on her finger and try and go back, but she wouldn’t. She was in her own time now, and he was in his. It was for the best.

She needed to step aside so Kellen could have everything he needed. So he could have everything Edith’s property would bring. Kellen wouldn’t have to pay a fine to the king, and he wouldn’t have to try and explain her presence to anyone. By marrying Edith, he’d be ahead money rather than behind and, like Marissa had said, he had many to take care of.

So Gillian would go home, get over Kellen, and get on with her life. It hurt. But it was still the right thing to do.

* * *

Her rental car was long gone from where she’d parked it. Still swiping the occasional tear, Gillian walked all the way into town, glad of the exercise in the cool mid-afternoon air and the time to think. When she finally arrived, the first thing she did was head to the hotel. When she explained who she was, the manager’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open.

“Miss Corbett! Where have you been? Your car was found and the police searched the area looking for you!” The manager, tall and thin, with a shock of thick, black hair and dark brown eyes, looked worriedly at her clothes. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Relieved that he knew her, that she’d made it back to where she was supposed to be, Gillian ran a hand down the skirt of her yellow medieval gown. “Uh… ” She wasn’t sure what to say.

“You look like you’ve been crying? Have you been harmed, Miss Corbett?”

“No. I’m fine. I went off with my boyfriend for a while, and we recently broke up.”

“A local boy?”

Gillian nodded.

The manager’s brows pulled together. “You went off with some bloke for over a month and didn’t think to tell a soul?” His lip curled in disgust. “If that isn’t just like an American girl.”

Gillian, feeling numb, simply shrugged. “Do you still have my luggage?”

“Yes.” His tone had cooled considerably. “We still have it.”

“Can you rent me a room?”

The manager turned to his computer. “I shouldn’t after the way you took off. So inconsiderate. But the police will want to see you, and I’ll have to call the car rental place and let them know you’ve turned up. They brought your cellular phone in. It’s with your luggage. They were very worried about you. Everyone was.” He shook his head and tapped his fingers on the keyboard. “So inconsiderate.”

Gillian opened her backpack, pulled out her Visa card and ID and, after what seemed like forever, she was finally checked in and given a key.

The manager’s expression was icy. “Your things will be sent on to your room. Of course, there will be an additional fee for storing your possessions while you were away.”

Gillian lifted one shoulder. “Thank you. That will be fine.”

The man nodded and, apparently somewhat appeased by her response, softened a bit. “All right, then.”

Gillian headed to her room and, after her luggage arrived, she cried in the shower as hot water streamed over her. She already missed Kellen so much.

Was he already married to Edith? After she’d left had they just got on with it? She realized he’d actually have married, lived his entire life, and had a family with Edith. He’d be long dead by now.

That made her cry even harder.

After the water cooled, she got into her pajamas and lay on the bed, only to be awakened some time later by a knock on the door. She quickly slipped into her robe.

The two burly gentlemen at the door, a redhead and a thinning brunette, identified themselves as the police. “Miss Corbett? Can we come in?”

She stepped back and let them enter.

“Are you alone, miss?”

“Yes.”

They looked around; the brunette, a hard-jawed man with a strong cleft chin, searched the bathroom, apparently unwilling to take her word for it. When they’d all been seated, her on the bed and them in the two available chairs, they started the questions.

Had she been injured? No. Was she held against her will? No. Was she robbed? No. The name of her boyfriend? Kellen Marshall. His address? They’d just traveled around a lot. Was there anything she wanted to tell them? Anything she’d left out? No. Was she afraid to report a crime, because they could assure her they had the ability to protect her. She was fine.

Standing, looking exasperated and no doubt thinking the whole process a waste of time, they headed for the door; and the redhead turned back. “It was inconsiderate of you to worry everyone so. There was a search after your car was discovered, you know?”

Gillian hung her head. “I heard. I’m sorry.”

The man nodded once, they both left and, exhausted, she crawled back into bed and immediately fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Gillian went outside into the chilly spring air, bought a local newspaper, and sat on a bench. She looked at the date in the corner, May 24. Sure enough, it was springtime again, and over a month had passed since she’d been there last.

She thought about all that had happened, and stupid tears welled in her eyes again. She knew she needed to get control of herself. She was a mess. But all she could think about was, did he miss her? Think about her? Would he be happy? Did she want him happy with That Cow Edith?

“Miss, are you okay?” Gillian looked up to see a pretty, middle-aged woman looking at her with concern.

Gillian sniffed, wiped at her eyes, and chuckled. “Sorry, I’m fine, just thinking about something… sad.”

“Is there anything I can to do to help?”

Gillian shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Thank you, though.”

The woman nodded. “Okay, if you’re sure.” She smiled and started to walk away.

“Wait. Do you know if there’s a car rental in town?”

The woman nodded. “Sure. There’s one just outside the Gillian town square.”

Gillian stared at the woman. “Excuse me. Did you say the Gillian town square?”

“Yes. I can give you a lift if you’d like.”

Gillian looked at the newspaper in her hand. The Gillian Gazette was printed at the top of the front page in big, bold letters. How had she missed that? “I thought this town was named Marshall?”

The woman shook her head. “No, you’re thinking about the ruin outside of town. It’s called Marshall Keep. The town is named after some obscure lord’s true love.” She waved a hand. “I don’t remember all the details, but there’s a guidebook over at the local bookshop.” She pointed across the street to a charming cluster of honey-stoned cottages. “It tells the whole story.”

Gillian stared at the hanging bookstore sign as chills raced up her body. “Thank you.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a lift?”

Gillian shook her head. “No, I’m good. But thanks for your help.”

She walked across the cobblestone street to the bookstore, asked for and purchased the guidebook, and was soon back outside and sitting on a pretty wooden bench. She flipped to information about the castle.

Lord Marshall, later Lord Hardbrook after his father’s death, had named the town after his true love. Curse it! The tears started up again and she tilted her head back and willed the moisture away. After a moment, under control again, she continued reading.

Historians weren’t sure what the whole story was there. Lord Marshall’s first wife had died, and it had been rumored he’d killed her. For this mystery girl? No one knew, which was why Lord Marshall had become such a figure of speculation and mystery over the years.

Some historians ventured that Gillian had actually been Catherine, perhaps a nickname? Apparently her death had left him disconsolate as he’d never remarried. Another theory stated that perhaps Gillian was a lover who had died too? Or had married another?

What was clear was that, after his wife’s death, Lord Marshall had contracted to marry his wife’s younger sister, but she’d married one of Lord Marshall’s men instead.

Tears flooded her eyes again. It was her that he’d wanted? Not riches or wealth or a connection to Lord Corbett? Just her? Had Kellen believed her story after she’d disappeared? Was he leaving her a message with the name of the town? He’d never married Edith because he loved Gillian? And then he’d been alone his entire life?

She swallowed convulsively. That wretch Tristan! If she could get her hands on him right now, she’d hurt him! She might not have wanted Kellen to marry Edith, but she hadn’t wanted him lonely, either!

She wiped away more tears as she tried to sort through what this meant. Kellen had found out that she’d lied about being Edith. He knew Gillian wasn’t an heiress. And he’d still wanted her? He’d given up wealth and property and even a chance at the heir he’d wanted when Gillian had nothing to give but herself? He’d meant what he’d said?

She pressed her hands to her face and cried harder. She’d felt he couldn’t love her unless she had something to offer, specifically money, but that wasn’t the case. That wasn’t the case! If he couldn’t have her, he hadn’t married anyone?

Gillian started to laugh and pressing the guidebook to her heart, she jumped up and started toward the hotel. She’d grab her things and run back to him. She had to see him, to tell him. She stopped, realized a passerby was staring at her, probably seeing a crazy, giddy woman, and put her head down and walked at a more sedate pace to the hotel.

She wanted to see him immediately, this day. She wanted to hold him, be held by him, tell him how she felt, and listen to his assurances; but there were some things she needed to do first.

* * *

A few hours later Gillian was sitting on the hotel bed, her newly charged cell phone in hand, and the notes she’d made to herself spread out before her. Taking a breath, she dialed a number in her contact list.

“Hello?” A deep voice answered the phone.

Gillian clutched the receiver. “Mr. Frost? Uh, Walter?”

“Yes, who is calling, please?”

“It’s Gillian. Gillian Corbett.”

“Gillian! My dear. It’s wonderful to hear from you. How are you?”

“I’m doing well.” She smiled, seeing the easy-going older gentleman in her mind, always perfectly groomed, and most comfortable in slacks and a sweater. Ten years older than her dad, they’d been good friends in the years before his death. “Better than ever, actually.”

“I’m so happy to hear that. We’ve been worried about you, you know. How was England?”

“Well, I’m actually still here. I’ve met someone and I’m getting married.” Saying the words out loud sent a thrill through her.

“Married?” He cleared his throat. “To that young gentleman you told me about? I thought—” he hesitated. “Did the two of you make up, after all?”

“No. This isn’t Ryan. This is someone I met in England.”

Walter paused. “Oh, but my dear, that was awfully fast.” He hesitated again. “Gillian, as a good friend of your father’s, I feel I have to caution you against jumping into marriage too soon. And so quickly after you ended a previous relationship. You’ve been in a vulnerable place ever since, well, your family… uh… left you alone. He’s English?”

“Yes. And I understand your concern. I do. But please don’t worry. My fiancé is rock solid. He’s a really great guy.”

“Hmm. Tell me about him. What does he do for a living?”

“He’s a farmer. He has a lot of people working for him and depending on him.”

“How do you know he’s not some sort of con artist?”

Gillian laughed, thinking of Kellen’s reaction to such an accusation. No doubt a sword would be involved. “I’ve been living with him and his family for a while now. I think I’d know if anything shady was going on.”

“Well then, how do you know this gentleman doesn’t just want you for your money? I hesitate to say hurtful things to you, my dear, but you’ve been taken in before. Didn’t you tell me Ryan turned out to be less than honest in his feelings for you?”

She looked at the guide book and thought about the fact that Kellen didn’t marry Edith for her money, that he’d named the town Gillian, and she couldn’t help but smile. “I promise you I’m not even the smallest bit concerned about that. He doesn’t even know I have any money. He’s actually been supporting me for the last month or so.”

There was another hesitation then, “Gillian, you’ve been through a lot in the last few years. Are you sure?”

“Positive. Listen, I know Ryan and I didn’t work out, but this is different. In terms of character, Kellen reminds me of my father and of you, for that matter. He’s honorable, dependable, and always does the right thing. I know he loves me. He’s a wonderful guy and I’m so glad to be marrying him. You have no idea how happy I am about this.”

Walter sighed. “Well, I can see you’re not going to change your mind. And I appreciate you calling to tell me. Are you coming home before the wedding?”

“That’s why I’m calling you. I’m not coming home at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m hoping you can sell my parents’ house for me. Quickly.”

“Well, Gillian, of course I can. I still do a little real estate from time to time, and I’m glad you’ve come to me; but why the rush? What if the marriage doesn’t work out? I can list your house, but why not wait for the market to recover?”

“No. I want it sold.”

He paused. “Look, I know your parents left you some money, and I’m aware your art career is going well. Surely there isn’t any hurry? After all the work your parents did to the place, it’s a gem. If you sell it, you may never get it back if you change your mind later.”

“I promise I’m not coming back. This is happily ever after for me. I’m all right and I’m happy. Please don’t worry about me. Here’s what I want… ”

After a lot more talking back and forth, she finally convinced him to sell the house for the lowered price she’d decided on so it would sell fast.

“Everything? What about keepsakes? Furniture?”

“All I want is for you to overnight my family genealogy album and the big red photo album. The one with all my family photos.”

“This just seems so fast. So permanent. Can’t I talk you into waiting?”

“No. My mind is made up.”

He sighed again. “All right. If you don’t care, I’ll buy your house myself if you’re determined to sell it for that price. Then I’ll wait out the market and make the profit you should have had.”

Gillian smiled. “That would be wonderful. Thank you so much. That’s generous of you to offer.”

Walter blew out a breath. “I’m the one getting the good deal. I feel like I’m cheating you.”

“And yet, I feel like you’re doing me a huge favor. Please get the paperwork started immediately.” She gave him the hotel and fax number, the name of the city, and her bank account info. He already had a spare key.

After everything was taken care of, he sighed loudly. “Just so you know, I’ll be paying all the closing costs. It’s the least I can do. And I’ll be calling the local police so I can make sure none of this is being done under coercion.”

“That’s fine. I have their number here if you want it. I took off with my boyfriend for a while, and when I came back they paid me a visit.”

“Hmm. Actually I prefer to look up the number myself. You realize it’s looking even more suspicious to me now, right?”

Gillian laughed. “Please don’t worry. I promise I’m fine. But call the police if it will put your mind at ease.”

When she got off the phone, she added a visit to the police station to her to-do list. No doubt they’d think she was a flake and an idiot for making up with her boyfriend and marrying so quickly, but that didn’t matter. They just needed to believe she was all right so they could convince Walter.

She picked up the phone again. A call to her money manager, then another to the leading gold and gems expert in England got the ball rolling, and when she’d finished making the calls she picked up her purse and headed for the door. It was time to go shopping.

Chapter Thirty-two

Two weeks later, Gillian drove to the ruins of the castle exhausted but happy. She looked down at her yellow medieval gown, dry-cleaned, pressed, and bunched around her knees so she could drive. She couldn’t help but smile.

She knew she was looking her best, with subtle make-up, her hair freshly washed, trimmed and curled, and she wore a fortune in gold jewelry.

She was, however, feeling a bit paranoid because she had so much of value with her. She glanced at the one of the large duffle bags, taking up the entire passenger seat and floor, and gave it a pat before glancing in her rear-view mirror to assure herself no one was following.

She drove along the road near Marshall Keep, saw no one, doubled back, and parked as close to the castle as she could get, in the spot she’d instructed the car rental place to pick up the vehicle in a few hours. She didn’t want it getting back to the police, and then to Walter, that she’d gone missing again.

She glanced at the castle ruin, then carefully studied the entire area, but there were no cars, no people, just the deserted rubble in the morning sunlight, the softly rolling hills, and the cemetery in the distance.

Her body humming with excitement, she got out, double-checked the pepper spray and knife in her pocket, then slipped on her backpack, tightened it, and dragged out the two padlocked duffle bags full of gold coins, gems, spices, and essentials.

She catalogued the essentials in her mind: Her genealogy book, with added family pictures from her photo album, chocolate, antibiotics, and a fully stocked first aid kit. A few books on natural healing, and seeds for some of the healing plants. Ibuprofen, a hand mirror, menstrual cups, a manicure set and nail polish, toothbrushes, and some make-up and underwear. Also, a little something for Kellen on their wedding night. There was so much more she could have brought, but she didn’t want to push her luck. Anyway, there was only so much she could carry.

She’d closed her social media accounts, said her goodbyes to work contacts, college friends, Walter and his wife, and hoped they’d all be so busy with their own lives that it would be a long time before they realized she hadn’t been in contact. Hopefully, they’d just assume she’d moved on with her life as had already happened with a few of her friends.

As an added precaution she’d let it slip to the police that she was ready to completely break ties with her old life, start a new one, and probably wouldn’t be in touch with her friends again. No doubt she’d come off sounding irresponsible, selfish and cold, but the last thing she wanted was for Walter to worry about her or feel responsible for instigating a search and rescue if he tried and failed to get in touch.

She still had to laugh about the last time she’d spoken to him. He’d found her ex-fiancé, Ryan, living in her parents’ house, claiming he wanted to get back together with Gillian. Walter had had him arrested for trespassing. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.

Placing the car key under the mat, she shut the door, glanced around, hoisted a pack onto each shoulder, and groaned at the weight. She staggered toward the ruin and couldn’t help glancing around the entire time, feeling paranoid that the young men who’d attacked her, or someone else entirely, would show up. Thankfully, she was completely alone.

She hauled everything to the ruin and, after much heavy breathing, a few rest stops, and quite a bit of sweat, through to the chapel.

She went to the spot she’d landed the last time and dropped the duffle bags, straightened, rubbed her lower back, and tried to catch her breath. She looked at the bounty at her feet and couldn’t help but feel pleased with all she’d accomplished in such a short amount of time. Darned if Kellen was ever going to feel he’d lost out by marrying her.

Not that she’d tell him about her dowry before he declared himself willing to take her without it. She had her pride, after all, and wanted to actually hear the words. She wanted to hear that he loved her for who she was and not what she brought to the marriage. Apparently, she was still feeling a little insecure.

He would still want her, wouldn’t he? Now that he’d had a chance to think about it? Gillian looked around the ruins of the castle and admitted she was stalling because she was scared. Scared the time travel wasn’t going to work, scared he’d already moved on, scared that the history books had it all wrong.

She took one of the gold chains off her neck, looked at the ring dangling at the bottom, then at the writing engraved on the inside. When her family’s genealogy book had arrived, she’d found a receipt from the man her dad had hired to decipher the markings. The ancient words meant Life flows for all time. Gillian, thinking of Kellen, certainly hoped so.

She clenched the ring in one fist. It had to work; because if it didn’t, she didn’t know what she’d do. She finally took a deep breath, squatted down, hefted one strap onto her left shoulder, another onto her right, and straightened. The heavy packs dangled against each side, and she opened the chain and removed the ring.

She grimaced as she cut her finger with the small knife she’d bought for just that purpose. She folded the blade, put it back in her pocket and, taking a deep breath, slid the ring onto her bleeding finger.

Within seconds, the chapel was whole again. Father Elliot let out a startled yelp. “By sweet Saint Cuthbert! Lady Corbett!”

Gillian fell to her knees, the duffle bags clanging noisily to the ground beside her. She was so relieved it had worked, that she was back, that she’d made it, that she’d reached Kellen. Stupidly, she started to cry. “Father Elliot,” she said between sobs. “It’s so good to see you again.”

The rotund man rushed forward. “And you, as well. Welcome home.”

Gillian wiped at her eyes and laughed, glad to see he didn’t look as if he were ready to gather firewood for a witch burning. “Thank you. How long have I been gone?”

“A fortnight at least, my dear.”

“Kellen didn’t marry Edith, did he?”

He smiled at that. “Nay, my dear. He awaits your return.”

“Oh.” Another sob burst from her and more tears burned her eyes, but she still couldn’t help smiling. “Good. That’s so good.” Relieved and elated, Gillian shrugged off her backpack, stood on unsteady legs, and headed for the door. She stopped and turned around. “Do you think you could have my things sent up to my room?”

Father Elliot nodded. “Certainly.”

And then she was outside, running toward Marshall Keep to find her man, marry him, and live happily ever after.

* * *

Marissa walked out the front doors to greet Sir Royce and his three men as they handed off their horses to the boys. As she lifted her hand in greeting, Gillian ran up behind them. “Hi. Where’s Kellen?”

Marissa gaped at her. “Gillian!” She looked beautiful, her blonde hair gleaming in the sun, her brilliant blue eyes striking and vivid, her lips a soft color. “You… you are back! I… I… ” Marissa threw up her hands. “Where have you been?”

Gillian grinned at her. “We’ll talk later, I promise. But right now I need to see Kellen. Gillian started to move around Marissa. “Is he inside?”

“He is not here.”

Gillian stopped short. “What? Where is he?”

“He is at the river. But Gillian—”

“I have to go see him. We’ll talk later, I promise!” Gillian took off running toward the gatehouse.

“You cannot mean to go alone!” Marissa yelled after her. “Gillian!”

Sir Royce, bowing slightly at the waist, straightened and smiled. “Fret not. I will take her safely to him.”

“Will you?” Marissa placed a hand to her heart. “Oh, thank you, sir. You are most kind.”

Sir Royce and his three men hurried after Gillian on foot, Sir Royce raising a hand and calling after her. “Lady Corbett! Wait! Lady Corbett!”

Gillian sprinted past the gatehouse and Marissa rolled her eyes as more voices joined in as the guards yelled after the girl. She shook her head. “Decorum, my girl. Decorum.”

Still, Marissa couldn’t help smiling as she headed inside to find her husband. First she would share the news, then go and meet with Cook. No doubt they would be feasting this night.

* * *

Kellen stood at the side of the slow-moving river, glad of the privacy the trees provided and of the time alone. He needed to think and was tired of his men watching him, giving advice, and pitying him. He was especially weary of Tristan alternately offering to give Edith back or trying to hide his happiness over his upcoming marriage.

As if Kellen wanted Edith back. He wished Tristan to marry the girl as soon as the banns were declared fulfilled, hopefully in the next week, so he could take her and her blasted family away.

He was sick to death of Lord Corbett trying to prove unfounded impediments to the marriage, tired of Owen’s hovering concern, and fed up with his father attempting to convince him to see reason and reclaim Edith or find another bride.

None but he believed Gillian would return. But fate would not be so callous as to gift her to him then snatch her away forever. The belief that she would return was all that steadied him.

With all his might he threw a small stone out into the river and, as it splashed, swore he could almost hear Gillian calling his name, that fate was letting him know—

He heard it once more, louder this time, and whirled. He caught a glimpse of a yellow gown moving through the trees and lost his breath as he awaited another.

“Kellen!” Gillian broke from the tree line and ran toward him, smiling, happy, and breathless.

Disbelieving, he started toward her, slowly at first then faster when she did not vanish. His heart hammered, and his head spun with the thought that simply thinking of her had made her appear.

It was not until she threw herself at him and he clasped her within his arms and lifted her tight against his chest that he actually believed she was back. Eyes clenching as he buried his face in her neck, he breathed her in. “Gillian,” he whispered, his voice low and ragged.

After a moment she laughed and squirmed. “You’re holding me too tight!”

Kellen forced himself to loosen his grip but did not release her. He could not. “What I should do is wring your neck for leaving me.” His voice shook and tremors shivered throughout his body.

“So, you missed me?”

Kellen lowered her to the ground, clasped her shoulders, and touched his forehead to hers. “Aye, sweet. I missed you. So much.”

Her hands caressed his face, and her eyes moistened. “And you love me? Even though I’m not Lord Corbett’s daughter and even though I don’t have a dowry?”

Kellen finally lifted his head so he could give her a shake. “None of that matters. Aye. I love you. I love you with everything in me, and it has slowly gutted me to have you gone. You love me, as well? Say it. I need to hear the words.”

Gillian laughed. “I do. I love you.” She kissed him, her soft lips clinging for a long moment before she sank back. “I love you, so much, with everything in me.”

“Why did you leave? Why did you stay away? Could you not return to me?”

“Well, I thought you were better off without me. I thought you needed Edith’s money. Then I found you’d named the town after me.”

Kellen’s grip tightened as he whispered a prayer in thanks. “It was all I could think to do. I could think of no other way to send you a message. I also had the stone mason fashion a tribute. Did you see it?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“I tried to think on how to let you know I needed you to return. Why did it take you so long? Were you prevented?”

“I needed to get some money. To bring a dowry. It took some time to sell my father’s house and buy gems and gold.”

Kellen stared at her in disbelief. “You stayed away for money?”

“I had nothing. I didn’t want you to feel you’d lost out by marrying me.”

His hands clenched and unclenched on her shoulders but he managed not to shake her. Barely. “What if you could not have returned? I have been in cursed misery for fifteen long days on account of riches?” His voice rose. “Possessions?”

Gillian looked worried, as well she might. “I was trying to do the right thing.”

Kellen’s mouth tightened as he tried not to lose his temper but the words were forced from him. “You left me, ripped my guts out to get funds?”

Gillian shook loose and took a step back. She placed her hands on her hips. “Do you know how hard I had to work to put this together? It’s easy for you to act like it doesn’t mean anything, but you know good and well your family, your men, and even your servants think you deserve the dowry your wife brings. I’m not coming to this marriage as a poor beggar.”

“A poor beggar? You are only the most precious of my possessions!”

Gillian poked him in the chest. “That is exactly what I’m talking about! You don’t own me. I’m the one bringing the dowry that my parents provided. I’m the one who owns you!”

He stared at her a long moment, then shook his head, and finally smiled. He tried to pull her back into his arms, but she stiffened and pushed against his chest, her expression mulish.

“Come now. Peace,” he said softly. “You do own me. Heart and soul. I am yours for the taking.”

She visibly softened and, after a moment, relaxed against him as he held her close. “And I am yours,” she said softly.

“Aye. You are here. Nothing else matters. I will do whatever it takes to keep you.”

She finally slid her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. He pulled her close, determined that nothing would ever separate them again.

Chapter Thirty-three

Sir Robert Royce smirked as he stepped from behind the trees. Watching the lovers reunite and knowing it would only last a short while filled him with an almost joyful rush of power.

He clapped approvingly as he walked forward. “How amusing; how very charming. ’Tis simply too precious for words.”

He motioned and two of his men rushed forward and grabbed Kellen, who shoved Gillian behind him. While the three men scuffled, Kellen landing several blows and driving one guard to his knees, the third guard moved past them and grabbed Gillian. She wrenched away, ran, and the young guard barely caught her again, holding tight to her arm as she slapped him repeatedly with her free hand.

Robert rolled his eyes. “Get hold of her, boy!”

The boy finally overcame her by wrapping an arm around her waist and placing a knife to her throat. Wide-eyed, she finally settled, both of them breathing heavily.

Satisfied, Robert turned to see Kellen repeatedly punching a man in the stomach so hard he was lifted inches off his feet and, the second guard, his nose obviously broken, struggling to stand.

Robert sighed. Did he have to do everything himself? “Do I need to cut her?” His voice was loud, but pleasant. “I will, you know, and with pleasure.”

Kellen glanced wildly around for Gillian, then, seeing the knife at her throat, stopped struggling. The two guards quickly grabbed and held him.

Robert laughed. “I thought so.” He studied Kellen for a long moment, rather enjoying seeing him furious and helpless, caught by his own feelings for the girl. “I do hate to interrupt such a touching reunion.” He glanced around. “And in such a deserted location, too.”

Kellen glared at him. “What do you want, Royce?”

“What do I want?” His fists clenched. “Mayhap I wish to see you put in a dress?” Robert took a calming breath, then motioned to his men. “On his knees.”

His men kicked the backs of Kellen’s legs and, when he dropped, held him down. Robert smiled, enjoying the sight of the great Lord Kellen Marshall humbled and furious. He motioned to his men. “Not a mark to his face.”

Needing no further instruction, they took turns slamming their fists into Kellen’s back, chest, stomach, and arms. Robert smiled, enjoying every blow, grunt, and furious glare.

Gillian’s enraged scream was cut off by the boy’s hand over her mouth. “Please, my lady. Please be still.”

Robert, irritated by the distraction, glanced around. “Yes, keep her quiet. We do not wish to be interrupted, do we?”

Gillian’s hands fiddled with something and as Robert watched a blade opened in her hand. He moved forward swiftly and knocked it to the ground. He laughed as she rubbed her stinging fingers. “So very feisty.” He snapped his teeth at her. “Save a bit for later, my dear.”

Robert lifted a hand to his men. “That is enough.” One jerked Kellen’s arms behind his back in a cruel grip, and the other grabbed Kellen by the hair and yanked his head back, baring his face. Robert leaned down. “Do you know where the fair Gillian has been these last weeks? With me, at my castle, in my bed. When she ran away, that is where she went.”

Gillian struggled against the hand at her mouth, unable to speak, and Robert laughed.

“You supplied the poison to Catherine,” Kellen spat, bitter and fierce.

One of the guards slammed a fist into Kellen’s face. Robert frowned. “Do not damage his face! How much more clearly can I state it?”

“Sorry, my lord.”

Robert looked at the fresh cut on Kellen’s cheek and chuckled. “Oh, well. What’s another scar? Dear Catherine hated them, you know. It was her idea to use poison. A shame she drank it and killed not only herself, but your heir, as well.”

Robert straightened and smirked. “Or would he have been yours? As much as she liked to crawl into my bed, there may have been some question as the child started to mature.”

Suspicion marked Kellen’s features. “You were in London most of that year. After her death I checked your whereabouts.”

Robert raised a brow. “You thought to suspect me?”

“I suspected everyone. Catherine herself told me with her dying breath she had a lover who was beautiful. You did come to mind.”

Robert smiled. “Yes, well, I may have been in residence more often than I let on. Catherine preferred the secrecy. She loved to lie as a common maid in the forest. It was most uncomfortable and I ruined more than one tunic, but she wished for the risk and excitement. Who was I to deny the lady?”

Robert laughed at Kellen’s murderous expression. “Of course, when it came time to kill you, I left. Catherine could be a fool at times, and there was always the chance she would get caught and betray me. I did not wish to be in the vicinity if she did.”

Robert pressed his lips together. “She deserved to die. She was supposed to be mine. Her property and her child. The only thing she did aright was to give you a girl the first time. I thought perhaps the child was mine; and when I learned of your own doubts, it doubled my enjoyment.”

Robert glanced at Gillian, enjoying her wide-eyed, tearful fear. “Then dear, sweet, Lady Gillian ruined it all with her sketching, making us all see to whom Amelia truly belonged.” He shook his head. “Aye, Catherine betrayed me on many levels: having doubts, harping on her honor, bedding you. I’d wondered if she took the poison apurpose.”

Robert shrugged. “It matters not. When you are gone, I plan to convince the king you killed your wife. I will say you admitted such to me after you killed Lady Gillian in a jealous rage upon seeing me escort her to you, and then remorseful, you killed yourself. I will say you could not live with double the guilt. Your father will share your shame and the king will give your land to me, his trusted and loyal servant. Everything you have will finally be mine.”

Robert saw Kellen’s gaze flicker to Gillian and smiled. “The problem is, you have no idea how to romance a girl. Catherine was easy. If I have the chance, perhaps the fair Marissa will join me in bed, as well. She is lovely and lonely. Tsk-tsk. Always a bad combination.”

Robert moved forward and motioned to the boy to drop his hand so Robert could cup Gillian’s cheek.

She jerked her head away and glared at him. “Don’t touch me you filthy creep.”

He grasped her chin tightly and forced her to look at him. “There was no turning your head, was there? Whatever did you see in that animal?” He jerked his head to indicate Kellen. “I think there must be something the matter with you to prefer such a scarred and overlarge man to me. I’ve often wondered if perhaps your vision is weak.”

She tugged against his grasp again and, with a laugh, he let her go and turned back to Kellen. “You have had everything given to you while I have had nothing. I have been forced to scheme and betray to have what was easily yours. You, an uncouth and unrefined barbarian. But you will pay. Yes, now you will pay.”

He smiled at Gillian. “I’m going to have your woman in front of you, then slit her throat, and then I will help you fall upon your sword in a fit of remorse. None will be surprised to learn you have killed a second woman, and the king will be most interested.”

“Kellen, close your eyes,” said Gillian. “Hold your breath.”

Robert laughed as he looked between the two of them. “Do you believe if he does not see your death it will make it any less real?”

He turned to see Kellen actually closing his eyes and bending his head. Robert’s brows rose in surprise. “I had not though you such a coward as to—”

The boy holding Gillian let her go and she stepped forward. Robert’s mouth dropped. “Boy, grab her! Hold her!”

The boy shook his head and glared out of angry, tear-filled eyes. “My name is Valeric and I am your son. Your son! But I will have no part in this murder! I may never be a knight, but I will never be a cold-blooded killer, either!”

As Robert started forward, Gillian’s hand lifted and sprayed red liquid at first one guard, then the other, coating their eyes and faces with red splatter. The men dropped to their knees screaming and clutching at their faces.

Confused, Robert stopped, then took a step away from Gillian, and then another. Her eyes, wild with rage, turned upon him, and Robert crossed himself against her. “What is happening? What did you do to my men?”

The guards writhed on the ground in obvious agony and Gillian ignored him to turn back to them. “I’ve sprayed acid into your eyes. You only have a few more moments before it starts to rot your vision away. If you don’t wash them out with water for a very long while, you’ll go blind and your face will melt like butter.”

They scrambled to their knees and stumbled into the river behind them.

Kellen slowly stood, blinking rapidly, jaw thrusting as he started forward.

One look at Kellen’s face and Robert turned and ran.

* * *

“Valeric, take your lady to the keep!”

Kellen ran after the fleeing Royce and easily caught him, tackling the other man to the ground. He rolled him over and as they struggled, exchanging blows, they were soon covered in dirt and leaves. Kellen, finally getting the upper hand, punched Royce three times in the face in quick succession and was well pleased when the smaller man’s nose crunched. Royce groaned in agony.

Kellen rolled off him, stood, and beckoned with the fingers of one hand. “Stand, coward.”

Royce stood, his eyes filled with hate as he felt his broken nose and wiped at the blood flowing freely down his face to drip off his chin.

Kellen smiled. “That will mark you for the rest of your short-lived life, scum.”

Royce pulled a knife from his boot, and Kellen jumped back when the smaller man slashed out with the blade. A dagger was thrown to the ground at Kellen’s feet, and he wasted no time scooping it up.

“Traitor!” Royce roared at Valeric.

Kellen saw Valeric wince, agony in his expression, before the boy tried to tug Gillian away; and when she fought him, he turned and ran into the trees alone.

Kellen shook his head. “I have always considered you an idiot, but never realized the depths to which you were capable of sinking.” Kellen balanced on his feet, waited for an opportunity, and when Royce slashed out once more, unbalancing himself, Kellen swung his own knife with considerable force; and the blade ripped into Royces’s cheek, eliciting a scream.

Kellen laughed. “Oh dear, that will most certainly scar. If it has a chance to heal, that is.”

White-faced, Royce jumped back and put a hand to his face, a look of horror spreading across his features as he felt the disfigurement then looked at the blood on his hand.

His face contorted in anger and with an incoherent yell, he ran at Kellen. Kellen grabbed his arm, wrenched it up, and drove his dagger into Royce’s belly and upward. “For my wife and my son, you misbegotten cur.”

Kellen looked into the other man’s surprised face for a long moment before releasing him. Royce staggered backward, both his hands clasped around the dagger’s hilt, then sank to one knee. He stared up at Kellen, a look of disbelief upon his bleeding face, then fell over dead.

* * *

Faint and dizzy, feeling both sickened and relieved, Gillian put both hands to her face and covered her eyes. After a moment she swallowed, straightened, and hurried forward to wrap her arms around Kellen’s waist. She carefully avoided looking at Sir Royce as she didn’t have the luxury of losing it just then. Maybe later. “Are you hurt?”

Kellen glanced at his bloody arm, turning it so she could see. “No, love. ’Tis just a small cut.”

Following his gaze, she winced at the gaping six-inch wound, fat tissue and muscle visible. It wasn’t bleeding as much as she would have thought, but it would need to be stitched. She lifted his undamaged arm and put it around her shoulders, more for moral support than anything, and he winced.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

Kellen pressed his arm against his side. “My ribs ache like the devil, but I’ll live.”

They staggered through the trees and back toward the castle; Kellen’s injured ribs made him wince when they stumbled. When they moved into the clearing, it was to see Valeric leading Sir Tristan, Sir Owen, and several guards, all of them running fast. Gillian closed her eyes. “Oh, thank goodness.”

When they reached Kellen, he motioned with his head. “You will find two men splashing about on the river bank. Put them in the dungeon. Also, retrieve Sir Royce.”

Valeric stopped. “My father?”

Kellen shook his head. “I’m sorry, lad. It could not be helped. Come with us. I do not want you to see his body.”

Eyes bright with tears, Valeric glanced toward the trees, swallowed. “Am I to go to the dungeons, as well?”

Kellen shook his head. “Nay. We will talk of this later.”

They moved toward the castle, a subdued Valeric following behind and, upon their arrival, the healer was summoned as Gillian urged Kellen to go upstairs and lie in bed.

He rolled his eyes, headed for his chair in the hall, and demanded some ale. Marissa arranged for food and drink as he told everyone what had happened. His father and Marissa, her ladies, the entire Corbett family, and about ten of his knights listened incredulous and astonished.

Kellen finished with, “It was Sir Royce who planned my death and coerced Catherine into poisoning me. He also tried to stab Lady Gillian, poison her food, and murdered Frederick. Is that not so, Valeric?”

Valeric, his face a study in misery, threw himself to the ground at Kellen’s feet. “My lord, I have a confession to make.”

Kellen grabbed the boy by his shirt and forced him to stand. “Yes, yes. We already know Sir Royce was your sire.”

“Aye, my lord, but the knife, the poison—

“’Twas Lord Royce’s doing. It is at an end. Do you understand?”

The boy searched Kellen’s face and swallowed, relief etched on his young features. “Aye, my lord. Thank you.”

The healer finally arrived and tsked over Kellen’s injuries. When the man went to stitch the cut on Kellen’s arm, Gillian lunged forward and screeched. “You didn’t wash your hands!”

Kellen sighed heavily. “Gillian, stand back. I do not wish you to hover.”

“Just wait a minute, okay?” Gillian ran upstairs and was relieved to see her bags were in the room she’d shared with Marissa. She quickly found the key hanging on one of the gold chains around her neck, opened the padlock on one pack, and retrieved hand cleaner, antibiotic cream, alcohol swabs, and bandages from the first aid kit. She stuffed them in her pockets, snapped the lock into place, and hurried away.

When she returned to the hall, Kellen’s wound was half stitched.

“You didn’t wait!”

The healer snorted. “This isn’t the first wound I’ve tended to, missy.”

Gillian hovered, feeling helpless, on the verge of tears, and unsure about what to do.

Lord Hardbrook took her by the arm and led her toward a bench. “Lass, are you all right?”

She sank down and, feeling breathless and dizzy, raised a trembling hand to rub her forehead. “Fine. Fine. Just a little shaken up, you know?” When she realized she was the center of attention, she flapped a hand in embarrassment. “It’s just not every day that you see… see… ” She sucked in a breath. “I’m just not sure I can do this, after all.”

The healer finished stitching, and Kellen quickly stood and moved around several of his knights to sit beside her on the bench. He firmly pulled her onto his lap. “You will be all right in a moment.”

As tears pricked her eyes she realized the last thing she needed or wanted from the injured man was sympathy. It embarrassed her.

“Shh. Shh.” His arms encircled her, pulling her to his chest. “You can do this. You will.”

Gillian leaned her head onto his shoulder and sobbed. “What do you want from me?”

He chuckled and rubbed her back. “I want companionship, laughter, children, you. I want it all, love. I want you to marry me.”

She noticed he didn’t mention money and she appreciated it. She sniffed, wiped her eyes, and tried to get hold of herself. “Yes,” she nodded, face flushing, feeling everyone watching. “I want those things, too.”

“I also want to know your name.”

That made her chuckle. “Gillian Rose Corbett.”

“Of? Where are you from?”

She laughed. “Seattle, Washington.”

Lord Corbett snorted and stepped forward. “Of Corbett Castle, daughter.”

Gillian lifted her head, her brows knitting as she studied Lord Corbett’s patrician features. The last time she’d seen the man he’d been denouncing her. Now he was claiming her? “I don’t understand.”

“There is nothing to understand.” Lord Corbett looked around the room at all the wide-eyed family, friends, knights, and servants. “As much as you like to pretend otherwise, and I will say, you have been a most difficult and willful child, you are my daughter and we will have our alliance with Lord Marshall.”

Lady Corbett, her beautiful face serene and confident, stepped forward to stand beside her husband. “Yes, child. No more of this dissembling. You will claim us as we do you. Gillian Rose Corbett of… ” She looked pointedly at Gillian.

Gillian smiled at Kellen, chuckled, and then looked at Lord and Lady Corbett and bowed her head. “Of Corbett Castle.”

* * *

After Sir Royce’s body was sent to Royce Castle, Gillian tried to get Kellen to go upstairs to rest, but he wouldn’t let her out of his sight. When she invited Lord and Lady Corbett to her room, he followed.

He wouldn’t lie on the bed so she forced him to sit, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek for the intense, hungry way he watched her, and then dug her genealogy book out of one of the packs. She set it on the small table beside Kellen and opened it as the Corbetts gathered around.

“This is a genealogy book. I looked through it to see if I was truly related to the two of you.” She glanced up shyly. “I am.”

She opened the book to a page near the front and pointed. “See, here’s my name, and here are my parents’ names.” She flipped through until she found Lord and Lady Corbett’s information nearer to the end. “And here you are. See?”

“The paper is so fine.” Lord Corbett leaned closer. “But the words are difficult to decipher.”

“Not to me.” She read aloud his entire name, his parents’, and grandparents’ names.

Lord Corbett pointed. “What is this?” he slid his finger across several black marks on the page.

Gillian sighed. Trust the man to hone in on the one thing she didn’t want him noticing. “If you must know, they’re death dates. I planned to show you this book at some point, so I crossed them out. Your childrens’ and grandchildrens’, as well. There are just some things a person shouldn’t know.”

His mouth parted and, after a brief hesitation, he nodded. “Just so.”

She started turning the pages backward. “See this here? If you follow the names back to the front of the book, you’ll see I’m directly descended from you.” She flipped to the back and showed him the few treasured photos she’d chosen. “These are my parents. This is my brother. Here are some of our other relatives.”

As Lord and Lady Corbett gaped at the photos, Gillian explained the time travel the best she could. “Father Elliot said the chapel and the cemetery were both blessed by Saint Cuthbert.” She lifted her finger. “My ring has an inscription inside that says Life flows for all time. I don’t know how it works, but somehow I’m able to use this ring to go back and forth between centuries if I’m in the right place.”

Kellen sucked in a breath. “So the day you were running through the cemetery? You were trying to take me and Amelia back with you?”

Gillian searched his face, but he didn’t seem angry; he actually looked a bit smug. “Yes.”

Kellen smiled. “I’d steal you away as well, sweet.”

As they grinned at each other, Lord Corbett took up where Gillian left off and started turning pages again, his gaze fascinated. He picked up Gillian’s hand and looked at the ring. “’Tis difficult to comprehend. But you are our daughter in truth?”

Lady Corbett turned to Kellen and she had tears in her eyes.

“Perhaps this fact might help to right the wrong done against you by our Catherine?”

Lord Corbett jumped in fast. “Yes. I would like to settle a dowry upon Gillian. Perhaps that would help to heal the past and start a bright new future. A strong alliance.”

Kellen raised a hand. “That is not necessary.”

Gillian agreed. “That’s very generous of you, my lord, but my parents left me well provided for.”

“Left you? Your parents are dead?” asked Lord Corbett.

“Yes, but they left me a… um… dowry. It’s why I was gone for so long. I had to collect it.”

Kellen straightened, then winced and rubbed one rib. “A subject we have yet to discuss. I still cannot fathom that you left for money! What if you could not have returned? What then?”

“Kellen! Stop moving around. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“You are not to leave me again, do you hear?”

Gillian sighed. “I had a good reason for staying away, you know. It’s a rather large amount of money, thank you very much.”

“I thought you’d gone forever. I believed I had lost you.”

“But Marissa said you might be forced to pay a fine to the king—”

“I’d pay the fine ten times over rather than risk losing you. I am well able to provide for my wife and did not care for being abandoned! I did not need the money half so much as I needed you.”

Gillian lifted her hands up in the air. “Where is the gratitude? Anyway, do you know how hard it was to leave? To think Edith would have you? If you hadn’t changed the name of the city to Gillian, then I might have left you both to it and been miserable the rest of my life.”

Kellen shot to his feet. “I knew it! You had no intention of returning, did you? You should never have left me! I could have lost you forever and for what? A blasted dowry I don’t even need!”

Lord Corbett stepped in. “’Tis her father’s right to provide such.”

Gillian threw out a hand toward Lord Corbett, palm up. “Thank you! It was my father’s ring that brought me here, and I can’t help but feel that perhaps he even had a hand in all this! Did you think of that? I can’t help but feel he would do everything in his power to see me happy.”

“Ah. Just so,” said Lord Corbett. “We will leave the two of you to sort it out. But remember, Gillian, we are your parents now. You are not alone and will never be so again. May I keep this for a while?” He indicated the genealogy book. “’Tis not easy to decipher, but it will bring me pleasure to try. And of course the faces are fascinating to look upon.”

Touched by Lord Corbett’s earnest assurances, Gillian nodded. “Of course. But you probably should keep it to yourselves as everything about it will seem strange to others.”

“Of course.” Lord Corbett bowed, then quickly scooped up the book. “Thank you.”

Within moments Gillian and Kellen were alone and she turned to see he was still angry.

She rolled her eyes. “What?”

Kellen glared for a moment longer, then sighed and sank back onto the chair. “Changing the name of the town was all I could think to do. I was lost without you. I remembered you telling me it would be named Marshall one day and I thought,” he swallowed, “I thought you might live there.”

The pain in his words had the tension leaving her body and tears filling her eyes. “So you really do love me?”

“Aye. With all my heart.”

Gillian went to him and he quickly pulled her onto his lap and held her tight. “I love you too,” she said. “With everything in me.”

“If I had not thought to change the name would I have lost you forever?”

“I doubt it. It spurred me to immediate action, but I’m sure I wouldn’t have lasted a day before I was looking you up in any book I could find. If you hadn’t married Edith, I’d have come back. Maybe I would have, anyway.”

He looked upset again. He picked up her hand and tugged at the ring. He studied it, fear and loathing on his face. “I wish I could take this from you.”

Gillian followed his gaze. “I wonder… ” She twisted her finger, forcing the cut to reopen.

“Gillian!” He clutched her to him with both arms anchoring her tight.

The skin broke, just a bit, bleeding slightly and the ring slid right off.

After a shocked silence, Kellen snatched the ring from her and, fisting it inside one hand, stared at her with wide, incredulous eyes.

She stared back, equally stunned by what she’d just done. She could feel his heart pounding against her arm, her own matching its rhythm.

He cautiously relaxed his hold on her and when she stayed seated on his lap, let out a pent-up breath.

Gillian laughed a bit hysterically. “I guess I have to be on holy ground for it to work.”

“You could not have known that!” He sucked in air and wiped at his brow with his closed fist. “I will be keeping this.” He lifted the fist in front of her face. “You’ll not be getting it back. Ever.”

“Okay.” Happiness engulfing her, she laughed again. “You look so upset.” She slid a hand behind his neck. “Shall I cheer you up with a few kisses?”

Kellen wiped at his brow again, looked at her mouth, and chuckled. “Gillian. What am I to do with you?”

“Love me forever?”

“I intend to.” He pulled her closer, captured her mouth with his, and neither one of them said another word for a very long time.

Chapter Thirty-four

As the guests listened to the singer, Marissa sat at the head table and glanced around the great hall to make sure everything ran smoothly, that every table had been served the fifth course of roasted quail, and that the platters of cheeses, walnuts and tarts were plentiful. She could not help the slight smile that tugged at her lips, and she picked up her cup of spicy mulled wine to hide her satisfaction.

Her husband reached out and covered her hand with his much larger and warmer one. “Happy?”

She set her cup down, enjoyed the heat of his skin, the way his touch made her feel, and the fact that her husband knew her so well. Her smile widened as she looked around at the feasting, the tables set up around the hall, the guests laughing and teasing the newlywed couple, and their obvious happiness.

“Aye, husband. I am.” Everything had gone beautifully. All the hours of planning and preparing had been worth it in the end; the bride and groom, as happy a couple as she’d ever seen.

Gillian was beautiful in green velvet with peacock feathers at ears, collar, and in her beautiful headpiece and bouquet. How Beatrice had thought of it, Marissa did not know, but the effect was stunning and would no doubt be much copied. Gillian’s groom obviously thought her lovely. He could not seem to take his besotted gaze off her.

Marissa glanced at her husband, who met her gaze and smiled. “It is good to be married,” she said.

He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Aye, wife, it is.”

When the singer finished his song, Marissa motioned for the two jugglers to perform then glanced around, hoping the heat in her cheeks was not obvious to all.

Many had attended, it being midsummer and a goodly time for travel, but Marissa was sure Gillian would be glad when everyone finally left them in peace to enjoy married life.

Valeric, so obviously happy in his new role as squire in training, offered the happy couple more choice meats and cheeses for their platter, but she wondered that he bothered. She noted that neither the bride nor the groom ate much, but there was much touching, talking, and smiling between them.

Tristan and Edith were to be married in a sennight and, though the girl was still a bit distant with her future groom, he seemed to be keeping her well entertained as he tried to draw forth her smiles with his chatter.

She saw Lord Corbett questioning Gillian once more, as he seemed to do at every opportunity. When Gillian had turned to him before the wedding and kissed his cheek and promised to always be a good daughter to him, the man had nigh wept in front of the assembly.

Of course she could not fault the man. When Kellen had placed the ring upon Gillian’s finger and sworn an oath to be a good and true husband to her, and Gillian had made her own vows in return, the truth and love in their voices had left not a dry eye in the chapel. When he’d kissed her overlong and she had clung to him, everyone, including herself, had cheered.

She looked at her husband once more. He returned her gaze with a heavy-lidded one of his own that had the heat rising in her cheeks and left her wishing for the feast to be done with.

Yes. Married life was good indeed.

* * *

“Gillian?”

“Just a minute. I’m looking for something.”

Kellen shifted from one foot to the other and waited impatiently as Gillian went through one of her packs at the side of his bed. Their bed now. He smiled at the thought.

He glanced at the door he’d managed to bar against his men and considered that if he’d allowed them to strip them and place them naked in bed as was their plan, he would not now be wondering how to place his bride there himself. “Can this not wait?”

“Don’t you want to see what I bought for our wedding night?”

Kellen glanced at the bed. At the moment he really did not care what was in her pack, but could tell from Gillian’s quick glances and the quaver in her voice that she was a bit nervous, so feigned interest. “You’ve already shamed any dowry ever brought to man. There is more?”

Gillian shrugged. “I didn’t want you to feel you’d lost out by marrying me.”

Kellen shook his head at the worry. “I have never in my life seen jewels or gold so fine. If your goal was to produce a dower greater than the king could have provided, you succeeded.”

“I have other things, as well. Art supplies, sulfa drugs, band-aids, antibiotic ointment, a book on natural healing and—”

“Did you bring more chocolate?”

Gillian pulled the pack closed and glanced back at him. “No.”

His mouth curved. “You lie!”

“Hey. I bought you. I own you. I’m the one in charge here, and don’t you forget it.”

He rubbed his chin. “Mayhap I am not for purchase.”

“Oh really?” She pulled out a gold coin and to his amazement, peeled it like a piece of fruit.

“What is that?”

“A coin.” She pulled what looked to be a thin sliver of chocolate from the middle and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm, mmm, mmm.”

“Chocolate?”

“Say it. Say, Gillian owns me.” She pulled out another coin and peeled it.

Kellen looked at the coin, but in fact was simply relieved that Gillian seemed to be relaxing so continued to tease her. “You must wait while I consider the matter.”

Gillian popped the chocolate into her mouth. “Mmm. Yummy.”

“Just give me but a moment to consider. But do not eat all the coins in the meanwhile.”

She pulled out another coin and started to open it, and he lunged at her.

She screamed, then laughed as he took the thin sliver of chocolate between his teeth and ate it. He tossed the gold bits aside and picked her up in his arms and held her close.

Gillian lowered her gaze and, with her finger, traced a pattern on his shirt. “You didn’t let me find what I was looking for.” She parted the material enough to slide her hand onto his skin, making his heart speed. “I bought a nightgown for our wedding night. I think you might like me in it.”

“I am most certain I will.” His voice was low, gruff, and he could feel the shiver that moved through Gillian, engendering a matching response in himself. “Gillian what I was trying to say is that you cannot buy my love, because you already won my heart.”

She cupped his cheek and smiled, and it was all the encouragement he needed. He kissed her and carried her toward the bed, protectiveness, satisfaction, and longing enveloping him as he lay her onto the mattress and followed her down.

As he moved back far enough to gaze down at her, she clung, her arms around his neck, love and acceptance shining in her eyes as she looked at him.

She was everything he could want. She was everything.

And she was finally his.

She pushed back a strand of his hair with her fingers, tucking it behind his ear, making him shiver anew. “I love you,” she said.

His heart squeezed tight. “And I you.” He touched his mouth to hers and could not help but smile against her lips when her arms tightened ever more, as if afraid he would escape.

She was everything. She had brought him back to life and given meaning to his dreams. He must have accomplished a great feat, then forgotten it, because the very fates had intervened to gift her to him.

Someday he would find the words to explain that had she been the most impoverished lady in the kingdom, he would have paid his entire fortune to have her, and then counted himself prosperous.

She was his fortune. She was his destiny. Indeed, he held his very future in his arms.

Other Works by Diane Darcy

Beauty and the Beach

The Princess Problem

Steal His Heart

A Penny for Your Thoughts

The Christmas Star

Once in a Blue Moon

She’s Just Right

Serendipity

About Diane Darcy

Diane Darcy loves to read and write lighthearted and funny books. She’s a member of the Heart of the West, and RWA. She was a finalist for Romance Writers of America's Golden Heart® Award. She’s written romantic comedies in several different genres; some historical, some contemporary, all lighthearted and fun. She makes her home in Utah with her family and dogs, and is hard at work on her next book.

For previews of upcoming books by Diane Darcy, to sign up for the mailing list, or for more information about the author, please visit DianeDarcy.com.

Heart of the Ocean

by Heather B. Moore

Thus sing I to cragg’d clifts and hils,

To sighing winds, to murmuring rills,

To wasteful woods, to empty groves,

Such things as my dear mind most loves.

—Dr. Henry More, 1614–1687

Chapter One

September 1839

“Jump.”

Eliza swung around, searching for the source of the voice—a woman’s voice. Wind tugged at her wool coat, and streaks of rain pelted her face. Maybe it’s the wind. Again. It was the same voice she heard on her walk out to the cliffs. But that’s impossible. There’s no one here. She turned to face the sea and realized she was only two steps from the edge of the cliff where the jagged rocks sloped into the surf dozens of feet below.

“Jump now.”

Eliza backed away from the cliff’s edge, heart pounding as she peered into the gray drizzle for any sign of the woman. I’m imagining it… or it’s in my head. She shuddered and pulled the coat tighter around her body.

Shunning the treacherous drop-off a few steps away, Eliza closed her eyes against the incoming storm. Waves crashed below, sending vibrations through her body. The seagulls had long since abandoned their screeching cries and had found shelter among the jutted rocks. Am I losing my mind? With what she’d endured the past few months, it was entirely possible.

“Don’t be afraid.”

New cold shot through her at the sound of the woman’s voice. Eliza opened her eyes and stared at the furious foam dashing against the dark rocks below.

“Who are you?” she yelled into the wind.

No response.

What’s happening to me? “Now I’m talking to myself and hearing voices,” she muttered. Feeling a sudden dizziness, she took several more steps away from the edge, as the ocean surged and spat out sea spray. The menacing clouds compressed into a deeper gloom, and the wind picked up its pace, as a force outside her seemed to urge her forward.

Aunt Maeve had said the New England coast was not for the faint-hearted, and Eliza understood why. Not only was September the most active month for hurricanes, but apparently the ghost stories she’d heard in town had just proven themselves credible. Unless the voice is inside my head. Then I’ve truly lost my sanity.

She turned from the cliff’s edge and hurried to the lighthouse, clutching her coat and bending against the furious gale. Eliza had told her aunt she’d only wanted to see the incoming storm for a moment. But by the time she reached the crumbling lighthouse, she was panting, shivering, and thoroughly soaked.

“Come back,” the voice said, slicing through Eliza. As she increased her pace and focused on the lighthouse door, she tried to block out everything else. Just get there.

The splintered door swung wide before Eliza reached it, and the wind slammed it against the wall. Aunt Maeve stood in the entryway at the base of the stairs, bundled up in a thick cloak and heavy boots, lantern in hand.

Her aunt was here, real and solid. Relief surged through Eliza. She wasn’t in a horrible nightmare.

“’Bout time you came back.” Maeve glared at her. “I thought you’d decided to take a swim.” The woman’s white-streaked auburn hair had come loose from its customary bun, wispy across her shoulders. It looked almost pretty.

Eliza knew better than to believe her aunt was cross. “I’m ready to go back to the house.”

Maeve held the lantern high and narrowed her gaze, but through her stern Puritan demeanor, a twinkle showed in her eyes. “It’s a good thing, too. I almost had to come for you myself. There aren’t any men near enough to send on such an errand.” She tilted her head, motioning for her niece to follow.

No men indeed. Precisely why Eliza wanted to come to this Puritan farm in the first place. She’d had enough of men, and their deceitful ways, to last her a lifetime. Maeve gripped Eliza’s arm, bringing her thoughts back into focus. In the few seconds that Eliza had been inside the lighthouse, the wind had multiplied in strength. She clung to her aunt as they exited, and together they ran to the cottage, sodden skirts whipping their legs. The distance was not far, but with the wind slicing through their clothing, time seemed to slow, and it felt an eternity had passed by the time they reached the front door. Once inside, it took both of them to push it closed.

Maeve clasped her hands to her chest and fought for normal breath as she leaned against the wall. “On my life, it’s going to be a big ’un. Leave your wet things here. We’ll clean up later.”

Eliza stripped off her coat then removed the wool scarf covering her head. Her hair was plastered against her cold face.

Maeve chuckled. “You look like a wet dog.”

Eliza pulled her dark blonde hair free of her face, grateful to be inside the cottage—away from the cliff, away from the voice, and most importantly, away from the judgments of men.

“Aye, you’re shivering as a dog would,” Maeve began.

“And so are you,” Eliza countered with a smile.

“I’ll put the tea on.” Maeve left the entryway and hurried to the kitchen.

Eliza moved into the hearth room, knelt before the fireplace, and threw a thin log onto the starving glow. She settled onto her heels, trembling from getting soaked, and from hearing that strange woman’s voice. Her skin prickled as gooseflesh rose on her arms. Was it my imagination? Or was there someone out there?

Here, inside the humble, yet comfortable, cottage, it was hard to believe she’d heard a voice out on the cliffs that had commanded her to jump. It must be my imagination. That was it—the wind, the rain, the churning ocean—it had all combined to disorient her.

Eliza exhaled, feeling relieved as she looked around the room and let the familiar calm embrace her. Aunt Maeve’s cottage was plain, a welcome change from Eliza’s home in New York City. The whitewashed walls, a rocker, a pair of stout chairs positioned near the hearth, and a threadbare sofa against the wall made up the simple room.

Soon the warmth from the fire began to thaw her stiff fingers, and when they were nimble again, she combed them through her wet hair. A burst of wind blew down the chimney, making the fire waver. Eliza shuddered again, thinking about the woman’s voice. Jump… Don’t be afraid. What did it mean? Why did the voice want her to jump from the cliff?

Eliza leaned toward the fire, letting her hair fall over her face to dry in the heat. She’d been in Maybrook for nearly a month now. Everything about it was different than her high society life back in New York. No complaining mother, no docile father, no stab-you-in-the-back suitors. Even now, her stomach churned at the memory of her recent beau.

Mr. Thomas Bertram Beesley III. Even the name was repulsive. So proper; so arrogant. Plump was putting it nicely. Kind was overdoing it. And filthy rich, an understatement. He’d be mortified to see her in such modest surroundings now. Why couldn’t the wealthy men also be handsome, humble, and totally and completely in love with her?

Eliza smoothed her hair back and pulled her knees up to her chest. She gazed at the flames, relishing the peace and absolute quiet save for the crackling fire.

Her aunt lived a humble life, though it hadn’t always been that way. Maeve had once been a young debutante in New York, but she had fallen in love with a Puritan man and moved to Maybrook, where she had remained ever since. What would it be like to throw all conventions in society’s face? Live my own life, free from the shackles of high-brow culture? Sparks shot out from the fire, close to Eliza’s skirt, so she scooted back, shaking out the dancing sparks.

Maeve entered the room, two teacups in hand. “Here you are.”

Eliza turned and accepted a steaming cup. “Thank you.” Dry enough now to sit on the sofa, she sat as the wind howled its way around the house, sounding nothing like the voice on the cliff.

“There now, dear, you’ll grow used to ol’ Mr. Wind,” Maeve soothed. She retrieved a bit of mending from the nearby basket and settled into the rocking chair. After threading a needle, she began to sew even stitches along the torn hem of an apron.

Eliza brought the teacup close to her lips and inhaled the sweet fragrance. She sipped the liquid, relishing the warmth moving down her throat. The wind suddenly increased its tempo, sending rapid bursts through the chimney and into the hearth. Eliza shivered and looked at her aunt.“When you’re here alone, don’t you feel afraid?”

Glancing up from her sewing, Maeve said, “When my husband was alive, I never gave the storms a second thought. After he was gone, I found I didn’t mind the weather, even being alone. I believe this old house protects me.”

Eliza gazed about the room—the glow of fire reached to the far corners, making the place look cozy. She understood how her aunt felt secure. But what about the voice on the cliff? Had her aunt experienced something of that sort?

“What did your mother say in her letter?” Maeve asked. She set down the apron and reached for her cup of tea.

“She’d like to come and visit.” Looking again at her aunt, Eliza took in the woman’s now carefully arranged hair and twice-mended pinafore.

“That would be nice,” Maeve murmured, with a slight lift of her brow.

Eliza refrained from letting out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t want her to come. I don’t want to hear about the latest dance, or what everyone wore,” she said. “It’s hard enough to read her letters, but at least I can put them away and forget about the things that don’t truly matter. Having her here—that would be… it would be unbearable!”

Maeve nodded before taking another sip. “I had the same feelings once. Felt I was drowning in an ocean of greed.” She hesitated then leaned forward on the rocker. “When I met Edward, I saw my escape. It was probably an extreme choice to leave everything behind, but I loved him, and I’ve been happy here.”

The nostalgia in her aunt’s voice enveloped Eliza like a soft blanket, calming her spirit. “Maybrook is so unassuming,” Eliza said. “As long as you’re an upstanding citizen, no one cares which house in Paris made your dress, or how many people attend your coming-out party.”

“You’re guaranteed none of that here,” Maeve said.

But there were other things here, things Eliza hadn’t encountered in New York City—like a ghostly woman’s voice. “Do you believe in ghosts?” she blurted, immediately regretting such a foolish question.

Maeve’s forehead creased. “Have you been listening to the village stories?”

“No.” Eliza wished she could take back her question. Her parents had specifically told her to ignore the superstitious tales among the Puritans. It was one of the agreements Eliza had made before coming.

“It’s true that Maybrook is nothing like New York City.” Maeve lowered her gaze.“But things around here are not always what they may seem.”

“What do you mean?” A slow chill crawled up Eliza’s neck. The same chill she’d felt at the edge of the cliff. She placed her tea cup and saucer on the floor beside her.

“As I said, in this house, I’m protected.” Maeve lifted her gaze.

Eliza nodded and folded her arms. The room remained cold in spite of the fireplace.

“But what I’m about to say… your parents would have me hanged for.”

Eliza inhaled. What could Maeve possibly tell her that would have her parents so upset? “I won’t say anything.”

“You are nineteen now, a grown woman, and it’s time you knew about such things,” Maeve said in a slow voice. “To answer your question, Eliza, yes, I do believe in ghosts.” Her eyes seemed to glow as she took up the mending again. “The woman who lived in this house watches over me.”

Flinching, Eliza clasped her hands together. “Oh… I…” Her aunt’s response did not bode well, not after the voice, not after the order she’d heard on the cliff less than an hour ago. She wanted to tell her aunt what had happened, but no words would come.

A smile tugged the corners of Maeve’s mouth. “You think I wouldn’t believe in ghosts?” She gave a long, slow look toward Eliza, then continued, “Everyone dies and leaves their body. We just don’t talk about what happens when a spirit refuses to leave our world.”

“Have you… seen or heard the ghost?” Eliza practically whispered.

“I didn’t say that.” Maeve tied a knot in her stitching.

Her aunt hadn’t actually seen or heard anything, so maybe it was Eliza’s imagination too? Relaxing her tightly gripped hands, the blood returned to Eliza’s fingers, creating a sharp needle-like pain. Just then, something banged on the window. Both Eliza and Maeve jumped.

“Only a falling branch.” Maeve tied a second knot and snipped the end of the thread.

Questions whirled through Eliza’s mind. Her aunt’s words were far from comforting, and with such a wild storm outside, it took everything in her not to start at every sound. She retrieved her cup with trembling hands and took another sip of the tea, hoping the hot liquid would put some calm into her. Another piece of debris hit the window, and the cup shook in her hand.

“She was about your age, and her name was Helena Talbot,” Maeve went on, oblivious to the tempest outside.

“Who?” The ghost? Eliza’s mind added the second question. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear this story on such an awful night. She couldn’t very well excuse herself. And do what, stay awake in the dark? Listen to the frightful storm alone?

“His name was Jonathan Porter,” Maeve continued. “Some say he was ten years her elder. I suppose he could have been even older than that, for all the places he’d seen.”

A shrill whistle knifed its way through Eliza’s chest as the wind vibrated the clapboard walls. She huddled against the sofa, wishing that the fire were brighter and the storm had already passed.

“It’s been twenty years since Helena was lost. Some say she’ll come back.” A soft smile spread across Maeve’s face. “Others say they can hear her voice on nights like this.” She paused as the wind screeched in confirmation.

The voice. The one she’d heard on the cliffs. Eliza tried not to tremble.

“Scandal surrounded Helena, and Helena’s mother never forgave her, never even visited her daughter’s illegitimate baby,” Maeve said. “It’s said that ol’ Mistress Talbot went mad from hearing her daughter’s tortured spirit cry during the night.”

Tortured spirit? “What happened?”

“Helena disappeared. Then her mother lost her mind. The townspeople said that Helena had thrown herself off the cliff, but a body was never found.” Maeve smoothed the apron on her lap and began to rock slowly. “Ole Mistress Talbot used to comb the cliffs looking for her daughter. One night during a terrible storm she climbed upon a horse, driven to search for her daughter yet again, but she plunged off the cliff and fell to her own death. Mother and daughter were both gone in the same year.”

Why had Mistress Talbot mounted a horse in such a storm? The woman had been mad indeed. Had she heard her daughter’s voice at the edge of the cliff? Eliza could very well imagine the absolute terror of the mother. Eliza’s eyes stung as she imagined the poor woman, lost, cold, wet, falling to her death.

“I suppose I’m getting ahead of myself. You see, after Jonathan Porter returned to England, Helena discovered she was with child.” Maeve’s voice brought Eliza back to the story. “Mr. Porter was a wealthy bachelor, and he should have married her properly. Weeks passed with no word from him, and eventually the minister and town authorities banned Helena and her growing belly from public sight.”

“She was banned from sight?”

“Helena’s shame was so great, she couldn’t even accept visitors,” Maeve said, her expression grave. She sipped at her tea, closing her eyes briefly. “The poor dear lived alone—couldn’t face her own family or any of the townspeople for the disgrace of it.”

A pang twisted inside Eliza. Alone. Pregnant. Disgraced. “Wasn’t there anyone she could turn to?”

“Oh, some took pity and left baskets of food at her doorstep, but only on the darkest of nights.” Maeve looked past Eliza as the candles in the room flickered. “The night of her son’s birth, there was a violent storm—the townspeople had never experienced such a one. By morning, Helena’s place was hardly recognizable, yet she’d delivered a healthy boy despite it all. She stayed away from town for the first year. Her mother never came to visit the baby.”

What sort of mother refuses to see her own grandchild? Eliza wondered. The madness of Mistress Talbot must have been a mixture of grief and guilt.

“I still remember his dark locks and black eyes… He was only three years old when his mother disappeared.” Maeve stared at the fire as if seeing it all in her mind. Her voice quavered, and after a deep breath she said, “Someone found the boy wandering the edge of the cliff all alone, looking for his mother. Many think his mother drowned.”

Thinking of a little boy out in the dark all by himself, made Eliza feel ill. She twisted her hands, trying to comprehend the incredible tragedy—for Helena, for her mother, for her baby. “What happened to the boy?”

Maeve folded the apron she’d been mending. “Little Jon? Reared by the old spinster Ruth. The boy was a quiet lad. He moved to the big city some years back, and the town hasn’t seen him since.” She rose and busied herself with collecting the tea things.“I found Helena’s journal in the lighthouse a few weeks ago. Strange that it would show up after all of these years. Maybe you can help me read it since my eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

“Can I see it now?” Eliza asked.

“Later. I left it in the lighthouse. It seemed disrespectful to move it. For all I know, I found it exactly where she put it.”

Eliza wanted to know what was in the journal. The wind outside had mellowed, but it was still raining hard. Rising to help Maeve clean up, Eliza said, “Maybe her journal will tell us what really happened to her.”

“Perhaps.” Doubt crossed Maeve’s face. “It may answer why her spirit can’t rest, but I don’t know if that’s such a good thing.”

“Why not?” Eliza felt a bit lightheaded.

Maeve hesitated. “Because, my dear, this is the house where Helena delivered her poor child and where she lived the three years until her disappearance. Was it an accident? I don’t know. But I do know that her sorrow of raising a fatherless son must have been inconsolable, because each time a storm rolls in, people claim they can still hear her crying.”

Chapter Two

After Maeve retired for the night, Eliza lay curled in her bed underneath a heavy goose-down cover. What had become of Helena Talbot? And why had her lover never returned? The voice Eliza had heard had to be Helena. Had the woman thrown herself off the cliff? And if so, was her spirit now obsessed to make another person to do the same? The thoughts rocked through her.

Eliza burrowed deeper into the covers, but warmth wouldn’t come. She closed her eyes, desperate to take her mind off of the deep chill that Maeve’s story had brought. What would her parents think about the sordid details of a despairing ghost? Eliza’s parents had decided that if she spent a few months with her aunt, it would give the gossip columns a chance to cool over Eliza’s rejection of the pompous Mr. Thomas Beesley. When he had made his intentions clear, and she turned down his marriage proposal, her family was spurned by the inner circles of New York society.

Eliza’s face grew hot with familiar indignation. It hadn’t happened all at once, but with subtle nuances here and there. A dropped invitation, a neglected garden party. It isn’t fair. Why should she have to marry a forty-plus-year old man, because he was her father’s business partner and very wealthy? She cringed at his image in her mind. Thomas was shorter than Eliza by several inches, and his middle so large that she wondered how he laced his shoes in the morning. What appalled her most was his constantly running nose—and commentary to match.

When rumors circulated that Thomas was about to ask for her hand, Eliza had brushed them off. Her parents had always respected and spoke highly of the man, but they had never alluded to a possible union. To her dismay, a short time later at the company’s annual charity picnic, he proposed on bended knee. Over the sound of exploding fireworks, he took her hand and asked, “Miss Eliza Robinson, will you bestow upon me the honor of becoming my wife?”

She had stared at him, wondering if she had heard right. Her mind spun as Thomas smiled with hope and waited patiently.

“I’m sorry,” Eliza began, but quickly stopped when she saw his reddened complexion deepen to purple. She had made a fool of him. He left in a hurry, and by the next morning Eliza discovered that it was too late to make her apologies. Thomas had already confronted her father, who apologized profusely, then came straight up to lecture her. But Eliza refused to change her mind, and by evening, the gossip columns were in full swing, painting her as a heartless flirt.

At least, she thought as her eyes grew heavy, Helena never had to worry about printed gossip columns in Maybrook.

* * *

The sound of shattering glass startled Eliza awake. Head pounding, she bolted out of bed and grabbed her robe. The windows in her bedroom shook from the howling wind—ready to burst. Had her aunt broken something? Fallen? Eliza slipped on her shoes before hurrying out of her room.

“Aunt Maeve?” she called. She nearly stumbled as she descended the stairs in the dark. When she reached her aunt’s room, she found the door locked. Eliza pounded on the wood. “Are you all right in there?” A burst of cold air hit her bare ankles as she shook the handle. “Aunt Maeve!”

The whining grew louder—or was it crying? Gooseflesh on her arms spread to her neck until the hair on her head prickled. Something was wrong. Her aunt couldn’t be sleeping through all of this commotion.

Eliza frantically kicked at the heavy door, but there was no give. She dashed into the kitchen and scrambled in the dim light for anything to use to break the door handle. Finding a cast iron skillet, she hurried back to her aunt’s room.

She froze. The door now stood ajar.

“Aunt Maeve?” she called again in a shaky voice. “Can you hear me? Are you all right?” As she stepped into the room, a cold wind cut through her muslin nightgown. Shards of glass lay haphazardly on the plank floor. Eliza’s gaze moved to the broken panes of her aunt’s bedroom window. And then Eliza looked toward the bed. Maeve lay motionless, her face turned away, hidden in the shadows.

Eliza gripped the skillet in one hand and walked to the bed. “Aunt Maeve?” There was no answer.

As she circled the bed, terror caught in Eliza’s throat. Maeve’s head was facing her, eyes closed. Eliza reached out and touched her aunt’s hand. It felt like cold clay.

Eliza felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. She backed away from her aunt, staring in horror at the still figure.

Aunt Maeve was dead.

She slowly backed out of the bedroom. As she passed through the doorway, she turned, her hands stretched out before her. She made her way down the hall until she reached the kitchen. Her foot caught on the rug, and she fell headlong into the sideboard.

She cried out. Her forehead burned with pain and her ankle throbbed. But she couldn’t stop to examine or tend to her injuries—she had to find help. She took several breaths then pulled herself up by holding onto the sideboard.

Dizziness stunned her, and she sank to the ground, pain pulsing through her. She exhaled as tears burned her eyes. This wasn’t the moment to give into the pain. I have to get help. Eliza crawled to the front door. She had to get to the barn and saddle the horse. When she reached the front door, she pulled herself up by the handle, and opened it. Debris swirled everywhere outside.

Rain drove nearly sideways in the fierce wind. Limping precariously on her injured foot, Eliza made her way through the yard. She was soaked in seconds and wished she’d put on her coat.

Her head pounded, and she realized that the sound she thought was in her head was really that of an approaching horse. She turned to face the horse as the animal grew closer, shielding her face from the driving rain to see.

The rider reined in his mount, stopping mere inches away from where Eliza stood. She stretched out her arms. “Help me,” she gasped.

* * *

Eliza awakened with a start. White curtains above her billowed in the soft breeze. Where am I? She rose to her elbows and groaned. Her head throbbed something fierce, and her mouth was parched. Sinking back into the pillow, she carefully touched her forehead, finding it covered with a bandage. The sleeve of her nightgown was different, and she realized she was wearing someone else’s, faded but clean. What had happened to her own clothing? She turned her head and saw that she was in a small simple room. A rocking chair stood in the corner, with a patchwork quilt thrown over the back. Her gaze roamed to the opposite corner, where a lone basin sat atop a washstand.

The sound of lowered voices reached her ears. It was his voice—the man who had saved her last night. As Eliza strained to hear the words, the memory of the previous night returned.

She squeezed her eyes shut at the images—finding her aunt’s body, falling against the sideboard, crawling through the house, facing the storm, a man riding into the yard on a horse. Despite the chaotic weather, the man’s face was etched in her memory—dark eyes and black hair as wild as the storm’s surf. Opening her eyes again, Eliza stared at the white curtains fluttering above her. Where was she? The voices from the other room had fallen quiet. A door shut.

“Don’t leave,” Eliza whispered. She wanted to find out who had helped her. Pulling herself out of bed, she stepped onto the wooden floor. She gasped in pain when her foot touched the ground, but she gritted her teeth and hobbled to the window. A horse came into view, and for a brief moment, Eliza saw the man’s profile before he turned and galloped away from the house. It was him—the man who had found her.

“Up already, love?” came a voice from the doorway.

Startled, Eliza turned and looked at the wizened woman who had walked into the room. “Where am I?”

The woman’s blue eyes peered through delicate folds of aging skin. “Thou are in my house.”

“And who are you?”

“Ruth.” The woman flashed a nearly toothless smile. “Thou hast had quite a night. Why don’t thou climb back into bed, dear, and I’ll bring thee a hot cup of tea.”

Eliza obeyed and drew the covers around her. She would ask more questions of the Puritan woman when she returned. Tears burned as she thought about her aunt. What had happened to her? Was Maeve’s body still in the cottage?

“Here thou are.”

Eliza took the cup of tea gratefully.

“Jonny said he found thee outside Maeve’s cottage.”

Perhaps the woman didn’t know that her aunt was dead. “Maeve is my aunt. Last night I found her…” She bit her lip.

“I know about Maeve. Thou told us last night. And I knew Maeve had her niece, Eliza Robinson, staying with her.” Ruth placed a gnarled hand over Eliza’s arm. “I’m sorry we haven’t met until now.”

Eliza blinked back tears. She was sorry too, sorry for a lot of things.

“Don’t worry, dear. Jonny went to fetch the constable,” Ruth said. “Has Mistress Maeve been ill, dear?”

“No,” she whispered, finding it difficult to speak. She took a sip of tea. The flavor was strong and burned her throat as she swallowed, making her eyes water more.

Ruth patted Eliza’s shoulder and said, “It’s my special medicinal tea. Thou wilt gain thy strength back quickly.”

Eliza blew on the tea before taking another scorching sip.

“We’ll have to make arrangements for thy aunt.” Ruth’s voice was kind. “Doest thou know what her last wishes were?”

“No,” Eliza said, new tears forming. “I have no idea.”

Ruth sighed. “She never did want to outlive her husband.”

Eliza thought of her uncle, who had died a few years back. He was a quiet man with a warm and steady manner. Maeve and her husband had come to visit her family in New York once or twice, but their simple ways were out of place there. The Sunday activities were unbearable for them, and they had spent the day in the guest room, reading the Bible. Later, her father explained that laughing and speaking in a loud voice was prohibited on the Sabbath for Puritans, along with other worldly activities.

Ruth crossed the room and opened the window wider, letting in the morning breeze.

“Is Jonny your son?” Eliza asked.

Ruth turned, a flicker of sorrow in her eyes. “In a manner of speaking, yes. His mother died when he was young, and I took him into my care.”

And then Eliza knew. Jonny was… “His mother was Helena Talbot?”

A shadow passed over Ruth’s face. “Thou hast heard of her, I see. Aye, Helena was her name.” She pursed her lips and fell silent. She seemed reluctant to say more.

Exhaustion pulled at Eliza; she closed her eyes. Ruth murmured something about sleeping, and Eliza was grateful to oblige, as she allowed herself to sink into nothingness.

* * *

Someone touched her shoulder, and Eliza startled awake.

An elderly woman stood over her. Eliza remembered it was Ruth and that she was in the woman’s house because of the awfulness of the night before.

“The constable’s arrived,” Ruth said. “He’ll want to ask thee a few questions.”

Eliza smoothed her hair as Ruth left to answer the door. She sat up, adjusting the quilt about her. Her head throbbed, and her throat felt thick. A few moments later, Ruth led the constable into the bedroom. He bore a striking resemblance to Thomas, with a plenty wide girth. Eliza swallowed nervously.

“Good mornin’ miss. Sorry t’ hear about thy aunt.”

The constable’s dark eyes glinted in the morning light, and his mouth worked beneath his heavy mustache. It was his nose that reminded her most of her rejected beau—it twitched and sniffed persistently.

“About what time didst thou find her?” the constable continued, shuffling a step closer.

Eliza clasped her hands to steady their trembling. “I’m not certain. The sound of breaking glass woke me. It wasn’t very late, but with the storm, we went to bed earlier than usual. Her door was stuck… and when it opened, I found her…”

The constable frowned. “Did thou hear any other sounds coming from her room?”

“Only the wind and…” She paused.

“And?” the constable prompted.

Eliza stared past him. “The wind sounded so strange. I thought I heard someone crying.”

A sudden movement from Ruth caught Eliza’s attention. Ruth’s hands were gripped into a tight ball and her face had drained of color. “Crying?” she whispered.

The constable looked at Ruth, then back to Eliza, his thick eyebrows raised. “Most likely the wind, ma’am. Or perhaps the poor woman was crying right before her murder.”

“Murder?” Eliza whispered.

His eyes hardened. “That’s right, miss. Thy aunt was murdered. God rest her soul.”

It took Eliza a moment to comprehend. “How?”

He looked from Ruth to Eliza as if unsure what exactly to say. In a quiet voice, he said, “Thou must tell me, Miss Robinson.”

“How would I know?” Surely the constable didn’t think that she…

His eyes bore into hers, and she shuddered involuntarily.

“You can’t think that I…” She looked to Ruth for help.

Ruth folded her thin arms. She stared straight at the constable. “Now, sir. You can’t believe this poor girl is a murderer.”

He turned his gaze on her. “Maeve O’Brien’s skull was crushed. I aim to find who did it to her, even if I have to imprison a few people to do it.”

Eliza covered her mouth with her hand. Ruth rushed to her side and spoke quietly, as heaving sobs tore at Eliza’s chest. “How could this happen?” Eliza cried out. Disbelief and anger and horror coursed through her. Hours before, Maeve had been telling her a ghost story, cozy in the hearth room, sewing on her lap.

Ruth sat on the bed and wrapped her arms around Eliza. “Hush, dear. The constable will find whoever did this.”

“Thou are correct. I will find the culprit.” He cleared his throat. “Thou wilt have to come with me, miss.” He took a step forward. “Thou are under arrest for the murder of Maeve O’Brien.”

Ruth rose from the bed. “Sir, is that really necessary?”

The constable said nothing, merely stared Eliza down.

Ruth reached out and patted Eliza’s hand. “Go along now. Thou wilt be cleared soon.” But her trembling voice betrayed worry.

In a daze, Eliza rose from her bed. This can’t be happening. She stepped on the cold floor, and pain shot through her sore ankle.

“Wear these,” Ruth said, handing over the shoes that Eliza had been wearing the night before. They looked like they’d been cleaned.

“This way,” the constable said.

Eliza followed him, her mind numb as they left the house and walked to the waiting buckboard. Ruth followed and placed a cloak about Eliza’s shoulders before she climbed in.

“Thou are making a mistake, sir,” Ruth said. “The girl’s harmless.”

The constable turned and faced the woman. “Are thou willing to stake thine own reputation on it, woman?”

Eliza’s heart sank as Ruth took a step back, shaking her head. Eliza hadn’t really expected Ruth to risk anything for her, but the woman knew the town and the law better than Eliza did—where would she be without her?

“Jonny will tell thee—” Ruth began.

“Jon has to worry about his own neck right now,” the constable interrupted. “Until I know why he was at the O’Brien house last night, he’s a suspect as well.”

Eliza stared at the constable. He’d arrested that man who’d helped her too? Panic shot through her. She couldn’t go with the constable. Her parents knew nothing about this. She had to send a message to them. How could she face jail? She gripped the seat and made a move to stand, but the constable climbed in next to her and urged the horse into motion.

She fell back against the seat. It was too late.

Chapter Three

Eliza stared through the dark iron bars. The cold cellar was damp, with water dripping from the ceiling in a rhythmic fashion. This crude jail is no place for a woman, she imagined her father saying. She pulled the cloak given to her by Ruth around her shoulders. Shivering, she thought of how last night she was snuggled in her warm bed; tonight she was surrounded by concrete walls.

A low curse from the next cell reached her ears. It had to be Jonny. When she arrived at the jail, she’d been led past his barred cell, feeling his eyes watching her. The constable already arrested Jonny before going to Ruth’s place.

Eliza let out a breath, gathering her courage. “Are you all right?” she called.

Silence greeted her.

She tried again. Maybe he hadn’t heard. “Are you ill?”

“I’m in jail,” he said with a scoff. His deep voice seemed to fill the small space with an echo.

Eliza bit her lip. It was her fault he was here. “I’m sorry.”

He spoke again. “Did you kill her?”

She drew a breath in sharply. “No.” How could he accuse her? Because she lived with her aunt? How did he arrive so fast at the cottage—how had he known to come? Suspicion knotted inside her. “Why were you riding by the cottage in such a storm?”

There was a brief moment of silence, as if Jonny had realized what she was accusing him of. “I thought I could make it all the way to Ruth’s in the storm, but it grew worse than I expected. I knew Mistress Maeve lived nearby, so I planned to take shelter in the barn until the worst passed.”

She didn’t know this man. Could she believe him?

“It’s God’s truth,” he said.

Exhaling, Eliza realized she did believe him. She couldn’t explain why, but she decided to trust her instincts.

“I’m sorry about what happened to your aunt. She was a good friend to Ruth over the years, although I didn’t know her well.” There was a shuffling sound from the other side of the wall, and then he spoke again. “As soon as my father’s lawyers find out, the constable is going to be sorry.”

This surprised Eliza. If Jonny was Helena’s son, then… “Your father’s alive?”

“I see you’ve heard the local gossip.” Bitterness was evident in his voice.

“Only from my aunt—” She cut herself off.

A door banged in the distance, and soon a man appeared with a trencher of gruel. He slipped the wooden dish through the bars and set it on the floor in Eliza’s cell. “Thank you,” she said. The man grunted and shuffled to Jonny’s cell. There was no spoon with the gruel, so she had to sip the nourishment.

Night came and along with it, inky blackness. Eliza huddled on the moldy cot and hugged her arms against her body. Her heart seemed to beat in tandem with each passing second. The occasional sound of a door banging reached her. Otherwise the jail was silent as a grave, and she heard no sound from Jonny.

She had almost forgotten the companion adjacent to her when he spoke.

“I’m Jon Porter, by the way,” he said in the quiet stillness. “We haven’t been properly introduced.”

Eliza swallowed. “I’m Eliza Robinson, niece to Maeve. My parents sent me here for a while to… help my aunt.”

He said nothing for a moment, then, “My father recently died. I never met him. He sent money to pay for my education, but there was never a personal letter or an invitation to meet him. You can pass that onto the townspeople.”

A rebuttal caught in Eliza’s throat. She didn’t know what to say. Seconds turned into minutes, and presently she smelled the sweet, robust scent of cigar smoke. She knew it would be futile to try to explain things to him. He must hate her, and it was her fault.

Quiet tears slipped onto her cheeks. Soon her body trembled. How long would she have to remain in this dreadful place? It wasn’t until dawn began to invade the cell that Eliza at last fell into an uneasy slumber.

* * *

“Wake up, girl.”

Eliza opened her eyes. As the cloudiness of sleep disappeared, she recognized the figure standing over her.

The constable studied her with ill-concealed contempt. “Thou are free to go.”

“How—”

“The evidence against thee isn’t strong enough yet. Therefore I must let thee go, but thou wilt have to stay in town until the charges can be formally cleared.” The constable turned and left, leaving the barred door wide open.

Eliza listened to his footsteps echo down the corridor. She licked her cracked lips. Glancing around the damp cell for the last time, she rose from the cot and adjusted the cloak about her shoulders. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair as she walked out of the cell, still limping. The corridor was quiet as she passed by Jon’s cell, which now stood empty. When she reached the stairwell, she paused, sensing someone behind her. She turned to see a rat scurry past.

She walked up the stairs, her legs stiff and cold from the night in the cell. A jail guard waited for her at the top and motioned for her to follow him outside. Heavy clouds discolored the sky, looking pregnant with rain, although not a drop fell now. She followed the guard around the building and stepped through another doorway into a narrow room with a bench and two desks. A grizzled man was seated at one of the desks.

The guard said nothing, and Eliza stood in front of the desk for a moment, waiting until the man looked up. Finally, he noticed the visitors and peered at her through his spectacles. “Thou must be the young lady who was released.”

“Yes, have they found my aunt’s murderer?” Eliza clenched her hands in front of her.

The man shook his head. “The constable is still investigating.”

Eliza blew out a breath, disappointment filling her.

“After you sign this release, thou are free to go,” the man said, pushing a piece of parchment toward her. “When Mr. Porter was released, he petitioned for thy freedom as well.”

“He freed me? But how?”

“Why, turns out he’s a lawyer.” The man grunted. “And he told the constable, ‘You can’t keep that girl without evidence.’ Thou had best be going, miss, before the constable finds another excuse to keep thee ’ere. Mr. Porter left for the city and won’t be available to help again.”

Relieved she was free, yet disappointed she couldn’t thank Mr. Porter properly, Eliza bent and signed her name on the parchment. “Thank you.”

The old man nodded, then said in a gruff voice, “May God keep thee.”

The guard stepped aside as she passed through the doorway. The last few hours seemed like a dream. Had she really spent the night in a jail cell? She clasped the rough woolen cloak about her and started toward the road that led to Maeve’s. She dreaded going back to the place where her aunt had died.

Yet she had no choice but to return. The main road passed right through the commons, and as luck would have it, today was market day. People stared at her as she hurried by. At least the adults averted their eyes, but the children watched her with open, curiosity. Untidiness was a disgrace to the Puritans, and she must be a sight to behold, in addition to the fact that she’d exited the jail. She wished she could disappear inside her cloak.

Skirting around the market stalls, Eliza thought she heard someone call her name. But when she turned, no one was looking at her. At least it wasn’t the voice of the woman from the cliff. That voice had been silent since the night before.

Eliza watched two plump boys battling with sticks next to their father’s bread cart, making her realize how hungry she was. She wouldn’t be able to eat for a while, since the walk back to her aunt’s was nearly an hour. Wishing she had paid more attention to her aunt’s acquaintances, she approached the cart. Perhaps the man would give her some food on credit.

She dodged a rather large puddle to reach it. “Good day, sir. I don’t have money today, but I’ll repay you tomorrow if you could be so kind to give me a bit of bread.”

The merchant’s eyes appraised what was sure to be a dirty face and a stained nightdress beneath her borrowed cloak. Not to mention uncovered hair. Finally he nodded. “I cannot turn away a beggar.”

She wanted to tell him she wasn’t a beggar, but instead she kept silent, deciding it was best not to argue with the man.

Making grand gestures, he eyed his neatly arranged loaves and scratched his head. Then he elaborately chose a loaf that looked a bit over-baked and handed it to Eliza, wrapped in a cloth.

She took the bread and thanked the merchant. This wasn’t a time to be choosey.

“Good morrow, Eliza,” a voice spoke behind her.

She turned and saw Nathaniel Prann, a young, blond man whom she’d met during Sabbath services on her first visit to the Meeting House.

He looked her up and down, as if he couldn’t believe her appearance. “Art thou well?”

The merchant squinted at them with curiosity. “Thou knowest this girl?”

“Of course. She’s Maeve O’Brien’s niece.”

“Ah. I didn’t recognize thee,” the merchant said. “I am sorry to hear about thy aunt.”

“Thank you,” Eliza said, feeling completely mortified that Nathaniel was seeing her in this state.

“What happened to thy aunt?” Nathaniel asked, his usually merry blue eyes somber.

The words stuck in Eliza’s throat. The merchant was only too eager to supply the information that Maeve had died. Nathaniel turned his concerned gaze back to Eliza.

“I didn’t know.” He led her away from the peering merchant. “What can I do? Doest thou need a place to stay?”

Hot tears filled her eyes. “I haven’t been back to the house since… I spent the night in jail.” She nearly choked on the last sentence.

Nathaniel’s eyes widened. “Thou must come to our place. Mother will help thee clean up. I’m on my way home now. I came into town to pick up the post.”

Eliza was too exhausted to turn down such a kind offer. She followed Nathaniel to his horse, sure that all eyes of the market were watching. Nathaniel Prann was the eldest of a large family. He had been friendly right away, but she knew she could never become like him. A Puritan.

Nathaniel helped her onto the horse, then took the reins in hand and guided the horse down the road. “My house is up the coast from thy aunt’s. We don’t get the post delivered yet—too out of the way, I suppose.”

He chatted most of the way back to his place, but Eliza wasn’t listening. Her mind churned with thoughts of her aunt’s death and the night in a cell, with Jonathan Porter on the other side of the wall. He’d saved her twice. It seemed that beneath his aloofness was a caring man.

“—it would be a fine place to live,” Nathaniel was saying.

Nodding absently, Eliza murmured, “Mm-hmm.”

He pulled the horse to a stop and stared up at her. “Thou thinkest so too?” The grin on his face was broad.

Eliza reddened when she realized the trap she had stepped into. What had she agreed with? She knew that look, had seen it in opportunist’s eyes—yet Nathaniel was not much more than a boy.

Nathaniel continued, his voice a happy lilt. “I’m nearly twenty-one, not so much older than thou are. Perhaps… perhaps thou wouldst consider allowing me to court thee?”

Eliza opened then closed her mouth. Speechless.

Nathaniel chuckled. “I have shocked thee. I apologize.” His eyes were trained on her, though with a boldness much older than his age. His hand grasped hers. “Perhaps a kiss would make my intent more clear.”

Before she could protest, Nathaniel lifted her hand and kissed it.

Trying to hide her shock, she said, “Are you sure that’s not a sin, Mr. Prann?”

He laughed. “’Tis not, I assure thee.”

Eliza smiled at his laughter. He was misguided in his quick attachment to her, but that was sure to fade as quickly as it had bloomed. After all, she wasn’t even Puritan. Surely there was some law about marrying outside the faith, and she wasn’t willing to convert like her aunt had.

Nathaniel tugged at the horse’s reins. Eliza’s smile faded when she realized she couldn’t share this amusing experience with her aunt. A lump tightened in her throat. Who could have harmed her aunt, and why? She was glad Nathaniel was looking straight ahead and didn’t notice the quiet tears slipping from her eyes. As they neared the Prann homestead, the sun broke through the clouds and a gentle breeze lapped at the hem of Eliza’s nightdress.

“Here we are,” Nathaniel said, obvious pride in his voice.

Before them stood a plain two-story clapboard house with a porch that wrapped around the entire front, substantial by Puritan standards. Eliza hadn’t been this far up the coast before. When she’d taken the horse out, her aunt had cautioned her to stay near. Nathaniel extended his hand and helped Eliza to the ground. “What doest thou think?” he asked, his gaze eager.

Eliza hesitated. “Why, it’s so large, I thought—”

“My parents have eight children, so the size of our house is quite prudent.”

“I didn’t mean…”

He winked. “Of course I’ll build my bride her own house.”

“Nathaniel, I don’t think you should—”

“There thou are,” a merry voice called from the side of the house. A stout woman appeared, carrying a basket of sun-dried laundry. She wore a blue scarf tied about her head, although pale strands of hair had fallen out, framing her round face.

Nathaniel went to greet his mother while Eliza lagged behind. But Mistress Prann would not tolerate timid behavior. After hugging her son, she wrapped Eliza into her ample arms and squeezed. Now Eliza knew where Nathaniel had inherited his friendliness. “I’ve heard about thy aunt and the trip to jail. How ghastly. Thou must have had such a dreadful night. Come inside, and we’ll give thee a proper bath.”

Eliza drew away from the woman. “It can wait until later. I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“Nonsense, child. The water only takes a moment to heat.” She turned to her son. “Nathaniel, find Rachel and tell her to bring a change of clothes to the kitchen.”

Eliza followed Mistress Prann into the warm room, where a metal tub sat in the corner, next to a parted curtain. Mistress Prann moved the butter churn away from the tub then dragged it forward and poured water into it from two buckets stationed in the corner. She added a kettle full of steamy water. Then she refilled the kettle and waited for the water to heat. When several inches of water covered the bottom of the tub, Mistress Prann instructed Eliza to undress.

Eliza pulled the curtain closed and removed her soiled nightgown.

“Give me thy clothes to clean,” Mistress Prann said.

Eliza handed the garment through the opening, then gingerly stepped into the fast-cooling water. She sat down and ladled water over her skin.

“There’s lye soap behind thee on a shelf, and some hair cleanser in a jar.”

Locating the soap, Eliza began to scrub furiously. She poured a dollop of hair cleanser into her palm, smelling the scent of roses. It felt good to get clean. She did not even mind the draft that seeped through the curtain, causing gooseflesh to rise. The bath couldn’t warm her entirely from her night in a damp cell.

“Here thou are.” Mistress Prann handed a large square of cloth through the curtain.

“Thank you.” Eliza took the coarse fabric, stepped out of the tub, and rubbed herself dry.

“Thou must spend the night here,” Mistress Prann’s voice came through the curtain. “I can’t bear the thought of thee sleeping in an empty house, especially after…”

Eliza pulled on the petticoat that had been handed to her then dressed in a lightweight cotton dress. It was obvious the Prann family didn’t have warmer clothes to spare and had to bring out their summer wear to accommodate Eliza. “I’d appreciate the place to sleep.” She wasn’t ready to return to Aunt Maeve’s home yet. Tomorrow, with the storm clouds gone, she would make the journey.

She stepped out from behind the curtain, pulling her damp hair into a bun. The Pranns’ kitchen was cramped, filled with a rough-cut square table, surrounded by four solid benches. The oven protruded from the bricked hearth, blackened by years of greasy smoke.

“Girls,” Mistress Prann called to her daughters. “Eliza is dressed. Come prepare the meal.”

Three girls bustled into the room, all Nathaniel’s younger sisters. One carried a baby, whom the girl strapped promptly to the highchair. The young child started to wail until a wooden rattle was fetched.

Over the banging of the rattle, the eldest sister, Rachel, called out instructions. One sister descended through a trap door in the floor. She brought up a section of beef, then on her second trip she carried a basket full of sweet potatoes, parsnips, and carrots.

“It’ll be stew tonight, dear.” Mistress Prann looked over at Eliza.

“How can I help?” she asked.

“Thou must rest. Sit at the bench and entertain little Prudence, who’ll be glad for the attention.”

Eliza settled next to the baby. She was greeted by a toothless grin and loud babbling.

Mistress Prann set a noggin of cider in front of Eliza. She smiled gratefully and took a sip. The Puritans in this small town were experts in making cider, and the Pranns’ was as good as her aunt’s.

Eliza watched Rachel swing the iron kettle on its pothook, then lift the heavy lid and stir the contents. Not long after, the wafting aroma reached Eliza, making her realize how hungry she was. She’d only eaten jail gruel and a bit of bread over a day’s time. Before that was the tea at Ruth’s house.

Rachel set out clean napkins on the table next to the porringers, which had been scrubbed and readied for the stew. She cast a sympathetic smile at Eliza.

A commotion sounded at the door; the men were home from the fields. The deep voice of Master Prann filtered into the kitchen from the hall, speaking to his sons. “If you’ve pulled the last of the onions, then tomorrow we’ll start on the corn.”

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Mistress Prann said and ushered the boys into the room.

At the sight of Eliza, Master Prann raised his eyebrows. He was similar in appearance to Nathaniel, tall, broad, white-blond hair, and Eliza felt as if she were looking at the future Nathaniel.

“Thou rememberest Eliza Robinson, Maeve O’Brien’s niece,” Mistress Prann said. “She needs shelter and food tonight.”

“Thou are welcome to stay here, Miss Robinson.”

Eliza nodded politely, then caught Nathaniel’s eye. He’d come in right behind his father. His blue gaze soaked her in. She hid a sigh, knowing she’d have to deflate his hopes sooner rather than later.

Following the prayer, Rachel and Mistress Prann served the food. Eliza was surprised at how quietly the family ate; there was little conversation as they passed the platters of food around and helped themselves. Even Nathaniel, who had been talkative every time they were together, remained solemn. Dinners in New York were always lively, often accompanied by music, and conversation was animated with the latest gossip. When the last porringer had been emptied, the girls rose to clear the table. As Eliza stood to join them, Mistress Prann motioned for her to remain seated.

Eliza obliged and settled next to the contented baby.

“Nathaniel will read tonight,” Master Prann said to no one in particular.

Nathaniel’s face reddened at his father’s suggestion, and Eliza wondered why. Surely he had read for his family many times before. Seats were taken again, and the smaller children hushed. The older girls pulled out samplers to stitch. Eliza caught Nathaniel’s eye as he opened the large Bible in front of him and removed the marker. She offered an encouraging smile, but he broke the gaze and lowered his eyes.

“Psalm 46. God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble…”

Nathaniel read deliberately, enunciating each word. Master Prann closed his eyes and nodded in rhythm to the phrases. Mistress Prann and the two oldest girls bent over their embroidery, making even stitches in the dimming light. Eliza tried to focus on the holy words, but each verse sounded the same as the last.

Her mind wandered. Soon she wondered what Nathaniel would be like if he’d been born in New York. He’d no doubt be an apprentice of some sort, and not under his parents’ eye, ever watchful for sin. Would he be the same man if he were able to express himself freely and have the opportunities afforded other American men?

After the evening prayer, Rachel told Eliza, “Thou mayest sleep in my room.”

“Thank you,” she said, and followed Rachel up the narrow staircase into the girls’ bedroom. Eliza put on her nightgown, which Mistress Prann had cleaned and repaired. Climbing into bed, Eliza moved close to the wall and kept her body straight, so as not to disturb Rachel. It was ages before she fell into a troubled slumber.

Chapter Four

Jonathan Porter stepped off the hissing train in New York City. Breathing a sigh of relief to be on familiar ground again, he walked briskly to the busy road and hailed a carriage to take him home. After settling into the bumpy ride, he thought about the previous night he’d spent in jail. It was a miracle he’d escaped Massachusetts without further interrogation. If it hadn’t been for his father’s death two months ago in England, he would have never returned to the Puritan town. Though it was nice to see Ruth, the only mother he’d ever known, he had returned only for one thing—his official birth record. He needed it to claim his inheritance from his father since he had other children, and Jon’s half-sister would inherit if Jon couldn’t produce proof of his parentage.

But Ruth didn’t have the document, so he had risked bad weather to locate the magistrate. When the magistrate then denied having the document in the courthouse or the Meeting House, there was only one place left to look—the home his mother had last lived in, now Maeve O’Brien’s place. Perhaps the record was stored in the attic of the old house. But the storm had raged, and when he dared set out, he doubted if he’d make it in one piece to the O’Brien cottage.

When he finally came into view of the cottage, he saw the distraught figure of a woman emerge from the front door. That’s where everything had all gone wrong. Of all the damned nights. She looked like a drowned waif and was obviously limping. He couldn’t just pass her by. And now he couldn’t very well go back to search through a crime scene. He’d be delayed again.

The carriage lurched over a pothole, and Jon realized they were near his neighborhood. He tapped the driver in front of him. “Turn here.” The driver obliged and maneuvered onto a narrow street lined by two-story homes that were dated but elegant.

“Number twelve, on the right,” Jon instructed. The carriage pulled to a stop, and he alighted. After unloading his single piece of baggage, he paid the driver.

The front door opened as he started up the stairs.

“Oh, Mr. Porter, what a welcome surprise.” It was Sarah, the parlor maid. “You’ve arrived a day early.”

Jon tipped his hat. “Are there any messages for me?”

“The letters are on the hall table, sir.” Sarah bobbed her head then made herself scarce.

Jon had the hallway to himself. On top of the letters was a familiar envelope. The pale pink seemed to wink at him. Jon smiled, knowing the letter was from Apryl, his fiancée.

Walking into the library, Jon thumbed through the other envelopes—nothing but business. He settled into the over-sized leather chair, imported from England, and brought the pink letter to his nose. The faint scent of roses still remained. He opened the envelope and read the looped writing.

Dearest Jonathan,

I know you’re still away, but I’m anxiously awaiting your return. This Friday night my parents are hosting a dinner. It would be wonderful if you returned in time to attend.

Yours truly,

Apryl

Jon was tempted to pay her a surprise visit then thought better of it. She hated anything unexpected. He remembered the day he had surprised her as she was walking in the park, only to discover that she was embarrassed about being seen wearing a hat from the week before. So he penned a reply, which he sent Richards, the butler, to deliver. Attending an extravagant dinner was what he needed to take his mind off the woman who had landed him in jail.

He next turned his attention to the drawer of the heavy oak desk and removed his father’s will. Scanning the familiar words, he thought about how different things would have been if only his father had married his mother. He would have been brought up in a wealthy home. He would have attended the best private schools in England. And his mother would still be alive.

Jon leaned back in his chair, thinking about the mother he could barely remember. Were the rumors true? That she drove herself mad with grief and took her own life? Had she truly drowned on that stormy night? The fierce storm of the other night in Maybrook had him realizing how easy it would have been for anyone to become disoriented.

Ruth’s quiet words played in his mind. “Thy mother was unconventional for a Puritan. Oh, she went to Meeting and always obeyed the Sabbath. But some said she had a strong will—too strong. She learned to swim, and often in the early evening, she swam to the Old Rock. Of course, she never dared do so with anyone around. I’m set in my ways and believe in the good Bible, but I never believed that only witches could float in water. Not everyone believed that though, and she would have fallen under suspicion if anyone had seen her.”

Whoever decided that only witches could float?

Ruth had continued her story about how his mother had gone out for a swim on the night of the impending storm.

Now, sitting in his leather chair, Jon furrowed his brow. That was the part of the story he didn’t understand. How could his mother not see billowing clouds gather, hear the wind pick up speed, or feel the swift raindrops? And if she did know the storm was coming, why did she still go swimming?

Ruth had told him that his mother was lonely and often stared out to sea for hours at a time with a journal in her lap. “Your mother was unusually smart for a woman—could read and write with the best.” But Ruth said that when she cleaned out his mother’s house, she didn’t find any books, journals or letters. “No matter,” Ruth had said. “All the furniture was burned, and the house purged of sin.”

Purged of sin. As if his mother was evil.

Jon closed his eyes against the flickering candles. The town he grew up in was another world, a place he was glad to be rid of. If only he hadn’t stumbled into the mess at poor Maeve O’Brien’s house and found that girl staggering through the mud.

And if he hadn’t then been thrown into jail!

Otherwise, he might have searched the attic of his mother’s old house and found his birth record—something he believed still existed.

* * *

At six o’clock sharp on Friday evening, Jon rang Apryl’s bell. The door was opened by a straight-faced butler, whom Jon followed into the immense hall, where he shrugged off his overcoat. Mr. and Mrs. Maughan stood at the base of the stairs.

“Jon, how good of you to come,” Mrs. Maughan purred, leaning her long face forward for a kiss. She wore her signature red tonight, setting off her gypsy-coloring, a low-cut bodice displaying her curves. She was a woman who had no problem competing with her daughter. And Apryl didn’t seem to mind one bit.

Jon kissed the hostess’s cheek, his gaze straying to the drawing room.

Mr. Maughan chuckled in his booming voice. “Apryl eagerly awaits you.”

Jon shook his future father-in-law’s hand. “I’ll go to her, then.”

Entering the drawing room, Jon was met with a dizzying array of finery, from the formal English furniture and the imported Italian tapestries, to the Persian rugs. But nothing could compare to the elaborate creature who greeted him.

Apryl, a younger version of her curvy mother, rose. Her apple cheeks flushed, and her deep green eyes lit with pleasure. The tight-fitting bodice only accentuated her spilling bosom, supported by indigo brocade. The ribbons adorning her velvet sleeves fluttered as she crossed the room. “You’ve come, my love.”

Jon took her jeweled hand and winked. Kissing the weighted fingers, he cocked his head to one side. “Miss me?”

Laughing, Apryl tilted her Grecian hairdo, her coiled black ringlets swaying. “Of course.” She led him to the center of the room, where other guests were visiting.

“May I introduce Mr. Thomas Beesley, and his kind sister, Jessa.”

Jon bowed. “It’s an honor to meet you both.” Beesley was familiar, but Jon couldn’t place the name. The large man appeared to be about forty, and the fact that he was accompanied by his rather plain sister revealed that he was perhaps unmarried.

When dinner was served at half past six, Jon was seated with Thomas Beesley to his right and Apryl to his left. Amid the animated conversation, Jon couldn’t help but notice intermittent sniffing coming from Mr. Beesley. Jon was about to offer his handkerchief when he noticed Thomas already clutched one in his meaty fingers.

“Are you fighting a cold?” Jon asked his neighbor.

“Ah yes,” Thomas answered, producing a prominent sniff. “It’s the confounded city air. I often retreat to my place in the country to find relief.”

Perhaps the man was single and wealthy. “And is there a Mrs. Beesley who shares in the same relief?”

The conversation around the table faded into awkward silence. Apryl placed a hand on Jon’s arm.

“I gather you’ve been away on business,” Thomas said in a distressed tone.

The tension was palpable. What had Jon said? Apparently it was the wrong thing, yet, how was he supposed to know the history of a man he’d never met? He’d been at Yale for the past few years and hadn’t been involved in society.

“I was nearly engaged once,” Thomas said.

Knowing murmurs of sympathy echoed around the table, and a few whispers were quickly suppressed by Apryl’s glare.

Jon brought his hand up to his collar automatically, trying to loosen a tightness that had suddenly formed. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all over with now. I’m on to better things, right?” Thomas leaned forward over his girth and looked at Apryl.

Jon was surprised to notice a blush creep up his fiancée’s neck. He looked back to Thomas, but the man had turned to his sister. The conversation resumed around the table, more hushed now.

“We’d be so pleased if you could join us,” Apryl said.

Jon looked at her. What had she been talking about?

“What’s the matter, love?” she asked, patting his hand. “Too much wine?”

“No, I…”

“Then what do you think?” Apryl pressed.

He adjusted his collar again. “About what?”

She covered her mouth and stifled a giggle, then nudged him. “Spending next weekend at the Beesleys’ country home?”

His face warmed. “Of course. I’d love to.”

Apryl beamed, and Jon smiled back. She really was quite beautiful, and he was once again grateful she’d bestowed her favor on him.

Thomas clapped Jon on the shoulder. “It’s all settled, then. We’ll have a grand time in the fresh air. Be sure to bring your riding habits.”

“I haven’t ridden since I was a girl,” Apryl said.

“Then I’ll be your personal escort,” Thomas offered.

She leaned forward to meet Thomas’s eye and laughed. “I guess I have some shopping to do.”

Thomas’s appreciative gaze dipped to Apryl’s bosom.

Jon’s hands clenched into fists. He was about to say something, but the servants appeared to clear the dinner plates. Jon scooted his chair forward to block Thomas’s direct line of vision toward Apryl. Jon didn’t entirely care for Mr. Thomas Beesley.

Chapter Five

Eliza ran into the dark room and saw the window open, wind gusting through it in sharp bursts. Pulling the window shut, she turned to see her aunt. Moonlight cast dancing shapes upon the bed. “Aunt Maeve, are you all right?” She stepped closer to the side where her aunt lay. “What happened?” Reaching over, she touched her aunt’s motionless shoulder. Just then, a shadow fell across the bed, causing Eliza to turn and stare at the dark form standing behind her. She tried to scream, but a heavy hand clamped down on her mouth.

Eliza sat up in bed, perspiration soaking her hairline. She clutched the quilt to her chin, shivering. The room was still dark, and the faint sound of breathing came from Rachel. It was only a dream. Eliza tried to calm herself.

But doubt crept over her. What if Jonathan Porter had come to seek revenge? What if he’d been making his escape when he heard Eliza calling for Maeve? He had definitely seemed bitter about the way his mother was treated and about how the town continued to gossip about the circumstances surrounding his birth.

“Canst thou sleep?” A quiet voice spoke behind her.

“No… I had a bad dream.”

Rachel was quiet for a moment. “About thy aunt?”

Eliza nodded.

“I’m very sorry.”

Tears dropped from Eliza’s eyes, making round wet circles on the quilt in her lap. “I need to send a telegram to my parents. They’ll undoubtedly come to fetch me.” She felt a warm hand on her shoulder, offering comfort. Rachel had risen to sit next to her.

“Doest thou want me to come with thee to gather thy things tomorrow?”

Eliza felt overwhelmed at the kindness from her new friend. “That would be nice.”

“We’ll bring your things here. Thou cannot stay in that empty house, not after what happened. Thou must stay with us until thy family arrives.”

“Thank you,” Eliza whispered. It was another hour before she fell into a fitful sleep, trying to keep the nightmares from returning.

* * *

When Eliza finally aroused from her troubled sleep soon after dawn, the house below was in full motion. She changed into the dress Rachel had lent her the day before. Smoothing the dark brown cotton fabric over her narrow hips, she noticed a row of starched bonnets hanging on the wall. She walked over to them and fingered the ties on one, remembering her aunt. Maeve had let Eliza wear a straw hat on weekdays, but on the Sabbath insisted she wear a Puritan bonnet to Meeting, out of respect for the townspeople.

Descending the stairs, Eliza was surprised to see Nathaniel at the table, cracking walnuts.

Mistress Prann greeted her cheerfully. “Good morning, dear. Nathaniel stayed home from the fields so he could take thee back to thy aunt’s house and gather thy belongings.”

“Thank you,” Eliza said.

“Rachel said she would like to help too,” Mistress Prann continued. “She will be in shortly with the eggs.”

The day was overcast, as if it couldn’t let go of the storm, fitting with Eliza’s somber mood. As they rode in the Pranns’ buckboard, she couldn’t help but wonder what the house would be like with her aunt gone. Rachel and Nathaniel kept up a light chatter, and Eliza joined in only when necessary to be polite. For the most part, she was content to watch the changing landscape as they traveled the narrow road. The brilliant-colored leaves seemed to whisper to her from their branches.

“Turn back.”

It was the voice again. Eliza looked behind her. Rachel and Nathaniel were quiet. Had they heard it too? Eliza’s breath stuttered—she didn’t dare ask them. Wouldn’t they say something if they’d heard it? She hadn’t heard the voice since leaving her aunt’s, but now it was back. What did it mean? Tears stung her eyes, and she rapidly blinked them back.

As they approached the clapboard cottage, the events of the last few days seemed dream-like. She expected to see Aunt Maeve’s bustling form fill the doorway upon the sound of the approaching wagon. But no one came out to greet them, and when Nathaniel reined the horse to a stop, they sat in silence for a moment until Nathaniel jumped from the buckboard and helped the girls to the ground.

Eliza looked at the mud beneath her. It hadn’t dried completely from the storm, and its twisted rivulets mirrored the feeling in her stomach. Nathaniel hovered near her, as if he wasn’t sure whether to follow.

“You should check on the horse,” she said.

Nathaniel nodded, seemingly relieved to be given direction, and he headed toward the barn.

Eliza stepped carefully around the more sodden parts of the ground and headed for the house, with Rachel close behind. As she reached the front door, Eliza realized that the last time she’d entered this door, she was running to get out of the storm, with Maeve right beside her.

“Do you want me to go in first?” Rachel asked.

Eliza shook her head then turned the doorknob and pushed the heavy door. The first thing she noticed was a set of muddy footprints on the oak-planked floor. They were large—the size of a man’s boots. Eliza hesitated, staring at the footprints. Could they be the murderer’s?

Rachel spoke behind her. “They probably belong to the constable.”

Relieved at the thought, Eliza nodded in agreement and looked at the sideboard cabinet that stood its ground, silently taunting her to trip against it again. She scanned the room, her pulse a nervous flutter. Nothing had been moved. The hearth was dark and still, the water in the iron kettle quiet, and the air stale.

Everything reminded her of Aunt Maeve—the quilt thrown over the rocking chair, the forgotten ball of yarn and needles, the painting of a lighthouse, and the stack of brittle firewood. But the house felt empty—empty of her aunt’s spirit, the woman who had once loved and laughed within its walls.

Eliza continued into the kitchen and stopped, staring at the disarray, caused either by herself on the night of the storm or the constable searching for evidence. The table had been moved, cupboards left open, with pots strewn about. She took a deep breath, turned and walked to her aunt’s bedroom door. Images of that night surfaced. Taking a deep breath, she decided she wasn’t ready to enter Maeve’s room and ascended the stairs to her own bedroom instead. She removed the traveling trunk from under the bed and loaded her belongings. The room seemed to grieve for Maeve; even the patchwork quilt on the bed, made by her aunt, seemed sorrowful. Eliza lifted the quilt and tucked it into her trunk.

“Can I help?” Rachel asked from the doorway.

Eliza wiped a stray tear.

“I’ll carry it out,” Rachel said. “Take the time thou needest.”

Listening to Rachel’s retreating footsteps, Eliza sank onto the bed. She tried to memorize every detail of the room, knowing this might be the last time she’d see it. It was furnished with only a dresser, washbasin and bed. The curtains covering the narrow window were of plain, homespun fabric. She rose and opened them, letting the sunlight warm the room.

Finally she descended the stairs and paused, glancing again at her aunt’s bedroom door—it seemed to beckon to her. Eliza resisted, not able to bear seeing the room where her aunt had taken her last breath.

The sound of an approaching wagon came from outside, and Eliza hurried to the porch. The constable had arrived and sat perched on top of his black horse, a disapproving look on his face. He blew his nose haughtily into a handkerchief, which made his bulging paunch vibrate.

“Thou shouldn’t be here,” he said. “This house is still under investigation.”

Eliza opened her mouth to answer, but Nathaniel came out of the barn and said, “We’ve come to gather Miss Robinson’s things.”

The constable looked at the three people before him, and then his gaze focused on Eliza. “Thou should have notified me before coming. Best be on thy way.”His eyes narrowed for a moment, and his mouth formed a thin line. “Tuesday after the funeral, thy aunt’s will is to be read, and thy presence is expected. It will be in the Meeting House.”

“Thank you, sir,” Eliza said, though she didn’t feel entirely grateful. Under the constable’s gaze, she climbed onto the Pranns’ buckboard, settling next to Rachel. She clasped her hands together to conceal their trembling.

Nathaniel set the horse into motion and turned the buckboard around. Eliza stared straight ahead as they passed the narrow-eyed constable. She felt his gaze on her back, and although it made her cheeks burn to be stared at, she held her head high.

“Too bad the previous constable died,” Nathaniel said. “Master Perry was an agreeable man.”

Rachel squeezed Eliza’s hand. “Master Perry was gentle-mannered and would have never treated thee so harshly.”

Eliza’s shoulders sagged as she remembered something. “I must post a telegram to my father. Could we pass through town?”

“I thought thou mightest desire to do something like that,” Rachel said. “I brought an extra bonnet just in case.”

Nathaniel chuckled. “My sister thinks of everything.”

Eliza smiled. The gloom the constable had brought with him had dissipated. She donned the bonnet. Once they reached Main Street, Nathaniel pulled the buckboard to a stop in front of the post office. Eliza descended, followed by Rachel, and together they entered the oblong room. A dour-faced clerk looked up as they walked in. He looked like he was straight out of the 1600s, wearing a heavy English wool jacket, a leather hat, with an over-starched white collar.

“Good day,” he said in a voice worn with years.

“My friend would like to send a telegram,” Rachel said.

The postmaster’s eyes widened. “An unusual request for such a young lady. Perhaps thou hast better ask thy father to come in.”

“The telegram is to her father, who lives in New York City. He must be notified of his sister’s recent death,” Rachel said.

Eliza was more than grateful that Rachel had taken the lead in this strange conversation.

“Ah. Thou are Maeve O’Brien’s niece? I was sorry t’ hear the news.”

“Thank you,” Eliza said.

The postmaster left the counter and returned a moment later with a card to fill out.

Eliza accepted the dip pen and ink well and began writing the brief message. Both the postmaster and Rachel read each word as she wrote. Eliza tried not to let their prying eyes bother her. When finished, she handed over the money, and the postmaster double-checked the message.

When they left, Eliza asked, “Is that man always so nosey?”

“Yes,” Rachel said with a laugh. “But he’s sending the message, so he would be reading it anyway.”

It seemed nothing was private in this town. By the time they arrived at the Prann homestead, Eliza felt restless. She knew she should offer to help with the chores, but she wanted to be alone. Mistress Prann noticed her troubled face and offered consolation.

“I’d like to take a walk, if that’s all right,” Eliza said.

Mistress Prann nodded. “Doest thou want Rachel to walk with thee?”

“No, thank you. I need some time alone.” She thanked her hostess again and stepped into the front yard. One of the younger boys was chasing a chicken. When he saw her, he waved merrily. Eliza smiled and waved back.

The afternoon shadows stretched across the rutted road. For a moment she thought about borrowing a horse but then thought better of it. The Pranns didn’t ride horses for pleasure. Without planning her destination, she headed east toward the shoreline. She reached the jagged cliffs and realized she was only about a mile from her aunt’s lighthouse. Had it only been two days ago that she had stood on this same rocky shore, facing the incoming storm?

Eliza shuddered. The changing sky above her brought new clouds, swallowing up the shadows cast by the sun. Gone were the brilliant golds, reds, and yellows of the tree-rich landscape. In their place stood muted browns and grays.

The wind began to stir the wispy grass beneath her, and the long, green fingers whipped her ankles. It was time to head back. The tip of her ears had grown cold, and her feet ached. Maybe tomorrow she would take one last look at the old lighthouse. She was about to turn away from the incoming tide when she heard a whisper in her ear.

Don’t leave me.

Eliza spun and looked behind her. It was the same voice—the one she’d heard on the night Maeve was murdered. Now, as then, no one was in sight.

Chapter Six

The dance was underway in the Maughans’ newly remodeled ballroom. Jon took the first number with Apryl, but he paid careful attention to Thomas Beesley, who danced quite close to them with another partner. Apryl chatted about the shops she would have to visit to obtain a proper riding habit, and Jon was only required to nod from time to time.

More than once, he caught Thomas gazing at Apryl. When the first dance ended, Jon asked Thomas’s sister, Jessa, to dance. She remained quiet as they danced and nodded at Jon’s occasional comment. Thomas ensnared Apryl and waltzed her around the dance floor. Surprisingly, Beesley was light on his feet despite his bulk. Laughter floated from their direction. Jon frowned, looking at Jessa.

“How long has your family known the Maughans?” he asked.

Jessa looked up at him. “My brother has mentioned them once or twice, but this is the first time we’ve been invited for dinner.”

What intentions did Thomas have about Apryl to make him pay such particular attention to her? She was not a wealthy heiress. Her family came from new money procured in the financial markets. Any future son-in-law would well know the risk of such a volatile industry.

Because of his own recent inheritance, Jon would be far wealthier than Mr. and Mrs. Maughan. It would be only a matter of time before his future father-in-law would pose the indelicate question of what his estate in England was worth. Of course, as the fiancé to Mr. Maughan’s daughter, Jon expected the questions. After all, New York society marriages were often based on assets, not love.

Jon didn’t expect to be in love with his wife, but he did expect mutual affection and respect with his future wife. Most of the women he had been introduced to were too self-centered for his taste. That’s why, when he met Apryl, he was pleasantly surprised. The size of her figure told him she didn’t care for the conventions of the corset fashion, though her clothing was designed after the latest Parisian styles. And her animated eyes and vivacious conversation kept him entertained. She would make a lively wife. More than ever, Jon wanted to produce an heir for his imminent fortune.

“Have you been engaged long?” Jessa asked, interrupting his thoughts, her pale brown eyes studying him.

Jon answered, “A month. We met only a short time ago through a mutual friend. Apryl is hard to ignore.”

The corners of Jessa’s mouth twitched. It was the most animated Jon had seen her all night. “That she is.”

Mr. and Mrs. Maughan retired after an hour, letting the younger guests continue to enjoy themselves. It was after midnight when Jon left the house, amid enthusiastic farewells from the guests.

Apryl followed him out to the carriage and kissed his cheek. “You’ll call tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Jon said, tipping his hat. “Unless you would rather see Mr. Beesley.”

Apryl lowered her gaze. “Oh, don’t tease me about him. I thought he was rather too forward tonight.”

Jon snorted. “You didn’t seem to mind.” When he saw Apryl’s irritated expression, he softened his comment by saying, “You were the belle of the evening and naturally the center of attention.”

“You’re not angry?” Apryl’s gaze was hopeful.

He took her hands then kissed each one. “How could I be angry with a cherub such as you?”

Apryl laughed. She pressed against him and gave him a rather illicit kiss on the mouth.

Jon’s resentment toward Beesley faded. Jon might not be in love with his fiancée, but he could still enjoy her. He was tempted to stay a bit longer to explore the depth of her kisses, but his carriage driver was all eyes, and there were still guests in the house. He drew away from her. “Tomorrow, then.”

Apryl smiled up at him. Jon climbed into the waiting carriage and lifted his hand in a wave. As the driver pulled away from the walk, Jon saw Thomas exit the house and step behind Apryl, placing his hands over her eyes in some sort of game.

* * *

The following afternoon, a formal invitation to the Beesley country estate arrived by post. Jon opened the card in the hall. As he read the details, he knew he would have to attend, if only to thwart Thomas’s advances toward his fiancée. A note from Apryl was in the stack of correspondence.

Dearest Jon,

I assume you’ve received the Beesley invitation by now. Would you like to travel with my parents and me in our carriage? We leave Friday at 3:00 p.m. Don’t forget your riding habit.

All my love,

Apryl

Jon folded the scented note. There was no mention of meeting before then, although she had asked him to call on her today. Seeing her flirt with Beesley the night before created a sour pit in his stomach; he decided not to make the call. Maybe it would be good for Apryl to wonder and worry about him. He’d wait until tomorrow to reply. Meanwhile he wrote a hasty note to the Beesleys, accepting the invitation to their country home.

The next letter in the mail stack troubled him. It was from his deceased father’s lawyer, informing him that the original production of his birth record was required by law to claim his father’s estate in England. Damnation. It was as he thought, and the reason he’d traveled to Maybrook in the first place. The last thing he wanted to do was return to Maybrook and face the volatile constable again. Maybe there was a loophole that a solicitor well-versed in estate and property law could uncover.

Donning his hat, Jon selected a polished mahogany cane. The afternoon was still warm as dusk descended. He began the stroll to the solicitor’s building. When Jon arrived at the office front, he noticed the sign hanging over the entrance: Doughty, Franklin, and Harmon, Solicitors at Law—very formal and impressive. He hoped their services would be equally so.

A man with well-oiled hair greeted him at the front entrance. “Do you have an appointment, sir?”

Jon sized up the fellow and determined that he looked too shabby, what with his soiled silk cravat and threadbare jacket, to be one of the lawyers. “I have but a small matter to discuss with…” He thought of the first name on the marquis. “Mr. Doughty.”

The man nodded. “Who may I say is calling?”

“Jonathan Porter.”

The man spun on his heels and ascended the narrow staircase to the left of his desk. Moments later he returned and motioned for Jon to follow. He was led into a dim office, where books were stacked everywhere. The two bookcases were stuffed as well. A balding man looked up as Jon entered. The man’s gray-blue eyes surveyed him over spectacles.

Jon offered his hand. “Jonathan Porter, sir.”

The man waved his hand away. “Christian Doughty. Please be seated and state your business.”

Jon scanned the cramped space for a place to sit.

“Set the books onto the floor and excuse the clutter,” Doughty said. “Mr. Franklin’s office is being renovated. I’m housing his books until the work is completed.”

After creating a space, Jon took a seat. “I was hoping you could help me reconcile my father’s estate. He passed away recently, and I am the sole heir.”

Mr. Doughty nodded gravely. “My condolences on your father’s passing. Being the sole heir will make settling the estate simple.”

“My father’s estate is in England, and I was born in Massachusetts.”

“No problem.”

Jon continued. “England requires a birth record, which I don’t have.”

“Was it lost or destroyed?”

“I don’t know.” Jon shrugged. “My mother died when I was young, and my father never met me. You see, he was supposed to come back for us in Massachusetts, but he never did. I was raised by a neighbor.”

“Did you check the church records?”

“Nothing is recorded there. My mother was an outcast in the town. She and my father weren’t married… She was from a staunch Puritan family that—” He broke off.

Mr. Doughty was silent for a moment. “Puritans won’t bite, son. My grandfather was a Puritan. Even if your birth was swept under the carpet, there should be at least a private record at the Meeting House, if not a public one.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “Because of other circumstances, I’d rather not return to the town to pursue the matter. Is there another way?”

“What do you do for a living, Mr. Porter?”

“Litigation.”

“Ah, an-up-and coming profession. Had any luck?”

Jon relaxed a bit and smiled. “Actually, with my training, I was able to get myself out of jail.”

Mr. Doughty raised his eyebrows. “Interesting!”

“I traveled to Massachusetts last week and went to my mother’s former home to search the place. Unfortunately I walked into a murder scene and was thrown into jail with another suspect. The next morning I freed myself and haven’t looked back.”

Mr. Doughty smiled. “Those are words you may have to swallow. Despite your wish not to do so, you’ll have to return to find recorded evidence of your parentage.”

Jon leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “There must be another way. Look at all these books.” He waved his hand.

The solicitor chuckled. “What are you afraid of, getting thrown in jail again? Won’t happen. Unless… you did have something to do with that murder.”

“Of course not.” Jon leaned back.

“Then there’s nothing to fear,” Mr. Doughty said in a mellow voice. “If you want your father’s money, you’ll return to Massachusetts.”

Jon blew out a breath. “Isn’t there another choice?”

“Not unless you want to travel around your birth town and ask acquaintances to sign affidavits, testifying to your parentage.”

Jon hesitated. Ruth was the only one who’d probably be willing to sign something like that. And her friend, Maeve, who was no longer alive. “If I hire you to represent me, will you accompany me to Maybrook?”

Mr. Doughty gave a curt nod. “I can leave Tuesday.”

* * *

On Monday morning, Jon scrawled a brief note to Apryl and a second to Thomas Beesley, declining the invitation to Beesley’s estate, citing important business that couldn’t wait. By afternoon, he’d cleared his appointment book. Once he collected the inheritance, he could live a gentleman’s life and pursue politics if he chose. Maybe he would refer his current clients to Mr. Doughty.

His father, Jonathan Sr., had paid for his college education at Yale. Yet the older Jon became, the more tortured he felt knowing that his father had been alive and well, but refused to meet his own son. What had his father been afraid of? Was the idea of facing his past really so awful?

Upon graduation, Jon had purchased a steamship ticket to England, determined to meet his father and discover why he’d abandoned his mother. But the day before departure, Jon had received notice of his father’s death.

The door to his past had been cruelly slammed shut. Then an envelope arrived with a copy of his father’s will, and Jon learned he would be financially independent. That was when he decided to propose to Apryl.

A knock sounded at the library door around 3:00 that afternoon. “Mr. Porter?” Richards said. “Miss Maughan is here to see you.”

“Send her in, please.”

Apryl entered with a flurry of rustling yellow silk. Ringlets protruded beneath the delicate straw hat she wore, tilted jauntily on her head. Jon crossed the room and kissed her cheek.

“You’ve come alone?” he asked.

“My maid is in the carriage, but I don’t want her to overhear,” she said, her eyes watering.

“What’s wrong?”

She glanced at the floor then met his gaze. “Can’t your business wait a week?”

Jon tried to conceal a smile. “Is that what you’re upset about?”

A stray tear fell onto Apryl’s flushed cheek. Surely she couldn’t be this upset over his business trip. “You look tired.” Jon took her arm and guided her to a chair next to the window. “Would you like a drink?”

Apryl bit her lip. “No. I can’t stay long. My parents are going to a violin performance, and I must accompany them.” She folded her arms. “It won’t be any fun in the country without you.”

Jon tried to suppress a smile. Apryl could be absolutely childlike sometimes. “I seriously doubt that. Thomas seems to be the most accommodating host.”

Apryl grabbed Jon’s hand. “Please, Jon, you must come with us.”

He looked at her in surprise. She had never acted so distressed before. “Has Thomas done something to make you reluctant to visit him?”

Apryl lowered her eyes, her face flushing. “No.”

So there was something between them—some sort of attraction, it seemed. But Jon didn’t want to drag it out of her. “Then what is it?”

She gave him a coy look. “I’ll just miss you, I guess.”

Perhaps that was all it was. That could be a good sign.

Suddenly, she reached for him and pulled his head down to hers, kissing him on the mouth. Jon returned her kiss, but did so with a bit of reluctance. If he kissed her as fervently as she was kissing him, they would certainly cross the line of propriety, one that he dared not cross. Scandals abounded in New York City, and Jon had had his share of that in Maybrook. He would never want her to face any sort of speculation, not knowing what his mother had gone through. No matter how Apryl tempted him, or how her curves pressed against him, he must keep a level head.

He drew away from Apryl’s ardor and placed his hands on her shoulders, keeping his distance. “I won’t be gone that long, my dear.”

“Oh, Jon,” she said, her mouth trembling. “I want to know how much you truly care about me.”

Instinct made Jon want to laugh—she was like a toddler. He refrained from teasing her, saying, “Of course I truly care for you. How can you think otherwise?” He gently lifted her hand that sported her engagement ring. “Are you not my fiancée?”

“Of course.” She blinked rapidly. “I have been silly.”

Jon squeezed her hands. “I am doing this for us. My inheritance depends upon this business trip, and I can’t put it off any longer.” He lowered his voice. “It will do you good to be in the country. You look quite pale today. Go enjoy yourself. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Her face brightened. “I guess it won’t be so bad. Although his sister, Jessa, seems a little boorish.”

Jon chuckled. “You, my dear Apryl, can make any situation lively.”

She raised a hand to his cheek and stroked it. Moments later she was out the door.

When she was gone, Jon let his smile fade and began to pace the room. He had never seen this side to her before—unsure, pleading, throwing herself at him. He was the one who should have been insecure about their separation. Maybe he should cancel the trip to Massachusetts. But once he had his inheritance secured, not even Thomas Beesley could measure up.

Chapter Seven

The following morning, Jon met Mr. Christian Doughty at the train station. Amidst the noise of fond farewells of other passengers and train signals, they entered the passenger section and found an empty compartment.

“Did you bring a copy of the will?” Mr. Doughty asked as soon as they were settled.

“Yes.” Jon reached into his traveling bag and pulled out the document.

As the train rolled into motion, the compartment door flew open. A tall man in a brown tweed entered. “Sorry for the interruption. Is this seat taken?”

Mr. Doughty shook his head. Jon placed the will back into his bag and watched in amusement as the stranger removed his overcoat and hat, methodically folding the coat before placing it in the rack overhead. The man sat next to him and stretched out his legs. Jon noticed the dull polish on the man’s expensive shoes. He was probably well-to-do, but didn’t invest much time in the upkeep of his appearance.

Across the aisle, Mr. Doughty was scrutinizing their new guest too. “Business in Plymouth, Mr.—?”

“Philip Robinson,” the man said, leaning across the aisle and extending his hand. “I’m traveling to my sister’s funeral.”

Mr. Doughty expressed his condolences, and Jon murmured in agreement.

But Mr. Robinson was eager to expound. “Sent my daughter there for a couple of months to stay with my sister, Maeve. A few nights ago, my sister died.” He paused and rubbed his face. “Murdered.”

“How dreadful,” Jon said. This must be Maeve O’Brien’s brother. Thinking about the poor woman reminded him of Eliza. He’d barely caught a glimpse of her as he transported her to Ruth’s house that night, and from there, Ruth had taken over. Eliza Robinson had seemed to be quite young, and thin, and extremely distressed. And this man was her father.

“I don’t know any details,” Mr. Robinson said, as if he needed to talk to someone about his situation. “Received the telegram yesterday and decided to catch the first train out.”

Mr. Doughty stared at the man. “We wish you all the best in finding the person responsible.”

“Thank you. It’s quite baffling. A quiet town and all.”

Jon stared out the window at the passing scenery, growing more and more uncomfortable. He had to know for sure if this man was who he thought he was. “What town did your sister live in?”

Mr. Robinson cleared his throat. “Maybrook. It’s probably not even on a map. It’s a secluded Puritan settlement that managed to survive all these years. My sister fell in love with a Puritan and decided to convert.” He shook his head. “Imagine that. My parents would have turned in their graves…”

Mr. Robinson was Eliza’s father, without a doubt.

“We’re traveling to the same town,” Mr. Doughty said.

Jon groaned inwardly and cast Doughty a warning glance. Please don’t tell Mr. Robinson our names.

Interest brightened Mr. Robinson’s face. “Do you have family there?”

“My client and I,” Doughty said, tilting his head in Jon’s direction, “are on a business trip.”

“May I ask what line of work you are in, sir?”

“Christian Doughty, estate lawyer, and my client…” He paused.

“I’m in litigation,” Jon said, trying to decide what exactly he wanted this man to know.

“Litigation? Interesting,” Mr. Robinson said.

Jon desperately wanted to change the direction of the conversation. “And what is your profession, sir?”

“I’m a furniture dealer.” At the surprised expressions, he laughed. “Heard of Robinson-Beesley & Trade Co.?”

Mr. Doughty rubbed his chin. “I think my wife ordered a bedroom set from your company several years ago.”

“Could very well be.”

As the two men talked, Jon stared out the window, thinking about this man, who was Eliza’s father. He seemed to be a reasonable sort. Too bad he’d gotten caught up with Thomas Beesley. Soon the conversation took another turn.

“I hope my daughter has come to her senses since living in Maybrook,” Mr. Robinson said. “Eliza is quite heady for a young lady and doesn’t appreciate the opportunities she’s been given.”

Jon listened to every word, his pulse quickening at the mention of Eliza. It was entirely possible he’d see her again now, especially after meeting her father. The town was just too small.

“It was quite an honor when my partner, Mr. Beesley, asked for my daughter’s hand in marriage. To tell you the truth, I was flattered, and my wife was excited to see our daughter settled with a secure future.”

“I can imagine,” Mr. Doughty murmured.

“I had no idea that Eliza would be fool enough to turn the man down.”

Jon bit his lip, wondering if he could keep himself from laughing. He knew very well why Mr. Robinson’s daughter would turn away a man like Thomas Beesley. Even with his brief encounter with Eliza, Jon could tell the delicate young woman was no match for Thomas. How old was she anyway? Seventeen?

Why was he thinking about her so much? With Mr. Robinson also in Maybrook, Jon might run into Eliza as well. What would her reaction be to seeing him again? She probably despised him—he hadn’t been able to keep her out of jail and had spent a dismal night being abrupt with her. She wouldn’t want to see him and be reminded of his rudeness.

One thing was certain: Apryl would find this story amusing.

* * *

After helping Mistress Prann with morning chores, Eliza set out across the fields on horseback. Mistress Prann had been worried about the swirling clouds overhead and told her to take the chestnut mare. Eliza was more than happy to be riding again and even more important, it allowed her to go to the coast. She hoped to find Helena’s journal in the lighthouse.

Maeve’s funeral was being planned by the town, and Eliza’s father was on his way, which meant she’d be returning home to New York soon. Today might be the last chance she had to find out more about the ghost, as long as she could find the journal. The voice hadn’t spoken to her since her last visit to her aunt’s place. It seemed the woman only spoke in the area of the lighthouse or Maeve’s home. If what Maeve had believed was true—that Helena Talbot’s spirit had never left—then the voice belonged to her.

Eliza heard the ocean surf before it came into view. She rode the mare right up to the cliffs, and at the noise below, it became jittery. Eliza urged the mare south, toward the lighthouse. When she neared it, she stopped near a lone tree and tied the horse to the trunk.

The lighthouse towered above her. It had seen better days, but the size and construction were still awe inspiring. Eliza ran her hand along the side of the rough, chipped wall—the coats of whitewash had long since been faded by the weather. Grasping the rusted latch, she was surprised to find that it wouldn’t budge. The door was locked. She circled the building, looking for another entrance. Then she stopped in front of the door again and frowned. Had her aunt locked it the night of the storm?

Eliza remembered only the mad dash toward the house. Aunt Maeve couldn’t have taken time to lock the door. Eliza fingered the giant keyhole—there was no lock mechanism inside.

The door had to be stuck. Eliza pushed hard then used her shoulder against it. Finally it flew open. A couple of roosting doves fluttered at the movement and flew past her.

Stepping inside, Eliza realized she’d never really inspected the old structure. A thick layer of dust seemed to cover the walls, but when she moved closer, she realized it was mold. In the middle of the floor, a winding staircase rose to the landing above, as if reaching to the heavens. One by one, she ascended the steps, passing narrow windows on the way. At the top, she was surprised to find how cozy the loft was. A hay-stuffed chair stood in the middle of the circular room, and a stack of books sat on the floor.

Eliza picked up a leather volume and traced the title—Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley. Interesting. Not something her aunt would probably choose to read. The buzzing of a lazy fly caught her attention, probably the last one of the year. She leafed through the remaining books, but none were journals. Checking beneath the chair, she found only dust and a lone cobweb. Eliza felt along the crevices of the wall, but nothing was loose, and the floorboards underneath her feet seemed solid enough.

The door to the lighthouse banged. Eliza froze—was it the wind? Then she heard footsteps on the stairs below.

Eliza turned with a start. Someone had entered the lighthouse. She walked to the head of the steps, heart hammering, trying to decide what to do. Please don’t be the constable. Then she realized that she had as much right to be here as anyone. After all, the lighthouse used to be run by her uncle.

She stepped into the stairwell and called, “Who’s there?”

No one answered, but she heard the footsteps continue up the staircase. She moved behind the chair, waiting to see who came into view, her breath coming fast.

A shock of rust-red hair appeared first, then a young man’s ruddy face covered in pockmarks. Eliza found herself staring at the most brilliant blue eyes she’d ever seen.

“What’re ’ee doing ’ere?” The man spoke with a thick and garbled tongue.

Perhaps he was older than she was, or younger by a year or two; it was difficult to tell.

“I’m visiting. Who are you?”

He took a step forward. “I’m the lighthouse keeper. I never see’d thee before.”

A dank stench coming from the man reached Eliza. She tried not to breathe in too deeply. “I’m Maeve O’Brien’s niece. My uncle used to own this lighthouse.”

He shifted his stance awkwardly. “I liked ole Mr. O’Brien, tho’ his wife was too nosey.”

Eliza hid a smile. “I didn’t know there was a lighthouse keeper. I’ve never seen you here before either.”

“Don’t need to come much since they closed it. But I reckon I should keep an eye on the place, all the same,” he said.

Something about his movements weren’t quite right. He licked his lips a couple of times, and his arms hung heavily at his sides. “What’s your name?” she asked.

His eyes narrowed. “Thou asks a lot of questions.”

“You know my name.”

He studied her for a moment then replied, “Gus. My dad was the lighthouse keeper, and his dad before ’im. We’re all Gus.” He grinned, revealing gapped teeth. His gaze seemed to swallow her, and he inched closer.

Eliza felt an urgent need to get out of the building. “Are these your books, Gus?”

He nodded. “I read ’em over and over.”

“Perhaps I could bring you more books sometime.”

Gus’s eyes lit up. “Sure.”

“But I’d better hurry home now.” She took a step forward and was relieved when he stepped aside and let her pass.

She escaped down the stairs without trying to make her hurry obvious, but Gus followed her.

Reaching the bottom, she pushed open the door and stepped out in time to run into someone standing outside the entrance. Arms encircled her, steadying her feet.

“Sorry,” Eliza sputtered, fervently hoping the person holding her wasn’t Gus Senior.

“What’s the hurry?” came a deep voice.

Eliza looked up at the man. She knew those dark eyes. Jonathan Porter. She tried to hide her surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Gus barreled out the door, panting. “Why didst thou go so fast?”

She turned. “I’m expected back home soon. I can bring by a book another day and leave it here for you.”

Gus’s face broke into a wide grin, and then he looked at Jon. “Hallo, sir.”

“Keeping the lighthouse in good condition?”

Gus’s chest puffed out. “That I am, sir.”

Eliza watched the interchange with surprise. Jon seemed almost… friendly. Not the imposing, irritable man she’d known so far. She took a quick glance in his direction. She hadn’t realized how tall he was—he practically towered over her.

Jon asked Gus about his family, whom he proudly offered up information about.

“Thanks for watching out for Ruth,” Jon said.

Gus grinned. “She gave me sweets.”

“That’s because you helped her out so much.”

Gus nodded vigorously. When he left a few moments later, Eliza felt strangely relieved.

Except now, Jon’s full attention was on her. “Enjoying your freedom?” His dark eyes seemed to penetrate into her.

Was he teasing? Upset? The eyes that Eliza could have sworn were black were actually a dark brown. “I thought you’d left Maybrook.”

“I did,” he said in a stiff tone. “But now I’m back.”

There was his aloof manner. She folded her arms, tired of being made to feel guilty when she was around him. After all, her aunt had been killed, and everything else that followed was minor in importance. “Even though you have a foul temper, and can’t seem to manage a civil word to a lady, thank you for helping me out the night of the storm.”

Jon’s mouth lifted at the corners. Was he laughing at her? Heat spread through her neck at the insult.

“What do you mean I have a foul temper?” he said, looking down at her. “Can you blame me? I went to jail because I helped you.”

“I—I know. But I apologized earlier.” Eliza’s face reddened as he continued to stare at her. What was going through his mind? Did she have to apologize every time she saw him? “Thank you for getting them to release me.”

Jon stared at her until she had to look away.

“Is there something you wanted to say?” she asked.

He blinked as if he were coming out of some sort of trance. “I thought you were much younger.” He looked away.

What did her age have to do with anything? She wondered about this man who seemed to be two different people. “Tell me about Gus,” she said. “I’ve lived here a month and never met him before now.”

Jon’s gaze moved back to hers, but was less intense than before. “Gus is harmless. He’s not quite all there in the head, as they say.”

“I see,” she said.

Jon turned toward the ocean and scanned the horizon. “Looks like another storm is coming in.”

Eliza studied his profile. Jon could be considered by some a handsome man, but his manner was too curt for her. That alone made him quite unappealing. She closed her eyes, wondering why she was studying him at all.

When she opened her eyes, she realized Jon was right. Dark clouds were racing across the sky, right toward them. The storm had returned.

Chapter Eight

Jon’s gaze slid to Eliza as she stared out across the ocean. Her brow was furrowed and her pale green eyes troubled. He found himself comparing Eliza to Apryl, who had dark green eyes. Eliza’s were like a watercolor painting, as if different colors had been blended together. It appeared as if she’d attempted a simple bun in her hair, but now it had come loose, and tendrils of gold-brown hair hung down her back, reaching nearly to her waist.

Seeing her coming out of the lighthouse had stunned him—first that he recognized her immediately, and second, that she wasn’t a girl of sixteen or seventeen. She was a woman of at least nineteen, perhaps twenty. And in a few moments, she’d established that she wasn’t a wilting flower and wasn’t about to mince words.

“Any more news on your aunt’s accident?” he asked.

She looked at him then. “You mean her murder?” Instead of tearing-up, her gaze was like steel. “The constable hasn’t shared anything with me, but in a town this size, I would have likely heard of any new developments anyway.”

Again, Jon thought of her spending that horrible night in the dank cell. At the time, he’d been quite furious, but now, seeing her putting on a brave face, he felt awful about his actions, and that his actions could have resulted in her being put in jail in the first place.

“My father is on his way,” she said. “For the funeral.”

“I met him on the train.”

Interest lit her eyes. “You did?”

“We shared the same compartment on the way here. When he introduced himself, I discovered the connection.” He tried to contain his smile at her change in countenance. “I wondered why you didn’t speak like a Puritan when I first found you— much less act like one.”

A slight smile crossed her face, but she turned away quickly.

Jon couldn’t help but smile as well. She looked quite beautiful when she smiled—but why was he even noticing?

“You thought I was Puritan?” Eliza laughed and looked over at him.

His breathing faltered, and he took a step back. This woman was… he didn’t know what she was, but he suddenly felt unsure about everything he’d ever said to her. “I assumed… being in Maybrook and all…”

Her face tilted as she studied him, like he’d said something she finally found interesting. “I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment.”

Jon exhaled. “It’s not, really—a mistaken assumption.”

Her gaze held his for a moment, and he couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

Finally, she broke the silence. “I suppose I should head into town and find my father. He’s probably looking for me now.”

“Yes,” he said, but neither of them moved. He decided to be direct. “I came back to look for a record of my birth.” He hesitated. “Do you think I could search your aunt’s house for any papers that my mother might have left behind?”

Eliza bit her lip. “I don’t think there’s anything to find in the house, but my aunt did mention a journal by… Helena Talbot.”

“My mother.” He placed a hand on her arm before he realized what he was doing. “Where is it?”

Eliza pulled away from him, alarm in her eyes.

“Sorry,” Jon said. “You don’t know what finding my mother’s journal would mean to me.” He took a breath. “I don’t know what to believe about her death. Ruth told me one thing; the villagers say something else.”

He found himself waiting for her response. Had she already read the words of his dead mother? Had he divulged too much?

“My aunt said she found the journal in the lighthouse,” Eliza said. “Maeve left it there, and that’s why I came today, but I couldn’t find it. I’m sorry that I can’t tell you more.”

Jon took a step closer. “Where have you searched?”

“Only the upstairs room.”

His mother’s journal was somewhere in the lighthouse! His mind churned with possibilities. It might have the answers he was looking for—the location of his birth record, and what really happened to her. He couldn’t waste another moment; he turned and walked to the lighthouse door.

“Wait!” Eliza called after him.

He paused in his step. “Will you help me search, then?” He hoped his voice didn’t sound too desperate.

Someone interrupted before she could answer, calling out, “Eliza!”

Jon turned toward the direction of the voice. A young man was riding toward them, and by the looks of him, he had to be a Prann boy.

“I’ve been searching for you,” he called to Eliza. “A storm’s coming in.”

The rider looked over at Jon, and their gazes met for a brief instant. The curiosity was plain in the Prann boy’s expression.

“I was about to return,” Eliza answered, walking to where the boy had pulled his horse to a stop.

The boy climbed off of it and held out his hand toward Eliza. She took it and said, “What is it, Nathaniel?”

Jon didn’t like the familiarity he showed toward Eliza. Nathaniel Prann, it seemed.

“Your father’s in town,” Nathaniel said.

Eliza nodded and released his hand. “Yes, I know.”

“You know?” Nathaniel looked puzzled and cast another glance in Jon’s direction.

Eliza shrugged. “I sent him a telegram, didn’t I? I assumed he might arrive today, as the funeral is tomorrow morning.”

So she wasn’t going to mention his encounter with her father, Jon thought. He exhaled and turned away. It also appeared that Eliza was otherwise occupied and wouldn’t be helping him today after all.

He stepped into the lighthouse and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. In the few moments since Nathaniel’s arrival, the sky had grown even darker.

Jon climbed the stairs, his footsteps slow and heavy. The voices outside faded until he could no longer hear them, although that didn’t stop him from remembering Eliza’s upturned face and Nathaniel’s obvious interest and concern for her. A rock formed in his stomach. From the loft in the lighthouse, he was drawn to the window.

Eliza had mounted the horse she’d brought and was riding away, followed by Nathaniel in pursuit.

You fool, Jon chided himself. Foolish because of the way he had let her make him feel. And foolish because he was very securely engaged.

* * *

The day of Aunt Maeve’s funeral dawned misty and gray. By the time the incoming storm hit land the night before, it had dissipated into a harmless drizzle. Eliza was still glad Nathaniel had come to fetch her before she spent more time with Jonathan Porter. The man was confusing—one moment he was harsh and angry, the next, he was kind to that strange man. Then Jon was practically pleading with her to help him find his mother’s journal. And why had he been moody again around Nathaniel?

“Are you ready, Eliza?” Mistress Prann’s voice came through the door to the room Eliza shared with Rachel.

“Another moment, then I’ll be out.” Eliza pulled on the bonnet Rachel had lent her. It matched her most conservative dress of dark gray she’d brought to Maybrook.

Her thoughts turned back to Jon—she’d been touched by the acute sorrow in his eyes. She’d known when she saw them that he did have a heart, and he did care, at least about his mother. How would it be to have lost your mother at such a young age and not have any answers about the circumstances?

Eliza left Rachel’s room, making sure it was tidy behind her. Her father waited on the porch. When she stepped out, she grasped his hand and gave him a kiss. She’d been quite nervous to see him when he first arrived—after all, it was her actions that led to the trouble with his business. She hadn’t even dared to ask him about Thomas, and her father hadn’t said a word either. Perhaps the situation would wait until after the funeral.

“You look almost Puritan,” her father said.

“Mother would not be too pleased.”

Her father smiled. “No, she would not.”

It was good to see him smile at a time like this. Her father didn’t seem to care too much for the fashions of the day; he was more interested in turning out fine furniture.

“Nathaniel is bringing around the buckboard now,” her father said.

She heard it before she saw it. Even Nathaniel looked properly somber. They rode in silence to town, and when they arrived at the Meeting House, the place was nearly full.

Eliza linked arms with her father, and they walked inside the building together, taking their places near the front. Her wood casket was at the front of the room, closed.

The place didn’t feel much like a church. The benches were made of rough oak boards, and the clapboard walls rattled as the wind persisted outside. Eliza noticed the Tithingman’s discipline rod propped in the corner. Attached to one end was a squirrel’s tail—a light brushing of the squirrel’s tail was meant to rouse a sleeping woman during services, whereas a rap from the rod was meant to rouse a dozing man.

Eliza had dutifully attended Sabbath meetings with her aunt. It was strange to be here not for services, but for her aunt’s funeral. Behind her, the boys sat separately from the rest of the congregation, like they did on Sabbath. The Tithingman’s rod hung from a peg on the side of the room. At least the Tithingman wasn’t strolling the aisles and looking for anyone not paying attention.

Eliza remembered asking Aunt Maeve about the patrolling Watchman. She told her that he walked the streets on Sundays, making sure no one broke the Sabbath by laughing or worse.

The Puritans attended their services all day, with a short break to eat, when everyone gathered in the Sabbath house for a meal of cod and pottage. The sermons were heavy and solemn; the room felt as solemn now. Eliza was used to the fact that even young children respected the importance of sitting quietly.

When everyone was settled, the Reverend stood and read the eulogy. Eliza was surprised by its short length. It seemed that Aunt Maeve had lived a very simple life. The audience murmured, “Amen,” and then everyone rose.

Eliza and her father followed the pall bearers to the cemetery behind the Meeting House, where an iron fence surrounded the modest grave markers. Many were wooden, while some were made of stone. She slowed as she passed a grave dated from the 1620s, marked by a grisly death head.

Her father noticed it too. “Thank heaven they’ve done away with that tradition.”

Eliza nodded, eyeing another grave marked by a winged skull. When they reached the corner of the cemetery where her uncle was buried, she began to relax. This was the newer section. Here, the grave markers seemed more ethereal, with winged cherubs, urns and willows.

As the coffin was lowered into the ground, the Reverend spoke a few simple words. “Here rests the body of Maeve O’Brien, wife of Edward O’Brien. May God have mercy on her soul.”

* * *

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the magistrate said in his gravelly voice, standing at the pulpit. “Thanks to all for attending this meeting in such short order. We’ll commence immediately to read the last will and testament of the recently deceased Mistress Maeve O’Brien. God rest her soul.”

Eliza glanced about the Meeting House, surprised to see how many townspeople had remained after the funeral and were now sitting behind them. The Pranns had stayed, but that had been expected. She clutched her father’s hand, and he squeezed hers in return. She was relieved to be out of the cemetery and back in the Meeting House, but wasn’t the reading of a will only family business?

Eliza focused on the robed men before her, wearing their white wigs and lace cravats—as if they were living in the eighteenth century. Tomorrow she would accompany her father to the constable’s office and make sure all of the charges against her had been cleared. Then perhaps this business would be done.

Oh, Maeve, I miss you so.

The magistrate cleared his throat and read. “‘I, Mistress Maeve O’Brien, daughter of Philip and Rebecca Robinson, do hereby bequeath all my earthly possessions and property to my niece, Elizabeth May Robinson.’”

Eliza gasped. Aunt Maeve had left the house and property to her. It was supposed to have gone to her father. She covered her mouth with her hand then stole a glance at her father, expecting his face to be red in anger or disbelief. But he was smiling. Smiling! He reached over and patted her hand.

Oh, did she have questions for him.

After the reading, Eliza and her father rose, as they’d been instructed beforehand. They walked before the judge and signed their names on the witness forms. Eliza’s signature was shaky, just like her hand that held the pen. The magistrate handed another document to Eliza.

“This is the deed to the O’Brien estate. You will sign your name here.” He pointed to the bottom, below some beautiful calligraphy.

Eliza took a steady breath and put the pen to the paper, then signed her name. She was now a woman of property.

Her father rested a hand on her shoulder and said in a quiet voice, “Congratulations. Maeve left her property in the best hands possible.”

Eliza looked up at her father, a dozen questions on her mind. But here wasn’t the place to ask them, especially with the stern-faced magistrate listening in.

She thanked the magistrate, who barely gave her a nod, then turned to face the people. Many stepped forward and congratulated her, but most wore looks of disapproval. She was an outsider, that was for certain, and not one of them.

When they were nearly alone in the Meeting House, Eliza said to her father, “It should have gone to you.”

His smile was genuine. “Nonsense, I am established in life and have a successful business. But you’re young and have a whole future ahead of you. Maeve knew what she was doing.”

“Father—” Eliza began.

Two men strode into the Meeting House. Eliza looked over to see Jonathan Porter and another man. Her father crossed the room easily and warmly greeted both gentlemen while Eliza followed behind.

Jon was still here? He seemed to fill the room with his presence, and Eliza forced herself to look away from him. Had he found his mother’s journal in the lighthouse? She felt his gaze on her—and imagined his brown eyes turned black.

“This is my daughter, Eliza,” her father was saying to the men, “whom I told you about on the train. Eliza, this is Mr. Doughty and Mr. Porter.”

Mr. Doughty smiled and extended his hand. Eliza turned toward him and shook it.

“I’ve had the opportunity to meet your daughter already, sir,” Jon said.

Eliza met his gaze for an instant. Something passed between them—like familiarity—something Eliza couldn’t quite explain.

Her father glanced at her, then back to Jon. “Well, then, all for the better. You must join us for supper at the dining hall.”

Mr. Doughty accepted at once. “Of course.”

Jon’s gaze went to Eliza. “Perhaps another time. We have business to attend to.”

“It won’t take long,” Mr. Doughty said, smiling. “We’ll meet you at the dining hall shortly.”

Something in Jon’s eyes flickered; was he annoyed with his friend’s acceptance of the invitation?

“Very well then.” Her father shook their hands again. “We have much to discuss tonight. My daughter has become a land owner.”

Eliza lowered her eyes, avoiding the questioning look from Jon. Her cheeks burned at her father’s openness. But he was always open, honest, and sometimes that was a detriment. As she left the Meeting House with her father, she felt Jon’s gaze on her back.

Half an hour later, Eliza and her father were seated around a well-worn table, opposite to Jon and Mr. Doughty. The dining hall was one of the modern additions to the town. A pleasant-faced woman approached them with four mugs of ale. “Here thou are,” she said, sloshing the overfilled mugs on the table.

Eliza listened absently as the men talked, uninterested in the subject of politics, until it turned personal.

“Eliza has inherited my sister’s estate,” her father said.

Doughty’s eyes went to her. “And will you take up residence there, Miss Robinson?”

“Oh no,” Eliza said. “I have no plans to live in Maybrook. I don’t think I could convince my parents to change locations to live with me.”

Doughty chuckled. “I suspect not.”

“So you will sell it then?” Jon said.

Eliza looked at Jon with surprise. He seemed genuinely interested. “Eventually. I’d like to stay here for a few more weeks.” She glanced at her father.

Her father nodded. “Yes, there are matters at home that are a bit delicate for Eliza right now.”

She was thankful that neither of the men pressed for more information.

“How did you meet my daughter, Mr. Porter?” her father asked.

Eliza froze. How would he answer?

“Maybe your daughter should tell you the story,” Jon said.

She looked away from his intense gaze. It was strange to be sitting across from him, having this conversation around her father, as if everything was completely normal. But in truth, she’d just become a land owner. She was sitting across from a man she never thought she’d see again, and she was aware of every movement he made and ever look he gave her.

“He was visiting Maybrook too,” she said, knowing that wasn’t the whole truth. Thankfully Jon didn’t add anything more.

Her father nodded. “We have important business to settle tomorrow morning with the town constable.”

“Oh?” Mr. Doughty asked.

“When my sister died, the authorities put my daughter into jail. Imagine that. Poor Eliza.” He patted her hand. “A lawyer was able to have her released. If I could thank him…”

Eliza’s gaze met Jon’s across the table. He was waiting for her to make the first move, she realized. “You can thank him now, Father. It was Mr. Porter who argued my case.”

Her father looked at them in surprise. “You mean… but, how?”

Knowing that the whole story would come out sooner or later, Eliza took a deep breath. “On the night that Aunt Maeve was killed, I was desperate for help. I hurried out of the house to saddle the horse, and there was Mr. Porter.” She kept her eyes on the table, not wanting to see Jon’s reaction.

“What were you doing there?” her father said to Jon.

“Actually, I was planning a visit to Maeve. I was seeking documents that might have been left by my mother, who used to live in that house.” Jon looked from her father to Eliza. “I was born there, and my mother died when I was very young. Upon the recent passing of my father, I was instructed to obtain a birth record.” He lowered his voice. “When I saw Eliza staggering in the storm, I knew something was wrong. Before she fainted, she told me her aunt had died.”

The memory of her fear and desperation that night resurfaced. “Jon helped me to a safe house and warm bed.”

Her father put a hand on her shoulder. “What an awful night! I’m grateful Mr. Porter was there to help.”

“I awoke in a neighbor’s house,” Eliza said, looking up into Jon’s eyes. She well remembered his anger once they were in jail together. But here, now, his face was gentle, his eyes kind.“The next thing I knew, I was being arrested for the murder of my dear aunt.”

Jon gave a slight nod then summarized how they both ended up in jail. Their eyes met again.

“When I was released,” Eliza said, “I discovered that Mr. Porter was the gentleman who came to my aid—a second time.” As she spoke, she realized Jon had come to her aid a third time, at the lighthouse that afternoon.

“I’ll toast to that,” her father said, raising his mug. “Since Mr. Porter already has experience defending my daughter, would you gentlemen be willing to accompany us to the constable’s office in the morning? I need to make sure the charges against Eliza are cleared and that the investigation into my sister’s death is moving forward.”

“Certainly,” Mr. Doughty said. “We’d love to help.”

Jon’s eyes found Eliza’s before he said, “Of course.”

Chapter Nine

I’m going straight to hell. At least I would be if I were Puritan. Jon stared at the spreading light on the ceiling above him. He lay in bed with his hands crossed behind his head, welcoming the chill of the morning. He’d barely slept, and what little sleep he did get was consumed by thoughts of Eliza Robinson.

She’d decided to invade his dreams, no… haunt them. The soulful expression in her eyes when they’d talked about the night of her aunt’s death seemed to burrow into his soul. He wanted to protect her, and wished he could have protected her more.

Like a brother protects a sister. He shook his head at the notion. She was nothing like a sister, and she was completely different than Apryl. Eliza was like an innocent spring day compared to Apryl’s full summer flirtatious ways.

It didn’t help that last night, Eliza had looked at him like he was some kind of hero. She’s damned alluring, that’s what she is. And she didn’t even know it. Jon let out a breath of frustration. It wouldn’t do him any good to keep thinking about her. After he returned to New York, he’d never see her again. He’d be busy focusing on his future and planning his wedding with Apryl.

As it well should be.

Cracks of light spread across his quilt; dawn was here. This day he must find his birth record. He needed to concentrate on that, and only that. Then he could clear his mind for his future as a wealthy man and husband.

After Eliza left the lighthouse the previous afternoon, he’d discovered a stair with an unusual angle. It looked like someone had recently tried to repair the step. As he’d fiddled with the wooden plank, it came loose in his hands. Beneath the step was a hidden box. His heart had hammered as he removed it, feeling almost as if his mother were watching him, whispering encouragement.

But the box had been empty.

Jon sensed that the contents had been recently taken. Perhaps Eliza had taken his mother’s journal and hadn’t told him about it—was she capable of that? Was her innocence a ruse? Had Gus taken the journal? Jon was determined to find out before the afternoon train. He didn’t want to stay in Maybrook one more night.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to concentrate on his fiancée, her laughing face and smiling eyes. He thought of how she’d pressed against him, demanding that he kiss her, to which he had happily obliged. Then the deep green eyes paled, and the dark hair lightened. What would it be like to kiss Eliza? Did her innocence extend to men and kissing? Had she allowed Thomas Beesley to touch her?

Jon opened his eyes in exasperation. His thoughts were out of control. Why couldn’t he get Eliza off his mind? The answer was to return to New York as soon as possible. He would never do what his father did to his mother—abandon her and break his promises. No matter how distracted his thoughts were about Eliza, he’d stay engaged to Apryl.

“Are you awake, Jon?” Mr. Doughty called through the door, lightly knocking.

“I’ll be ready in a minute.” He’d told Mr. Doughty that he wanted to get going at first light. He climbed out of the covers and drew on his trousers. His shirt hanging over the back of a chair still looked presentable. Peering into the scratched mirror over the basin, he realized he needed a shave. It would have to wait until he returned to New York. Every moment counted now. As he dressed, he caught himself humming as he thought of Eliza. He immediately scolded himself.

At the breakfast table, Jon listened with half an ear to Mr. Doughty. “We’ll have to search your mother’s home today. The constable might have to come with us if it’s still closed for the investigation. If we can’t find anything, we’ll round up some townspeople who lived here at the time of your birth and get them to sign an affidavit as witnesses.”

Jon nodded, his thoughts moving again to Eliza. When Mr. Doughty finished his breakfast, Jon pushed away his untouched plate and rose.

The short walk to the jail house brought back the memories of the night he’d spent there with Eliza. He could have certainly been kinder to her, more comforting. He doubted she’d ever spent a night in such dismal conditions. At the front of the building, Mr. Robinson and Eliza stood waiting. Jon’s pulse involuntarily quickened, and he silently cursed his reaction at seeing her.

In the morning light, he was struck with how vulnerable Eliza appeared, how her pale skin contrasted with the rich gold-brown of her hair, and how there was a bit of a flush on her cheeks when their gazes met.

He cursed himself again. He had to stop thinking about her—he should be more concerned about how Apryl was doing. But shadows played under Eliza’s eyes, making him wonder if perhaps she’d slept as poorly as he.

“Good morning,” Mr. Robinson said.

Mr. Doughty shook his hand, and they talked as they entered the constable’s office together.

Jon lagged behind so he could speak to Eliza. “I found a box hidden under the lighthouse stairs.”

Her eyes flew to his face. “The journal?”

“It wasn’t there. You didn’t take it?”

“No.”

But it was too late to discuss the matter further. They’d reached the doorway where the constable greeted everyone.

Instead of a grim face, Jon was surprised to see the constable smile at his guests. “Welcome. I have some good news. We’ve found thy sister’s murderer.”

Jon almost felt Eliza’s shock reverberate through him as she grasped her father’s arm.

“Aye,” the constable continued. “We received a telegram early this morning in regards to a transient arrested for a similar case in the state of Connecticut. He all but confessed to the murder of Maeve O’Brien.”

“He’s in custody, then?” Mr. Robinson asked.

The constable nodded. “He’ll be tried in Connecticut, and, depending on the sentence he receives, he may receive two death sentences. But he’ll probably not need to be hanged twice.”

Everyone in the room chuckled, except for Jon. It was too easy, too neat. “How can we find out what the sentence will be?”

“You can read the papers or telegram the Connecticut office,” the constable said. “I’m grateful that it’s over.”

Jon wanted to question the constable further. Could the case be closed so easily? Was the man not to be convicted in Maybrook also? But everyone around him looked pleased, Eliza included.

“Well,” Mr. Doughty said amid the congratulations, “I guess that clears Eliza and Jon as suspects.”

Mr. Robinson laughed, and even the constable chuckled with relief.

“With that good news, we have another item of business,” Mr. Doughty said. “Could you give us a few names of the townspeople who lived here twenty-four years ago?”

“Why?” the constable asked.

“My client, Jonathan Porter,” he said gesturing in Jon’s direction, “needs proof of his birth in this town.”

The constable surveyed Jon. “What were thy parents’ names?”

Jon wanted to laugh. Everyone knew everyone in Maybrook. Surely the constable remembered him as well, but instead of arguing, he obliged. “Jonathan Porter and Helena Talbot.”

The constable’s eyebrows arched. “Helena Talbot was thy mother?” he said in a wary voice.

“Did you know her?” Jon asked.

The constable’s answer came rather quickly. “I heard about her tragic ending. It was quite odd. Some said she could swim, so why she drowned is beyond understanding.”

Jon stiffened. He hated this town. Hated the gossip. Hated that this man was speculating about his mother’s death. He didn’t even notice that Eliza had come to stand beside him until her hand brushed his. He definitely noticed that.

The constable continued, his tone sympathetic now. “Aye, I could come up with some names. But it does seem strange. That is, if she didn’t drown, why a young mother would leave her only child.”

Rage pulsed through Jon. It was everything he could do not to knock the man to the ground. The silence in the room was tangible. Jon clenched his hands at his side. Eliza moved closer and touched his arm.

“Jon,” Eliza whispered. “Come outside with me.”

Her voice and touch seemed to pour some sanity back into him. He became aware of everyone in the room staring at him.

Eliza turned to her father and Mr. Doughty. “Please bring the names with you.”

Jon let her guide him out the door, where they stopped on the side of the jail house beneath a group of maple trees. Eliza kept her hand tucked beneath his arm. Jon focused on his breathing, each moment getting easier. Eliza must think him a silly fool.

“I certainly don’t blame you if you despise everything in Maybrook,” she said quietly.

Jon looked down at her, into those watercolor eyes, his trance broken. “I don’t hate everything in Maybrook.”

The sides of her mouth lifted. “That’s good to hear. Ruth seems like a good woman.”

“Ruth is,” Jon said, his breath calming, his body warming at Eliza’s nearness. “And the ocean is quite beautiful.”

A smile escaped Eliza’s mouth. “Very true—in calm and in storm.”

Jon couldn’t take his eyes from her. Her hair was pulled back into a twist, but a strand had come loose, falling against her cheek. Before he could consider what he was doing, he tucked it behind her ear. “And I discovered another good thing in Maybrook… only recently.”

Her face flushed, and Jon decided it was one of the most charming things he’d ever seen.

“Jon…” Her breath seemed to shorten, but she didn’t say anything more, and let his name hang in the air between them. Yet she didn’t move away from him, and he found he liked having her at his side, her hand tucked in his arm. It felt comfortable, natural.

“Maybrook seems to be a nice sanctuary for you though,” he said. “I heard about why you left New York.”

Her face paled. “I hate the gossip columns.”

“It wasn’t the gossip columns, Eliza,” he said. “I’m only telling you this because I think you should know. I met Thomas Beesley at a dinner the other night. He told me about it himself, and when I met your father on the train, I put it together.”

“Thomas is still talking about me?” Her eyes flickered away. “Why does the man persist? He’s already made things difficult for my father.”

Jon felt something inside his heart stir. Again he wanted to protect Eliza, and the more he learned about Beesley, the more he didn’t like the man. “I don’t blame you for turning him down.”

Her eyes lifted to meet his, gratitude reflected in her expression. “Really?”

He nodded, unsure if he should say more. They fell into a silence for a moment. Finally, he said, “I don’t have the answers about my mother, and neither does the town. The constable was right—how could a mother abandon her baby?” He studied Eliza, lost in her closeness. He felt like he could talk to her with frankness, ask her anything. “Would you abandon one you love, Eliza?”

She blinked and looked away. Were those tears in her eyes?

“Jon, you can’t think of your mother like that. Whatever happened, I know she loved you and didn’t want to leave you.” Her eyes were back on his, and for a moment, he believed her.

But how could Eliza know?

Voices belonging to Mr. Robinson and Mr. Doughty reached them. “We’ve plenty of names to go on,” Mr. Doughty said confidently when he spotted the couple.

“Very well,” Jon said. Eliza released his arm and folded her hands together. He noticed the distance immediately, like a warm blanket being drawn away on a cold morning. He regretted that their privacy was over. “Let’s go.”

“It’s been nice to see you folks again,” Mr. Doughty said. “We’re grateful things are resolved with your sister, Mr. Robinson. Perhaps we’ll cross paths again in New York.”

“We would like that,” Mr. Robinson said, shaking Mr. Doughty’s hand.

Jon felt Eliza’s gaze on him, but when he looked over, she was walking toward her father and Doughty. “Thank you, Mr. Doughty, it’s been a pleasure,” she said.

After Eliza and her father left, Jon stared after them.

“What a nice family,” Mr. Doughty said. “Too bad they’ve had to endure such a tragedy.”

“Yes,” Jon said. Why had he let himself become so wrapped up in her? It wasn’t like he was living in Maybrook, and she was the best thing it had to offer. He lived in New York City, and there were many women, not to mention his lovely fiancée. Maybe it was because she was so different than the socialites he knew.

The constable appeared in the entryway. “Ready, gentlemen?”

“The constable will let us into Maeve’s home and help us search for documents, and if none are to be found, we’ll seek out the townspeople,” Mr. Doughty explained.

Jon followed them to the constable’s buckboard. He didn’t want to be in the constable’s presence, but there was no help for it. The sooner it was over, the better. He hoped that Maeve had forgotten that she’d brought the journal to her home, and then he’d be able to find it. After that, he’d leave Maybrook and never return.

The ride to Maeve O’Brien’s house was short but bumpy. The recent storms had left gouging ruts in the country road. Jon caught himself watching Mr. Doughty, who seemed unperturbed by the turn of events and was conversing easily with the constable.

Am I the only one who is worried that Maeve O’Brien’s murderer was found so easily? Jon shook his head. The solution to her untimely death was too simple.

Arriving at the deserted cottage, the three men climbed off the buckboard. The constable unlocked the door and entered, but Jon hung back for a moment, letting Doughty enter first. Jon couldn’t remember any details of this particular childhood home. He had left it when he was three and moved into Ruth’s home.

He walked inside to see the disarray of the kitchen. He thought of Eliza here, of the night that she’d come stumbling out of the cottage, injured and frightened. It all seemed dreamlike in the harsh light of day.

“We’ll start at the top, in the attic,” the constable said. He and Mr. Doughty disappeared up the stairs.

Jon walked about the rooms on the main floor. He picked his way through the kitchen, pulling drawers and opening cupboards. Then he stopped in the sitting room with its blackened hearth. A fire would make this room cozy, but now it was silent and cold.

He ran his fingers along the hearth, feeling for any loose bricks that might conceal a hiding place. The oak planks on the floor were solid and well-worn. Nothing on the wall looked out of the ordinary. He felt along the crevices of the sofa and discovered a forgotten handkerchief. Elegant embroidered letters had been stitched in the corner, “E. M. R.” It had to be Eliza’s. Without a second thought, he tucked the handkerchief into his coat pocket.

Leaving the sitting room, Jon paused before the open door of the bedroom. This must have been Maeve’s room. He walked into the quiet sanctum, stepping noiselessly on the rug. Trinkets sat upon a small desk in the corner. The bedding had been stripped from the mattress tick. A quilt was folded neatly on a chair in the corner. It was a patchwork, with intricate hand-stitches securing the fabric swatches together. It reminded him of something he’d see in Ruth’s house. A board covered part of the only window—glass shards still lay on the floor where they had fallen.

“It’s not too late.”

Jon spun around and stared at the doorway—but no one was there. Had the noise been merely the wind coming through the broken window? But there was no breeze.

A draft brushed near his ankles; he must have left the front door open.

“Mr. Doughty?” he called out. “Constable?”

They didn’t answer, so they must still be in the attic. He was more tired than he thought. He walked out of the bedroom and heard the constable and Mr. Doughty descending the stairs.

“Any luck?” the constable asked when they came into view.

“Nothing yet,” Jon replied, noticing that the front door was shut tight. “And you?”

“Nothing.”

“Mind if I check up there myself?” Jon asked.

“Go ahead,” the constable said. “We’ll have a look around down here.”

Jon climbed the narrow staircase and paused before the bedroom door on the second landing. This must be where Eliza had slept. He opened the door and was surprised by how large it was. The room was bright and cheerful, although all personal effects had been removed. Only a bed, a sturdy dresser and a washbasin on a stand remained.

Crossing to the window, he looked out the mottled pane of glass at the lighthouse in the distance. Should he tell the constable about discovering the empty box? The missing journal?

His thoughts were interrupted when the constable called out to him, “We’re going to the barn.”

“All right,” Jon called back, then knelt and tested the floorboards, checking to see if any of them were loose. He lifted the mattress from the bed and patted it down. Nothing felt unusual. Checking behind the dresser, he still found nothing. By the time he left the cottage, Doughty and the constable were coming out the barn.

They stood in a circle for a couple of moments, talking. “We’ll have to go with our backup plan,” Doughty said. “And hope it’s enough to satisfy a British solicitor.”

Jon nodded. “It will have to be.” Claiming his inheritance was the next step in his plan to marry and enter into politics.

Chapter Ten

“Thank you so much for everything,” Eliza said, standing in the Prann kitchen.

Mistress Prann brushed off her flour-spotted hands and pulled Eliza in for a tight hug. “Must thou leave so soon?”

“I’ve encroached on your hospitality long enough,” Eliza said. “I’m staying at my aunt’s place until my mother arrives.”

“But dear, wilt thou be safe alone?”

Eliza’s stomach fluttered, but she ignored it. “They’ve caught the criminal. He’s never coming here again.”

“If thou needest anything, we are here for thee,” Mistress Prann said.

“I’ll be all right,” Eliza said. “As soon as my father returns to New York, he’ll send my mother back on the next train. She wants to look over the furniture to decide whether any of it will be of use in New York. But I’m afraid she’ll be disappointed, as Aunt Maeve lived quite simply.”

“I know, dear. Thy aunt was unpretentious. She’ll always be missed.” A frown creased Mistress Prann’s forehead. “I worry for thee.”

“Don’t worry,” Eliza said and smiled. One more embrace followed, and Eliza stepped into the sunshine. The day promised to be a new beginning. She was now a young woman of independent means and would be setting foot on her own property.

Nathaniel helped Eliza into the front seat of the buckboard, then climbed up and sat next to her. Traveling through the early-morning countryside glistening with an early frost, Eliza breathed in the cool air. The beauty of the autumn leaves and deep blue sky, combined with the invigorating air, made her feel more alive than she had in a long time.

Nathaniel was unusually quiet on the way to Maeve’s house. Eliza stole a glance at him and saw his eyes narrow as he stared straight ahead.

“Is something wrong?” Eliza asked.

At first Nathaniel didn’t seem to hear her, but then he slowed the buckboard until it came to a stop.

She fiddled with a button on her skirt. Why was he acting so strange?

“Eliza,” Nathaniel said, his voice hesitant. He released the reins and turned. Then he took her hands in his and held them tight.

She had put off speaking to him, and now she realized she’d waited too long. His hands were hot and sweaty, and beads of perspiration dampened his forehead.

“Don’t say it,” she said. “Let’s leave things as they are.”

“I can’t wait another day, Eliza. From the time I first saw you, I felt something inside. I love thee. And I want to marry thee.”

Marry? Hearing the word sent a dagger through her. This had gone much farther than she’d thought. He looked so trusting, and she didn’t want to hurt him.

“I—I have no intentions of marrying anyone soon, Nathaniel. You’re young and have much to look forward to.” And I don’t love you, and you’re Puritan, and . . .

Nathaniel’s cheeks flushed. “My father has promised me a parcel of land, and with thy aunt’s house, we’d have a place to live in the beginning. I’ll build thee a new house, and we’ll farm the land. Thou can be happy here—I know it. My parents married a year younger than our age, and I wouldn’t make thee go to Meeting, unless thou wanted to…”

Eliza stared hopelessly at him, tears brimming. He viewed life so simply, and now she had to break his heart.

“Surely there was a girl you had your eye on before I came,” she said, hoping to make the moment cheerful—how things had always been between them. “I’m more than satisfied being friends with you for many years to come.”

“Friends? Do you mean friends who marry?”

“No,” she said, her throat tight. “I don’t want to marry, you or anyone. Not now.”

He stared at her as if he couldn’t quite believe her.

She pulled her hands away from his grasp. “Please, take me to my aunt’s.” She looked straight ahead, avoiding Nathaniel’s soulful eyes.

He scooted right next to her and pulled her into his arms. She felt his lips on her neck as he kissed her.

Was kissing before marriage even allowed among the Puritans? “Nathaniel, you’re—”

But then his mouth was on hers, his kisses soft and clumsy at first, then hardening into deliberate urgency.

It was not horrible, but she knew she couldn’t allow him to kiss her. “Stop,” she said, pushing him away.

Nathaniel fell back, his face red. “Forgive me,” he whispered.

“No, forgive me, for letting you think I’d welcome a marriage proposal.” His face went ashen, and Eliza felt like she might be sick with guilt. How could she have led Nathaniel to believe she’d want to marry him? Was there something wrong with how she communicated with men? First Thomas, now Nathaniel. She climbed down from the buckboard and went to the back to retrieve her traveling case.

“Please don’t, Eliza,” came his voice, clear and strong again. “I’ll take thee to thy house, and I swear I’ll not touch thee again.”

She hesitated. If Nathaniel was anything, he was honest. Knowing it would be quite impossible to drag her belongings the remaining distance, she secured the case onto the buckboard again and climbed into the rear seat, relieved at Nathaniel’s promise.

He didn’t turn to look at her. Instead he urged the horse into a trot, and before long, Aunt Maeve’s house came into view.

After Nathaniel pulled the horse to a stop, Eliza climbed down to fetch her traveling case. In an instant, he was by her side and lifted it down. When his arm brushed hers, a faint smile crossed his lips.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. He followed her into the house and set the case down, waiting for further instructions.

“Thank you,” Eliza said, dismissing him with a half-hearted smile. But he didn’t make a move to leave.

Instead, Nathaniel gazed at her, confidence in his eyes. She glanced away, not sure what to say.

“I’ll wait for thee, Eliza, as long as it takes.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he turned and walked outside. She heard him whistling as he climbed into the buckboard and snapped the reins. Don’t wait for me, Nathaniel Prann. I’ll be gone before you know it.

Sinking onto the sofa, she couldn’t picture herself living out her days in this complacent Puritan town. Then she began to laugh. Maybe she should accept his proposal and insist he move, to New York City. His innocent eyes would be assailed by all the evil-doers. He’d turn and run at the first sight of a misdeed.

She sighed, not knowing what to think of Nathaniel. After all, he had just kissed her—passionately. Maybe she didn’t know him as well as she thought.

* * *

Eliza spent the afternoon cleaning the cottage. A layer of dust had settled over the floors and furniture. Her mother would be arriving in a couple of days, and there was a lot of work to be done before she arrived. When the place was presentable, Eliza ventured into the garden. Aunt Maeve had kept an immense herb collection, growing lavender, comfrey, and rosemary. Eliza gathered a variety of the stubby plants and took them into the kitchen, and hung them upside down to dry.

In the late afternoon, Eliza heard the sound of an axe splitting wood. She left the kitchen and walked around the house towards the sound. A man with a shirt tied about his waist stood in front of the shed, chopping wood. Eliza found herself staring at the man’s back and its mass of heavy scarring, as if he had been whipped multiple times. The color of his rust-red hair told her who it was.

He turned. “Good day, miss.”

“Hello, Gus.”

He started to split the wood again, raising the axe over his head then brought it down with an earsplitting thud.

Before the next chop, Eliza asked, “What are you doing?”

He paused and relaxed his grip on the axe. “Chopping Mistress O’Brien’s wood.”

“Remind me what she pays you.”

“Eggs. Sometimes she gives me a whole basketful.”

Eliza watched him chop for another moment. Did he not know that Maeve had died? He acted like Maeve had recently asked him to chop the wood. He really was a strange man.

Eliza would have to see about some eggs. She walked into the barn to check on the chickens. They perched in the coop, their feathers fluttering with each cluck. A sack of feed had been opened, and its contents were spilled onto the dirt. At least they hadn’t gone hungry.

She reached under one hen that protested loudly and collected its egg from the nest, then moved onto the next hen. When Eliza had filled a basket, she left the barn and went to hand them over to Gus. But he was no longer at the chopping block. He was stationed by the well, drinking water in large gulps from a ladle.

Placing the basket of eggs on the edge of the well, Eliza said, “Thank you.”

Gus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thank ’ee, Miss. But where’s Maeve?”

Eliza took a breath. “She… died last week.”

Gus’s eyes widened. “She died? But ’ow?”

“She was… killed. But they’ve found the one who did it.”

Gus’s eyes watered, and tears rolled down his cheeks. He brushed away the tears and looked past Eliza. “I have to go.” He scrubbed at his face, took the basket of eggs, and walked away. She watched him go, baffled that he hadn’t known about Maeve’s death, and feeling bad about being the one to tell him.

Chapter Eleven

Jon cursed again as the ink smudged the paper. The train ride didn’t make writing easy. He poised his dip pen over the half-filled page and scanned the first paragraph:

Miss Robinson,

I was pleased to find you safe and sound upon my return trip to Maybrook. I appreciate the aid you gave me after the constable’s unfeeling words. But as I said, not everything in Maybrook is painful to me.

He scratched the words out, then wadded up the paper, and started fresh on a new paper.

Miss Robinson,

I was pleased to find you safe and sound upon my return trip to Maybrook. I hope you are recovering from the past week. Mr. Doughty mentioned that as a lawyer, he’d be happy to help you with any matters regarding your new inheritance.

There. That was a better start. Formal, yet concerned. Not too personal.

If you happen to find my mother’s journal, could you please write to me at the address below? I will come personally to Maybrook to fetch it.

He signed the letter and added his address, then sealed it into an envelope. He’d post it as soon as he reached New York. The signed affidavits were in Mr. Doughty’s carrying case; they’d been able to get four signatures from Maybrook townspeople who remembered his mother’s pregnancy and Jon’s birth. At least that business was over, and he could move forward in claiming his inheritance.

Jon wouldn’t have to return to Maybrook ever again… unless he received a letter from Eliza about the journal. That would be the only reason he’d return. He leaned into his seat, glancing at Mr. Doughty, who dozed across the aisle. There was no Henry Robinson sharing their compartment this time. But Mr. Doughty had procured the Robinsons’ New York address, which would come in handy if Jon had to follow up on the journal after Eliza returned to New York.

He closed his eyes, hoping to get some rest. The nights in Maybrook had proved difficult to sleep through, but that should be remedied with the absence of Eliza. He didn’t have to worry about running into her. He allowed himself to admit that he was drawn to her—quite unexpected, but he decided it was due to the unusual circumstances in which they’d met and her connection to his mother’s house.

He’d also been drawn to her innocent beauty, but what man wouldn’t be? It was only a natural appreciation, nothing more than that. Jon had no intention of changing any of his marital plans. He’d committed himself to Apryl, and she was his future.

He dozed, the image of Eliza on his mind, making his sleep quite restless. What seemed like only moments later, the train came to a halt, and Jon awoke with a jolt.

“We’re here,” Doughty said.

Jon gathered his things, and the two men stepped off the train together and shook hands.

“I’ll send the witness documents right away,” Doughty said. “And I hope to hear back within a month.”

Jon blinked, still trying to clear the fog of the nap from his mind. “I look forward to it.” As he moved into the milling crowd, he felt lighthearted. Things were beginning to fall into place. He would soon claim his inheritance, and, with Eliza on his side, he hoped to solve the puzzle of his mother’s death. But that was as far as his acquaintance with her would go. He was looking forward to seeing Apryl again, and getting Eliza off of his mind. Jon hailed a carriage to take him straight to Apryl’s. He wanted to tell her the news.

When he arrived at the Maughans, he climbed the steps and rang the bell. But Apryl wasn’t home. According to the housemaid, the family was gone and wouldn’t return for two days; they were still enjoying the country life at the Beesley estate. Jon left feeling confused. Had she not been anxious about staying at the Beesleys without him—so why had she prolonged her visit? She must be enjoying Jessa’s company more than she’d expected. By the time he reached home, Jon had decided to repack his bags and take up Thomas’s invitation after all.

Time to get to know the man who Eliza turned down.

Just as the sun was sinking below the horizon, Jon arrived at the long driveway leading to the Beesley estate. The house was a stately two-story, surrounded by sprawling lawns and gardens. The carriage pulled around the circular driveway, and Jon alighted with his overnight bag and stood before the house, ablaze with lights and music flowing from the open doorway.

A butler must have heard the carriage and now waited as Jon ascended the front staircase. He removed his overcoat and hat, placing them on the outstretched arms of the butler. “I’m Mr. Jonathan Porter.”

The butler bowed and said, “I was told you might arrive. Mr. Beesley is in the garden, but you’re welcome to wait for him inside.”

So they were expecting him? Certainly that was evidence of Apryl’s optimism. Jon stepped into the grand hallway and looked at the chandelier lit with hundreds of candles, blazing their welcome. To his right, the music poured from the drawing room, but no one was dancing. In fact, except for the musicians, the room was vacant.

He walked back to the butler. “I’ll find them in the garden, I suppose.”

The butler dipped his head. “It’s this way, sir.”

Jon found the garden path easily enough, which was lit with oriental lanterns. The heavy scent of blooming roses assailed him as he walked, reminding him of Apryl.

He came to a clearing, expecting it to be filled with several guests, including Apryl and her parents. But on the bench on the far side, only Apryl and Thomas sat together.

Their shoulders were touching, and their hands intertwined. Jon’s throat tightened. The bench was rather small, but they appeared as intimate confidantes. It might be nothing, but the longer he stood there unobserved, the more he doubted his own thoughts.

Apryl saw him first. Her mouth fell open, and she rose, practically stumbling over her white gown of lace and ribbons. “Jon!” Her face paled two shades. Behind her, Thomas rose and clumsily straightened the velvet vest over his generously cut shirt.

Jon walked forward, pretending that everything was normal. He even shook Beesley’s hand, which he found to be quite damp. The man was perspiring—had he been all along? Or just now at the sighting of Jon?

“Welcome, welcome,” Thomas said, removing a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiping his nose.

Jon could have broken that nose.

Apryl smiled and gave Jon a kiss on his cheek. “You’ve returned early. I’m so delighted you decided to join us. I was hoping you’d come.”

Even though Jon felt like decking Thomas, he smiled at the two. “I didn’t expect Apryl to still be here, but when I learned of her extended stay, I decided to join the fun.”

“W—well, of course,” Thomas stuttered then cleared his throat. “Perhaps I’d better see if your parents have made themselves comfortable in the library.” He hesitated as he met Jon’s gaze. “And when you’re ready, I’ll have the butler, Mr. West, show you your room.”

Jon offered a mock bow and watched Thomas waddle down the garden path. Jon turned and looked at Apryl, whose face had grown quite flushed. Holding out his arm, he asked, “Care for a stroll?”

“Let me fetch my wrap,” she said, turning back to the bench.

No “love” or “dear.” It made him sick to think of what was so obviously transpiring between his fiancée and Thomas.

Jon guided Apryl along the trails of the garden in the gathering shadows. When he couldn’t stand the suspense any longer, he stopped and faced her. “Do you want to break our engagement so you can court your bloated host?”

Apryl’s eyes widened, filling with tears. “Of course not, Jon. I—I wouldn’t dream—”

“I saw the two of you together, pressed together like fish in a tin—”

“It was nothing. He’s easy to talk to, and he’s fun to be around, but he’s not like you. You’re…” Her voice broke.

“What am I, Apryl? Easy to talk to? Fun to be around? I thought we had an understanding, a commitment.” Frustration boiled inside of him. “I don’t want a wife who will always be looking for the next entertaining party, or the next man who romances her—who’s not her husband.”

Tears trickled down her cheeks. But even in the rising moonlight, her eyes blazed, her cheeks aflame.

“Why can’t you tell me, Jon?” she asked, her voice trembling.

His eyes hardened. “Tell you what?”

“That you love me. Why won’t you say it?”

Because I don’t know if I do. Jon gaped then watched her face dissolve into sobs. How had this suddenly become his fault? “Did I not ask you to marry me? Have I not shown you every courtesy? Just because I’m not a dandy, or some tripe that composes poems.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Thomas doesn’t compose poems. But he doesn’t hold back his affections, either.”

Jon stared at her, his face heating up. “Are you saying you’ve kissed him? Have you been intimate with him?”

She gasped and turned from him, her shoulders shaking.

Jon needed a man to punch. Had Eliza and Thomas…? He couldn’t let himself think about that. The thought of them together was mortifying. He had no desire to comfort her, to tell her the words she wanted to hear.

“So you’ll not tell me you love me.” Her voice trembled. “Your silence is my answer.”

“You won’t answer me about Thomas, yet you make proclamations about my intentions and my feelings?”

“Jon,” Apryl said, her voice pleading. “Tell me if you love me.”

He opened his mouth to say it, but something stuck in his throat. He’d never said those words to someone else. What did they mean anyway? He swallowed at the dryness in his throat, but try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to say what she wanted to hear. “Isn’t my anger at seeing you with that beast of a man enough?”

Apryl wiped furiously at new tears coming down her cheeks. “Jonathan Porter, you’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever known.” She turned and fled along the path.

Call her back. Tell her you love her, that you want to marry her and that you forgive her. But his words froze as he watched her disappear into the trees.

When Jon entered the Beesley home, the musicians had stopped playing. He found Mr. and Mrs. Maughan in the library, who greeted him pleasantly. He was surprised to see Apryl sitting near the fire, leafing through the pages of a book. She watched him as he came into the room. He’d have thought she would have run to Thomas. Jon waited for her eyes to offer welcome, but she lowered her gaze and ignored him.

Mr. Maughan asked, “How was your trip to Massachusetts?”

“I didn’t find what I needed, so I’m working on another solution.” Jon thought he saw Apryl raise her head.

Mrs. Maughan nodded. “I’ve heard the coast there is lovely this time of year.”

“Yes.” Although the loveliness that he had experienced had nothing to do with the landscape.

“Why don’t you read us something, Apryl?” Mrs. Maughan asked, breaking into Jon’s thoughts.

Apryl looked down at the book she was holding, turned a few pages, and began to read aloud. Jon relaxed in the wing-backed chair and lit one of Thomas’s imported cigars, listening to his fiancée’s melodic voice reading Bryant’s “Green River.”

When breezes are soft and skies are fair,

I steal an hour from study and care,

And hie me away to the woodland scene,

Where wanders the stream with waters of green;

Jon closed his eyes, picturing Maybrook. In his mind he was walking through the woodlands bordering the fields near Ruth’s house. Then he saw Eliza. She stood near the edge of the trees, waiting for him. As he approached, she walked towards him, smiling.

And gaze upon thee in silent dream,

For in thy lonely and lovely stream,

An image of that calm life appears,

That won my heart in my greener years.

The poem ended, and Jon opened his eyes, surprised to see Apryl looking at him expectantly. He exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Very nice.”

A slight smile crossed her lips. It appeared peace had been made, which was just as well for him.

* * *

The following morning, Thomas appeared at the breakfast table, dressed in a riding habit. The tight jodhpurs and narrow riding boots only accentuated the man’s poor figure in the worst possible manner. Jon nearly choked on a bite of cold ham. He wondered how Apryl could even pretend to be entertained by him—let alone kiss him, if that’s all that had happened.

Thomas tossed a newspaper onto the table. “It’s finally happened. My foolish partner has broken the last straw with his increasingly poor reputation. His daughter landed herself in jail earlier this week.”

The Robinsons. Before Jon could read the article, Mr. Maughan snatched the newspaper and scanned the front page.

“No, it didn’t make front page news,” Thomas said in a snide tone, “but there it is on page two, all right, by the gossip section. See for yourself.”

Mr. Maughan turned the page and began to read. “‘Mr. Henry Robinson, well-known furniture dealer and connoisseur, has again disgraced himself in high society. It appears that his daughter, Eliza Robinson, has become independently situated, but only on the occasion of her aunt’s murder.’”

Apryl let out a small gasp and looked over at Thomas. “You did well to distance yourself from the family.”

Thomas’s smile was triumphant. Jon set his mouth in a firm line, ordering himself to stay silent.

Mr. Maughan read on. “‘While Eliza Robinson enjoys her new property, her poor aunt is barely cold in the grave. Perhaps she was an accomplice in her aunt’s unfortunate death, and therefore did not need anyone’s hand in marriage to secure a fortune.’”

“Serves the girl right,” Mrs. Maughan blurted out.

“Oh my goodness, Thomas,” Apryl crooned. “You poor man. Do you think they’re referring to you?”

Jon’s stomach felt as heavy as lead.

Thomas’s eyes gleamed as he loaded his plate with sausage, toast and marmalade. “Wouldn’t it be something if she went to trial for murder?” A low chuckle rumbled from somewhere deep inside him.

Apryl leaned forward, her eyes intent on Thomas as he took the seat across from her. “She must have coveted her aunt’s property all along, and was only waiting for the perfect opportunity get rid of the woman.” Her face flushed as Thomas smiled at her.

“I believe so,” he said in a conspiratorial voice, his eyes not shying away from Apryl’s bold gaze. “I will have to terminate my partnership with Mr. Robinson, of course.”

“Most definitely.” Apryl nodded. “Please read the rest, Father.”

Mr. Maughan cleared his throat. “‘Mr. Robinson could not be reached for comment, but sources close to him say that he’s grieving over his daughter’s involvement, and that Mrs. Robinson has left home, with no word of her return or her whereabouts.’”

“I never did like her mother,” Mrs. Maughan interjected, rosy circles forming on her cheeks. “Too snooty for me.”

“Do you know the family, then?” Jon asked, genuinely curious as to how the Robinsons were connected to the Maughans.

“Not well, but I’ve seen Mrs. Robinson at social functions,” Mrs. Maughan said.

Amid the speculating, Jon pulled the paper in his direction, his anger rising. It was all slander and gossip. Who could be idiot enough to believe any of it? Unfortunately he was in a room full of people who were doing just that.

“She didn’t kill her aunt,” he said sharply above the conversation. The talking stopped, and everyone looked at him. “Eliza didn’t kill Maeve O’Brien.”

“Who in damnation is Maeve O’Brien?” Thomas asked.

“Henry Robinson’s sister. Maeve Robinson married a Puritan man named Edward O’Brien and settled with him in Massachusetts.”

Apryl was staring at Jon now, twisting her napkin. “And how might you know this, Jon?”

He hesitated, but he suddenly didn’t care about protecting his past anymore. All he wanted to do was see Thomas Beesley eat his words. “Because I grew up in Maybrook. Maeve O’Brien was my neighbor, and I know Eliza.”

Chapter Twelve

With two hours of daylight left, Eliza decided to take a walk to the lighthouse. She scanned the area for any signs of Gus, but seeing none, she continued on her way. When she reached the lighthouse, she pushed open the door and called out, “Anyone there? Gus?”

She glanced behind her, but saw only trees swaying gently in the breeze. Entering the lighthouse, she watched the flecks of dust float in the air, illuminated by the sunlight filtering in through the narrow window behind her.

She examined the steps to find the one Jon had said was loose. Nails were missing on the third step. She lifted up the board.

Beneath was the same wooden box Jon had told her about. She lifted it out of the step, finding it weighted. According to Jon, it had been empty. With her anticipation mounting, she opened the lid. Inside sat a worn, leather-bound book. She carefully opened the cover and read Helena Talbot, January 1815.

Jon had said the journal was missing. How did it get back in the box? She replaced the now-empty box into the step, then left the lighthouse, clutching the journal to her chest. She ran the entire way back to the cottage in the growing dusk.

Eliza locked the front door of the cottage behind her and hurried into the kitchen. She lit two tapered candles with a trembling hand, deciding that supper would have to wait. She reverently placed the volume on the table, hoping she’d made the right choice by bringing it home. Turning to the first page, she stared at the long arched handwriting.

She skimmed the first few pages, where Helena had written about ordinary things—doing chores, sewing samplers, attending Meeting. Then Eliza stopped on the page dated January 8. It was the first mention of something different happening in her life.

January 8, 1815. A stranger came into town last week—he’s a traveling salesman for the ship industry. He recruits sailors who travel the world, and he’s been to the West Indies and to Australia, even China. The stories he shares are amazing and almost unbelievable. Father offered him a room at our house, and I can hear them talking long into the night about the many adventures he’s had. I’m not allowed to sit with them after supper, because Mother doesn’t want me to hear anything heathen. His name is Jonathan Porter. Doesn’t that sound nice?

Nice, indeed. Little did Helena know that this was the man who’d abandon her. No wonder the Talbots had kept close watch on their daughter. A shiver traveled along Eliza’s back, making her wonder if she should be reading Helena’s words. But the journal was in front of her… waiting to be read. She turned the page. The next entry was written more than a month later.

February 15, 1815. Mother is an absolute tyrant. I’ve been doing my chores, attending Meeting, and keeping the Sabbath perfectly holy, so there should be no room to complain—although Mother always finds something to criticize. Jonathan is still staying at our house, though he is not around very often—until today. He came home early from someplace and stood in the doorway, staring at me. Finally I asked if he needed anything. I know Mother would have never left to visit the widow Goodwife Harttle if she’d known Jonathan would be returning so early in the day.

I offered to fix him a meal, but he shook his head and continued to watch me work. Finally he went upstairs. I could hear him pace the floor like a caged animal. Then he came back down and asked if I would take a walk with him. You can imagine my surprise. A tall, handsome man wanting me for company—and he even knowing that I am only seventeen.

What he said to me I dare not write, but I discovered that Jonathan Porter does not see me as a child. Rather, he said that I’m a “beautiful woman.” Those words are now etched in my memory.

It was all so sweet, but Eliza knew the bitter was about to come. Imagine being so proper, or so Puritan, that Helena couldn’t even write out a conversation.

March 1, 1815. Perhaps I should burn this journal. But for now, I’ll pour out my heart upon these pages. I have become used to Jonathan’s kisses. Aye, he has kissed me. I suppose I feel bold in saying so. I have to write it down, or it won’t seem real. I cannot stop thinking about him, nor stop my cheeks from flaming when I am in his presence. The private kisses are not enough for him, or for me. I yearn for his touch every hour I am not with him, and that is most of the day. When I hear his footstep upon the threshold, I have to refrain from flinging myself into his embrace. I love him. When we are secretly together, I chide him for looking at me the way he does in my father’s presence. I’m surprised my parents haven’t noticed—for I am truly a woman now that I’ve had a man’s love. Jonathan says he will marry me after his job is completed. My parents will not want me to marry a non-Puritan, even one so important as Jonathan Porter.

The candles flickered rapidly. Eliza looked up and stared at the dancing flames, realizing that a window must be open in the house somewhere. She reluctantly left the table and went to the hearth room, but everything was shut tight. Walking upstairs, she scanned the rooms, finding all of the windows closed.

There was one last place to check for a draft—Maeve’s room. Eliza went down the stairs to the main floor and stopped in front of the door. The door was shut, and there was no draft coming from beneath. She took a deep breath and opened the door. Sure enough, the broken window had been replaced, and the room looked neat and tidy, as if waiting for its occupant to come home. She shivered involuntarily. Then, as she shut the bedroom door, she thought she heard a voice.

“Thank you.”

Eliza spun on her heels, her breath halting. The voice was back. No, she decided. It’s not a voice; it’s the blasted wind. The way it wove around the house made it sound like a voice. Except that there was no wind outside. Perhaps the sound was a lonely rat scurrying above, searching for a morsel.

Her mother would arrive tomorrow, and Eliza found herself looking forward to it. Being alone in the cottage was making her nervous. Feeling chilly, she went to light the fire, which proved a dubious task with trembling hands. When she had the fire roaring, Eliza brought the journal into the hearth room and pulled the rocking chair close to the fire.

March 23, 1815. Jonathan’s contract is fulfilled, and he leaves in two days. He is secretly trying to steal more time to spend with me, and he’s promised to return as soon as he can to fetch me. Then we’ll leave this dull place for England. His father owns a big estate and will welcome his son’s new fiancée. But my monthly time is delayed. Constance Kinder told me it is how one knows one is with child. Your monthlies stop. I feel ill just thinking about it. Every hour I pray to God that my sin with Jonathan will not be discovered. I am filled with anguish knowing I don’t deserve God’s benevolence now. If I am with child, my sins will be a permanent stain. I wish I knew for certain. Then I would tell Jonathan, and maybe he would take me with him now. But what if I am not with child, and he becomes angry at my deceit?

March 30, 1815. Jonathan is gone. I’ve been trying not to weep openly because Mother would guess what is wrong. I didn’t tell Jonathan that my monthly was late, because I kept hoping it would start. But it hasn’t, and I am so confused. Should I have told him? Am I with child? My breasts feel tender to the touch, and I can smell the cows a mile away. Am I becoming ill because of my sin? Will God ever forgive me?

Eliza stood and placed another log on the fire. She wiped a stray tear off her cheek. How would it be to feel so alone in the world that you couldn’t tell anyone you were having a baby? She curled up on the sofa, pulling an afghan over her.

April 2, 1815. I write this inside my jail cell. Mother discovered my condition. After seeing me vomit day after day without a fever or chill, she guessed. On the fourth day of being sick, I was trying to pull some weeds in the garden, but doubled over and vomited in a bucket. Mother stood behind me, silently watching. Then she grabbed my hair and yanked my head back, her gaze boring into me. She called me filthy vermin. And for once, I agreed.

I tried to explain, but she wouldn’t listen. Her voice sounded harsher than I’d ever heard her. She said I am carrying a devil child and that I am being punished by God for my sins.

I sobbed and said that Jonathan would return and marry me. She trembled and forbade me to speak his name again.

Then she called me a whore.

I reached out to her and clung to her skirts. But she shook me off and spat in my face, forbidding me to enter the house.

She left me there, in the yard, lying upon the cold ground, a sobbing mess. Even when my hysterics passed, I was too faint to arise and clean myself.

When Father arrived home, he came immediately to my side. Surprisingly, in his own way, he was compassionate and sorrowful. He apologized for letting the devil himself reside within our walls.

He directed me to clean myself and climb into the buckboard. I will be staying in jail until the day of my trial before the magistrate.

Eliza shuddered at the image of going to jail and standing trial because you became pregnant out of wedlock. Too bad Helena couldn’t have been secreted away to a distant relative’s… As I have done, but for different reasons. Eliza looked at the dying flames and closed her eyes against the image of Helena being treated like an animal by her own family. She pictured Jonathan Porter, Sr. and the beautiful and innocent Helena. Did she become desperate enough to take her own life?

What would Jon think when he read this? Clutching the journal to her chest, Eliza soon fell asleep on the sofa as the crackling flames faded to glowing embers.

* * *

Eliza stretched her cramped legs on the sofa. The journal had fallen on her lap, and the fire had long since died. Rubbing her sore neck, she sat up. The late-morning sun seemed to wink merrily at her through the window. It was strange to be in Maeve’s house alone—to be anywhere alone. Stretching, she rose and walked into the kitchen, remembering that she’d had no supper the night before.

She found an apple and bit into it as she looked around the room. The place looked presentable enough for her mother’s arrival, but she knew it wouldn’t be what her sophisticated mother expected. Mrs. Robinson would soon find out that having an independently wealthy daughter looked much better on paper. With an amused eye, Eliza scanned the kitchen. Perhaps her mother would like the drying herbs that hung so neatly in a row… or maybe she would take a fancy to the hens in the barn… or perhaps she would want the scarred kitchen table, with years of memories etched on the surface… Puddles of candle wax were hardened on the table. Eliza would have to scrape those off.

Laughing to herself, Eliza looked at the kitchen door and was surprised to see an envelope on the floor. The post must have come early this morning. She stooped to pick up the expensive-looking paper and examined it—from New York. She tore the envelope open and scanned to the bottom of the letter. Jonathan Porter? Her heart gave a jump before she realized it was from Jon, the son of Jonathan Porter and Helena.

She skimmed the letter then sat at the table and slowly read through it again, wherein he asked her to continue searching for his mother’s journal.

I have it now, Jon. And I’ll send it to New York. When she picked up her mother today from the train station, she would post a return letter to Jon. Eliza found some paper and a pen, and after rereading Jon’s letter, she began her reply. It was easier to write to him than to talk to him. Without his dark eyes and moody expression studying her, she felt able to freely express herself.

Dear Mr. Porter,

Thank you for your recent letter of concern. I’m curious to know when it was you discovered the box empty, as it was only yesterday that I happened to find your mother’s journal, dates starting in 1815, in a box underneath the same bottom stair. My mother is coming to Maybrook for a visit, and she’ll be returning to New York in another week or so. I will send the journal back with her.

Regards,

Eliza Robinson

P.S. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve taken the liberty to read a few pages.

Eliza bit her lip then rewrote the letter, this time leaving out the postscript.

* * *

In the early afternoon, Eliza opened the barn doors and hitched up Maeve’s horse to the wagon, something her mother would likely detest riding in. In fact her mother would be surprised she even knew how to prepare the wagon and horse—thankfully Maeve had taught her that. But Eliza had no other choice but to fetch her mother in the wagon. On the way into town, she stopped at Ruth’s cottage. As expected, she was home, kneeling in her garden, furiously tugging at weeds.

“They’ll die soon, won’t they?” Eliza asked.

Ruth turned and squinted against the glare of the sun. “Well, on my soul, if it isn’t Maeve’s niece…”

“Eliza,” she filled in for her.

“Yes, a beautiful name. Thou hast recovered from thy ordeal, I see. Jonny told me about what happened, and I’ve been praying for thee ever since.”

“Thank you.”

Ruth continued, “He seemed quite interested in thee and asked me several questions. I’m afraid I couldn’t answer him.”

“What kind of questions?” she asked, then wished she hadn’t.

But Ruth didn’t seem to mind. “About how long thou hast lived here, and whether you were of the faith, and… oh, I forget now.”

“It’s all right,” Eliza assured her, reddening at the thought of Jon asking about her. “I’ve come to inquire about a young man named Gus, whom I’ve seen around lately.”

Ruth brushed the dirt from her hands and stood. “What about Gus?”

“He was chopping wood at Maeve’s house and seemed to think she was still alive.”

Ruth’s warm brown eyes studied Eliza. “Don’t pay attention to that. He’s not all there, one might say. Gus is a hard worker, though he could never do anything more than manual labor. Lives by himself now, poor soul. His father passed away a couple of years ago.”

“Where does he live?”

Ruth hesitated. “Close to the cliffs in a little cottage not too far from the lighthouse. In fact, if there weren’t so many trees surrounding his place, thou could see it from here.”

Eliza looked in the direction of Ruth’s gaze.

Ruth spoke rapidly. “Poor boy, he was born breech, so it’s no surprise that he never had much intelligence. But he’s a good lad, and he stays out of trouble, he does. His father and… his father always saw to that.”

* * *

Eliza had only been at the station a few minutes when her mother’s train arrived. A few people exited, and soon Mrs. Robinson came into view. Her fashionable sapphire chiffon and low-cut bodice was completely out of place in Maybrook. Thankfully, she wore a lace cravat, covering her bosom. Her dark blonde hair was done up in a chignon, topped by a pert hat. Behind her, the porter carried two bulging bags. Eliza crossed to her mother and kissed her cheek. It seemed ages since they had last been together.

“You’re looking well, Mother.”

Mrs. Robinson frowned. “I can’t say as much for you, Eliza. What happened to your good dresses?”

Eliza glanced at her faded blue dress, which she used to wear for traveling—it had become her mainstay as of late. It was clean, and the collar starched in proper Puritan style, but the fabric lacked the luster it once had. “There’s not much sense wearing my finery among the chickens on the farm. Maybrook is different from New York.”

Her mother lifted her chin and glanced at their surroundings. “You don’t need to tell me that, dear. It’s quite evident already. Where’s the carriage?”

Eliza led the way to the crude wagon and instructed the porter to load the bags.

Her mother stood rooted to the ground, her eyes wide. “You can’t mean for me to ride in this.”

Eliza hid a smile. “As I said, Mother, this isn’t New York.”

Mrs. Robinson let out an exasperated sigh, hiked up her chiffon skirts, and climbed into the wagon. “I hope my dress doesn’t snag,” she mumbled. “And my hair will look a fright without a proper carriage roof. How far is the estate?”

Her mother would find out soon enough that Maeve’s “estate” wasn’t what she was expecting. On the ride to Aunt Maeve’s house, Eliza told her mother about the people with whom she’d become acquainted with. “Ruth Temple is our closest neighbor. You’ll find her very hospitable, and you’ll probably meet the Pranns, whom I stayed with for a few days. Harvest Goddard runs the only dress shop in town, although I’m afraid you’ll find it somewhat lacking.”

“What strange names,” her mother said.

Eliza laughed, tightening her hands on the reins. “It’s a Puritan town, remember? Multiply Aunt Maeve by a hundred, and you have the population of Maybrook.”

Mrs. Robinson flicked at an unseen piece of lint from her skirt. “The society papers have stirred themselves up again over you.”

“What are they saying now?”

“Oh, that you’re an heiress, and you were thrown into jail as a suspect in your aunt’s death.”

Unbelievable. “They’ve twisted the truth, I imagine.”

“They have.” Mrs. Robinson pursed her lips. “And like your last scandal, this one will no doubt affect your father’s clientele. Some of our oldest friends have dropped us from their invitation lists.”

Anger bubbled inside Eliza, not because of the gossip journalists who managed to get their malicious words printed, but at her mother, who refused to defend her own daughter. Even when Thomas had proposed, her mother had seemed to take his side. Why did Thomas Beesley have to propose to her in the first place? It had set in motion a chain of unsavory events. And why was her night in jail being talked about? It wasn’t anyone’s business.

Her mother continued her self-indulgent talk. “I hear Thomas is doing well. Your father says he’s working on a contract to implement mass production.”

Her father had been set against mass production for as long as she could remember. “What does Father think?” Eliza slowed the horse a bit as they rounded a bend.

“Oh, you know him. He’s old-fashioned, but I think he’ll come around. The ladies at the club say it’s the next step in industry, and anyone who wants to compete will have to start mass-producing ready-made furniture.”

Her mother made it sound like there was no other choice. Eliza thought about how Jon had said that Thomas was still spreading the story of his rejection. “Has Thomas forgiven me?”

“What a question, dear. Thomas was deeply hurt. I don’t see him getting over the humiliation, especially working with your father on a regular basis.”

If only the gossip columns would stay out of it, maybe Thomas would be more inclined to drop it as well. Maeve’s house came into view. “There it is,” Eliza said, glancing at her mother to gauge her reaction.

Mrs. Robinson noticeably flinched. “It doesn’t look like much.”

Eliza smiled. “I know, but I love it.”

When they climbed from the wagon, Eliza unloaded her mother’s baggage.

“Isn’t there anyone to do that?” Mrs. Robinson asked, looking around.

“Just me.” Eliza hefted the bags one at a time up the stairs and set them on the porch. “Come inside and have a look around, and then I’ll make us some tea.”

Mrs. Robinson’s face brightened a little. She traipsed up the stairs and followed Eliza inside.

“What do you think?” Eliza asked.

Her mother looked around, walking slowly from the kitchen to the hearth room. “I, uh, it’s very humble,” she finally managed.

“They were Puritans, remember?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Robinson said. “It’s rather quaint, like a country home should be. I can’t imagine how Maeve lived here all those years.”

Eliza shrugged, expecting her mother’s reaction. “The simple life made her happy. I think she was the most cheerful person I’ve ever known.”

Mrs. Robinson scoffed. “Perhaps she didn’t know any better.”

Eliza saw no solution except an argument, so she ignored the comment. After all, there was no changing her mother’s viewpoint. “Why don’t you sit on the sofa? I’ll stoke the fire and make some fresh tea.”

“Thank you, that would be lovely,” her mother said with a sigh.

Chapter Thirteen

Jon settled into the carriage seat, Apryl beside him. Mr. and Mrs. Maughan were seated in their own carriage, traveling a short distance behind, as they left the Beesley estate. Adjusting the fur covering over her knees, Jon hoped the courtesy would deflect the onslaught that was sure to come.

Apryl had barely spoken to him after learning that the small town he told her he’d grown up in was in fact, Maybrook, and that he was acquainted with Eliza Robinson. Not to mention that he had in fact, rescued her, twice. Two bright spots stood out on Apryl’s cheeks as she stared forward in the chilled air.

“I think we wore out our welcome at the Beesleys,” Jon said, in an attempt to make peace. The carriage jolted forward, and they were on their way back into the city.

She blinked and slid her gaze to his. He’d never seen her gaze quite so… icy.

“You’ve not been forthcoming, Jonathan,” she said.

Ah. She is speaking. At last.

“The events didn’t seem remarkable at the time,” he said. “I did tell you about Maybrook, just not in connection with Thomas’s ex-fiancée.”

“And you don’t see any reason for my concern?” Her voice was quiet, but strong. “What am I to think? You told everyone that you rescued the Robinson woman on the very night of her aunt’s murder… and you had to get her out of jail as well.” Apryl pulled the rug up higher and folded her arms.

“Am I being scrutinized because for once, I seemed to know more about the gossip than anyone else in the room?”

She turned her head and looked at him full on, and that’s when Jon realized she was jealous. His heart thumped—although he wasn’t sure if it was because he realized that Apryl might care enough about him to be jealous of another female acquaintance, or whether thinking so much about Eliza had brought on the rush.

“I’ll concede that is quite a feat,” Apryl agreed. Her lips quivered. “Tell me what she looks like.”

“Whatever for?” It was true, then. Apryl was jealous. He exhaled. What he said next could determine Apryl’s mood.

“Unless you want to keep that private as well.” Her pouty tone was back.

“No… of course not…” Jon gazed out the window at the passing countryside. The first cold of autumn had arrived, and he found the chilly air invigorating. “The first time I saw the famous Miss Robinson, she looked like a wet rat.”

Apryl gasped then giggled. “No!”

At last. His icy fiancée was thawing. “It was during a horrific storm, and I had meant to leave the next day, so I braved the weather and rode to Maeve O’Brien’s doorstep. There Miss Robinson was, staggering in the mud, drenched to the bone.”

Apryl scoffed. “And the handsome hero rescued the damsel in distress.”

“If you want to put it that way, I suppose. But it was the wrong damsel.” He met her gaze—her eyes had warmed. He wrapped his hand over hers. She didn’t pull away. “Eliza is nothing like the lovely Apryl.”

A smile touched her lips. “Is she at least fair?” Apryl asked.

“I suppose some men might think so. But I wasn’t interested in making such an assessment. I felt sorry for the poor girl, that’s all.”

Apryl’s smile turned triumphant. “Certainly not a predicament I’d wish on anyone.”

“Of course not,” Jon said. “She was hysterical and asked for help, telling me her aunt was dead. Naturally, I had to help her, so I loaded her on the horse and took her to Ruth’s house.”

“The woman who raised you?” Apryl interjected.

“Yes.” Jon remembered how fragile and young Eliza had seemed at the time. He’d thought her merely a girl. He’d thought her hair dark at first, but when it dried, he realized it was the color between the early morning sun—

A nudge from Apryl brought him to full awareness.

“Ruth knew what to do and instructed me to help get her warm and dry.” He stopped, his throat suddenly raw.

“Pray tell me how you accomplished that, sir Jon?”

Jon’s collar felt itchy and the carriage stuffy. He could very well imagine Eliza’s eyes on his—scared and desperate. He’d felt helpless at the time, wishing he could soothe the girl’s fear. “I wrapped her in a blanket. She was delirious and kept saying that her aunt was dead.” He shifted position, trying to dispel the heat spreading upward from his neck.

“Then you got her out of jail. What a gentlemen,” Apryl said. “If nothing else, Jon, you’re always a gentleman.” She leaned her head on his shoulder.

Jon exhaled. Crisis averted. It seemed he was forgiven now.

Apryl’s head remained on his shoulder, and the carriage soon lulled her to sleep.

My thoughts aren’t always gentleman-like. Jon continued to stare out the window, remembering the morning after he had found Eliza. With Ruth dozing by the fire, he’d peered into the room where Eliza slept. As vividly as if it were yesterday, he could still picture her pale, delicate face, with dark eyelashes resting peacefully against her cheeks in slumber, framed in a halo of gentle waves of dark gold.

An hour later, with Apryl and her baggage unloaded from the carriage and settled into her house, Jon went home. When he reached his place and walked through his front door, he glanced at the pile of letters on the hall bench and decided they would have to wait—he was famished. But as he passed the bench, something caught his eye. Turning, he picked up the top envelope and scanned the handwriting. It was definitely feminine, but unfamiliar.

“Sarah?” he called.

A moment later, his maid appeared. “Yes, sir?”

“Bring me some hot soup in the library, please.”

Sarah nodded and scurried away.

Jon walked into the library, tossed his coat over the chair, and sank onto it to read. He scanned to the signature—it was from Eliza. Her mother would be joining her in Maybrook. He wondered when Eliza might come back to New York. Had she read the journal? It was strange to think that he might meet her in New York—Eliza and Maybrook seemed to be an entirely different world.

A short time later, Sarah entered the room with a tray of steaming soup and a small loaf of bread. Underneath her arm she carried the evening paper. “It just arrived,” she said.

Jon thanked her and dipped his spoon into the soup. The hot, spicy liquid felt wonderful as it warmed his throat. He scanned the front page and, seeing nothing new, he turned to the next. A heading caught his eye.

Connecticut Transient Sentenced to Death

He continued to read. One such Byron Hatham, accused of a series of murders in the Massachusetts and Connecticut regions, has been brought to justice. Mr. Hatham’s rampage began a little over a month back, with his final villainous act ten days ago upon the murder of Mr. Donald Barton, in Hartford, Connecticut.

Jon reread the dates again and compared them to the timing of Maeve’s death. He stilled. The dates weren’t consistent. The transient blamed for Maeve O’Brien’s death, couldn’t have been in Maybrook the night of her murder. He was in Hartford killing the unlucky Donald Barton.

Damn it to hell. Jon stood and paced the room, running his fingers through his hair. That could only mean one thing—the killer was still in Maybrook, and Eliza was in danger.

In the light of the sinking sun, Jon sank into his chair until dusk had deepened into night, debating what to do. Was he overly worried? And why was he so concerned about something that had nothing to do with him? Finally, he made up his mind. He would send a telegram to the constable of Maybrook and write a letter to Eliza. And then he could put the matter out of his hands.

* * *

The following morning, Jon set out to see Mr. Doughty, thinking that the man might be interested in his discovery. The day was cold and blustery, with promise of rain to come, so he ordered Richard to bring the carriage around. He snatched the morning paper from the front hall table and scanned the pages for a follow-up story. There was none.

He arrived at the law offices. Mr. Doughty greeted him warmly, and led him into his cramped office. “Sorry again about the clutter. Renovations are taking longer than planned.”

Jon stepped over a pile of books. “I’ve brought something for you to see,” he said, handing over the newspaper clipping.

Mr. Doughty read the article. “So they’ve found the murderer guilty. That’s good news, right?”

“Look at the date and location of the Barton murder,” Jon said. “That was the same night Henry Robinson’s sister was killed in Massachusetts.”

“Ah, I see what you’re getting at. This man, Byron Hatham, couldn’t have been in two places at once,” Mr. Doughty said.

“Exactly.” John moved some books from a chair and sat down. “I sent a telegram to the constable. But there has to be something more we can do.”

Mr. Doughty arched a brow. “We?”

“What if the murderer knew Maeve personally, and Mr. Robinson’s daughter is the next victim?”

“I thought the family was back in New York. I happened to run into Mr. Robinson this morning,” Mr. Doughty said.

Jon let the news sink in. “I received a letter from Eliza in yesterday’s post, sent from Maybrook, and she said her mother is coming to stay with her.”

Mr. Doughty leaned back in his chair. “You’re being extremely gallant, Mr. Porter. I’m sure the constable will take care of it.” He paused and steepled his fingers. “Forgive me for getting personal, but aren’t you engaged, Mr. Porter?”

“Yes. Why—” He felt his face grow hot. What was Mr. Doughty implying? “My concern is only natural and stems from having met the family.”

Mr. Doughty nodded his head in agreement, but didn’t look convinced. “Of course. I’m sure the constable will reopen the investigation and see to the safety of his citizens.” He peered at Jon closely. “Or perhaps we should pay another visit to Maybrook and warn Miss Robinson in person.”

Jon tugged at his collar. “Perhaps a telegram is enough after all. Thank you for the advice.” He took the newspaper article back from Mr. Doughty and rose to leave.

Moments later, Jon stepped out in to the driving rain and made a dash for his carriage. Richards pulled forward as soon as the door was shut. Now sodden, Jon leaned back in his seat and exhaled. How could Mr. Doughty make the assumption that he was interested in Eliza as more than an ordinary acquaintance?

Terms with Apryl were back on track, and there was no reason for him to jeopardize that, especially after he’d remonstrated Apryl for being friendly with Thomas. He must let his mind be free of the Robinson girl, forget he ever met her. She would be protected by the constable in Maybrook. He would soon recover his mother’s journal. Then he would never see or hear of her again.

He reached into his waistcoat pocket and drew out his handkerchief. After wiping his forehead, he discovered that it was the cloth that carried Eliza’s initials. He folded it carefully and placed it in his pocket, reminding himself to remove it at home.

As he rode, the wind whipped about the carriage, which reminded him of the night he met Eliza.

“Enough,” he told himself, pressing his fingers against his temples. Maybe he should accept a few clients to take his mind off things until his father’s estate was ready to be settled.

Upon his arrival, Sarah met him at the door. “Mr. Thomas Beesley is waiting for you in the library. I hope you don’t mind, sir,” she said with a curtsy. “You said you wouldn’t be gone more than an hour, and Mr. Beesley said he didn’t mind waiting.”

Jon tried to hide his annoyance. “Did he state his business?”

“No, sir,” Sarah said, her eyes going to the floor.

“No matter. Thank you for making him comfortable.” Jon left the maid standing in the hallway and entered the library. Thomas sat in a chair, leafing through a book. When he saw Jon, he rose, his massive form making the room seem insignificant.

“An unexpected pleasure,” Jon said, staying decidedly calm.

“Your maid is gracious,” Thomas said through his full lips.

Jon sat in a chair opposite. “Thank you. Please have a seat.”

Thomas followed suit, his eyes gleaming. “You must be wondering why I’m here.”

Jon watched the man’s bulk settle into his chair. I hope the legs hold. “I suppose your country vacation is over, and it’s time to get back to business?”

“Something like that.” Thomas folded his hands over his girth. “I’m looking for a lawyer to represent my case against Mr. Henry Robinson. As you seem to know the family’s quirks, I thought you’d be the perfect candidate. That is, if you feel you’re up to it.”

Jon rubbed the back of his neck. Becoming further involved with the Robinson family wasn’t inviting, especially if it meant representing Thomas against Eliza’s father. “I’m newly out of law school, Mr. Beesley, and I haven’t yet established my practice.”

“So I’ve heard.” Thomas nodded. “Tell me, Mr. Porter, what are your future plans?”

“Once my financial situation is secure, I’ll marry Apryl, of course. I’ve thought about doing something in government…”

“How very noble of you—a public servant. I hear the pay is pittance, but the benefits are immense.” Thomas pulled out a massive handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and blew his nose.

Jon flinched and waited for the noise to subside. “I’m not worried about money.”

Thomas took one last swipe at his reddened nose and replaced the crumpled handkerchief. “You must be very rich, then, Mr. Porter, to be able to work for free and support a wife accustomed to a lavish lifestyle.”

Jon gripped the edge of his chair, aching to punch the man. “Apryl will be well-taken care of, as will our children. I’m sorry I won’t be able to represent you in this matter.”

Glancing about the room, Thomas said, “You know where to reach me, Mr. Porter, if you decide to change your mind. I’m sure we can agree on a price we’ll both be happy with.” He rose awkwardly and lumbered across the floor. “Good evening, sir. I’ll see myself out.”

The door shut behind him, and Jon stared at it for some time. He’d just been grossly insulted.

Chapter Fourteen

Eliza spent the day showing her mother the sights of Maybrook. It was a strange time. Eliza was still young, yet her station had risen, but the cutting remarks from her mother said she was somehow jealous of Eliza. How could her mother envy a run-down cottage, crumbling lighthouse, and fallow farmland? But her father had told her that the property was valuable, especially to non-Puritans who were encroaching on every side of Maybrook, buying up land where they could.

On the third morning, Eliza and her mother sat at the kitchen table with a list between them of all the items in Maeve’s house and their approximate value.

A light scoff came from her mother. “There’s nothing of real worth, except for the land. Your father said it might be best to sell that right away.”

“Wouldn’t he rather wait until the scandal has died down?” Eliza tried to keep the edge out of her voice.

Her mother looked up sharply. “We want to do what’s best for you. This town is becoming smaller and less desirable. You’ll only get decent money out of it from an investor.”

“I don’t think Maeve would have wanted it sold off that way,” Eliza said.

“Then sell it to some foolish Puritan who values the secluded farm life.” She said with a wave of her hand. “How about the Prann family? You seem to be on friendly terms with them.”

Eliza was sure that Nathaniel would be more than delighted to take over the property, if a bride were to be thrown into the bargain. But she doubted he could afford to buy it.

The sound of an approaching wagon caused both women to rise and look out the window.

“Speak of the devil, Mother. It’s about time you met one of the Pranns.”

Eliza hurried to open the front door before her mother could answer. “Nathaniel, come in and meet my mother,” she called out brightly.

Nathaniel tipped his hat and climbed down from the wagon. His face glowed with pleasure, no doubt at the friendly greeting. Eliza felt a twinge of guilt. He looked even younger than he was, now that Eliza saw him through her mother’s eyes. He also looked completely unsophisticated.

“I’ve brought some fresh vegetables from my mother’s garden,” he said.

Introductions were made, and Nathaniel was invited to stay for tea. Eliza inwardly smiled at the way her mother appraised him. By New York standards, he looked like a common country boy—uneducated, with only the price of cows on his mind. In reality, Nathaniel was well-versed in Greek, Latin, and Bible study. Eliza watched the pair with amusement.

“Your father’s been a farmer all his life, and his father before him?” her mother asked.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s in our blood and has been even before my great-grandfather came across the ocean in 1620,” Nathaniel explained and gulped down some tea.

“He farmed in England?”

Eliza could have pinched her mother. She acted as if no one respectable farmed.

“Yes, ma’am, in a village near Portsmouth.”

Mrs. Robinson nodded as if she were familiar with the regions skirting London. “And you’ll be a farmer too, I presume? Take over the family property?”

Nathaniel looked a bit uncomfortable at the direct question. “In our town, when the parents pass, the children divide up the inheritance equally. I’m not one for squabbling with my siblings over land. My father is set on me going to Cambridge and replacing the Reverend someday.”

Mrs. Robinson’s mouth rounded. “Cambridge? Well, who would have suspected?”

This was news to Eliza—he’d never talked about college before. Her mother’s sting eluded Nathaniel, and he smiled in response.

“Would a reverend be able to care for a property such as this?” her mother asked.

Nathaniel’s eyes widened, and he looked at Eliza. Her mother could hardly know what sort of ideas she was giving him.

Her mother continued with a few more questions, and by the time Nathaniel took his leave, Eliza saw that her mother was very satisfied with herself, thinking Nathaniel a potential buyer.

As the two women stood on the porch waving goodbye, Eliza turned and said, “Mother, you don’t understand.”

“What do you mean?” Her hand rose automatically to her hair, checking for flyaway strands.

“Nathaniel is only interested in this land for one reason.”

Her mother’s hand stopped mid-primping. She settled her steady gaze onto Eliza. “What reason is that, dear?”

“He’s asked me to marry him.” She watched the expression on her mother’s face register her words.

“What did you say?” her mother asked faintly, her face draining of color.

“I told him we were too young.”

Mrs. Robinson grabbed Eliza’s arm and pulled her close. “You didn’t make any promises, did you?”

“Of course not. You know my record of turning down proposals.” She turned away and stared at the roof of the barn. She felt her mother’s stare penetrating from behind her.

“Do you think the Pranns might purchase this land without you becoming Nathaniel’s bride?”

Eliza bit her lip to keep from crying out. It was so typical of her mother to think only of money. “I don’t think the Pranns know of their son’s intentions towards me. I’m sure they’d be as horrified as you.”

Mrs. Robinson began to protest, but Eliza went back into the kitchen and started clearing tea from the table.

* * *

Later that night, after her mother had retired for the evening, Eliza lit two candles at the kitchen table. With Helena’s journal opened, she continued to read the turbulent events.

April 5, 1815. I’ve been locked in the high constable’s barn for three days. Goodwife Wheyland has brought me quilts and food. I see pity in her eyes when she looks at me. I loathe that pity. When I asked Goodwife Wheyland what’s to happen to me, she told me about the whipping post and the pillory. But she thought both punishments would be too harsh for a woman in my delicate condition.

Oh, I long for Jonathan and his warm brown eyes and strong embrace. He would take me away from this horrible place and care for me and our child. I would give anything to send word to him, to tell him what has happened. I know that he would leave his post immediately and come reinstate my honor by marrying me.

Why can’t my mother be as compassionate? She has not been to see me yet, although my father comes twice a day.

Oh, God, I ask thee for forgiveness. How can something so beautiful be a sin? How long does thy punishment need to continue? I am in the depths of despair and feel like I’m already in hell.

Eliza’s hand trembled as she turned the page—reading the words felt as if she were looking into the very soul of another. She felt unworthy to read such honest and tormented words. But she couldn’t tear herself away.

April 9, 1815. Yesterday was my trial before the town magistrate. My sentence seemed too light to the brazen onlookers, but it was the worst I could have imagined. I am to live in seclusion in my parents’ house until the birth—the most awful jail imaginable. No one is allowed to see my growing form, lest it be a bad example for the other girls. I’ve become a prisoner in my own house. My mother won’t speak to me. Her silence pierces my heart.

May 1, 1815. I spend all day in bed, regardless of the sharp words my mother uses. Yes, she is talking to me again, but only to reprimand. I cannot exist without Jonathan’s love any longer. Where is he? Why hasn’t he come for me? I am leaving tonight and moving into the abandoned cottage by the old lighthouse—one owned by the O’Brien family, who left for England and haven’t returned for years. I will leave a note for my parents, but I’m sure they won’t persuade me to return. I hope they will leave me alone.

Eliza stared at the flickering candles for a moment. So that was how Helena came to live in her Aunt Maeve’s cottage. Helena had run away from home, although not far, to escape her mother’s relentless judgment. What a lonesome life Helena must have lived, carrying a child with no one to help.

* * *

The next morning, Eliza rose well before her mother to prepare breakfast. When her mother appeared, she looked surprised to see that Eliza had already laid the table with an appetizing spread.

“This is a nice final meal,” Mrs. Robinson said.

“Are you going somewhere?” Eliza asked.

“We are returning to New York today. I thought about it last night, and I think it’s for the best.” She held up her hand when Eliza started to protest. “I know you wanted to stay longer and that you’re fond of this place, but there’s nothing here of value except the land. And you certainly don’t have any promising future in this town. Once we reach New York, we’ll hire someone to sell the place, and we’ll put the money into a trust fund until you come of age.”

Eliza looked at her mother in amazement. “What about the gossip columns? Are your friends ready to accept your wayward daughter?”

“Your status has undoubtedly been raised, Eliza. Remember, you are a woman of independent means now… Well, once we get this awful place sold and have something to show for it besides dirt.”

How could her mother be so cold? Her mother sent her to this place to hide her from shame, yet now that she had inherited property, she was worthy to be among those whom her mother revered?

“I’m not coming with you,” Eliza choked out.

“What did you say?” Her mother narrowed her eyes, daring Eliza to defy her.

“I’m not coming with you to live among those hypocrites.”

Mrs. Robinson pointed a trembling finger at Eliza. “You’re still under my care, young lady, and you will obey your mother.”

“Just as I obeyed you and came to this place? You were embarrassed to have me around, and now that I own property, you are anxious to show me off.” She folded her arms as angry tears slipped down her face.

Gripping the chair in front of her, Mrs. Robinson’s knuckles turned white. “We’ll be leaving in one hour.”

* * *

Eliza loaded her mother’s bags into the wagon and climbed into the driver’s seat. Her mother’s face was pale and drawn. Eliza settled next to her and urged the horse forward. Mile after mile they traveled in silence, until they reached the train station.

Mrs. Robinson alighted and called for the porter to unload her baggage. She turned and followed him into the station, without so much as a backward glance at her daughter.

Watching her mother disappear into the train station, Eliza had mixed feelings. She hated her mother’s remonstrations, but it was better than hearing them constantly. Besides, Eliza wasn’t ready to face New York City.

Did Helena have the same mixed feelings when she’d left her parents’ home?

Chapter Fifteen

As soon as she reached the cottage after delivering her mother to the train station, Eliza walked into the hearth room and tossed her shawl onto the sofa. The past three days with her mother had left her drained and exhausted. She sank onto the sofa and closed her eyes. She’d have to write Jon again—she hadn’t sent the journal with her mother after all. Eliza hadn’t been able to finish reading it with her mother around, and she didn’t trust that her mother wouldn’t open the package out of curiosity.

The sound of footsteps on the porch startled her. When a knock came, she flinched. Opening the door, she saw the constable standing on the other side of the threshold.

“Good morrow, Miss,” he said, tipping his hat.

Eliza nodded in greeting. “Can I help you?”

“I’m afraid I have bad news.”

Eliza drew her breath in sharply. “Has something happened to my mother?”

“Not that I know of. I’ve come to inform thee that we are reopening the investigation into thy aunt’s death.”

“Why?” A gnawing began in her stomach.

“It appears that the man whom we thought guilty of her murder couldn’t have done it,” he said. “He happened to be in Hartford, Connecticut, committing a similar crime.”

“Oh,” was all she could say. She gripped the door frame, feeling her knees start to give.

The constable’s mouth pulled into a tight line. “Thou hast better stay somewhere else for awhile.”

“But why would someone want to kill my aunt?” she asked faintly.

“Perhaps they thought she had money or other valuables stashed somewhere, and when she awoke, they…” He stopped.

Tears burned in her eyes.

The constable’s face softened with compassion. “Is there someone thou couldst stay with? I don’t think it’s safe for thee to be in this house alone until we’ve found the murderer.”

In a daze, she nodded. “Yes, I can stay with someone. Thank you.” Watching him leave, she walked out onto the porch and sank onto the steps. What did the murderer want? Money? Anyone familiar with Maeve would know of her simple life. Killing her for money didn’t make sense. The closest neighbor was Ruth, surely the woman would welcome Eliza for the night. She decided it was time to pay Ruth a visit. She entered the barn and gathered some eggs to take with her and was surprised to hear another horse approaching.

Stepping out of the barn, she shielded her eyes against the sun to see who the rider was. “Nathaniel.”

He climbed down from the horse and took off his hat. “Good afternoon, Eliza.”

She squinted up at him. “What brings you here?”

“I’ve a business proposition for thee and thy mother,” he said.

“Have you? You’ll have to write my mother a letter then.”

“Did she return to New York?”

“Yes, this very afternoon,” she said, lowering her eyes. “We don’t seem to agree on much.”

“Does that mean thou are staying in Maybrook?”

Eliza chuckled. “Not exactly, Nathaniel. I don’t belong to this way of life. I’ll have to return home eventually.”

But his eyes were still dancing with pleasure.

“All right.” She put her hands on her hips. “Tell me the proposition.”

Nathaniel glanced around the yard and twisted his hat in his hands. “Uh, I was hoping to present it to both thee and thy mother.”

Eliza cocked her head to one side. “And why is that?”

Nathaniel reddened and kicked at the dirt.

“So that she could convince me to say yes to the proposition?”

He stared at her. “H-how didst thou know?”

Eliza shrugged and walked over to the porch. She sat on the top step and waited for Nathaniel to join her.

He stepped over and sat a comfortable distance from her. Finally he stole a glance in her direction and said, “Do you really want to hear it?” But her thoughts were far away. “Eliza?”

She turned and looked at him. “The constable stopped by today.”

“What did he want?”

“The transient who they thought killed my aunt couldn’t have possibly been in Maybrook on the night of her death.”

Nathaniel reached across the step and took her hand, but Eliza gently pulled away.

He sighed. “Thou must come and stay at our house tonight. Thou aren’t safe here.”

“I know,” she whispered, looking down at her feet. “But I already have a place to stay.”

“Pray tell,” he said.

“Ruth’s.”

“The spinster? It won’t be any safer than here,” Nathaniel protested.

“It’s already been arranged.” At least she hoped Ruth would take her in. Eliza rose and brushed imaginary dust off of her skirt. With her back to him she said, “Tell me about the proposition.”

The air between them was silent for a moment. Then, “It doesn’t seem right at a time like this to speak about business.”

“Of course not. It can wait.”

Nathaniel rose and walked over to her, grasping her hands. Eliza stiffened at the warm pressure of his palms and the scent of sweet hay in his clothes.

“I hope thou knowest my marriage proposal is still open,” he said, leaning forward. “I love thee more each day.”

Eliza moved away, and Nathaniel’s hands dropped. She turned and stared into the distance, seeing nothing. Why did he have to be so persistent? “I’m sorry, Nathaniel,” she said finally. “I’m not ready to make a commitment to anyone, especially someone as good as you.”

“But—”

Eliza faced him, her tears brimming. “You deserve someone who loves you back.”

Nathaniel stood still for a long time looking at her, as if memorizing every detail of her appearance, sadness in his gaze. Then he walked past her and mounted his horse.

Wrapping her arms about her, Eliza watched the dust billow behind him as he galloped away. She blinked until the stinging stopped.

* * *

Eliza packed a small bundle of clothing and put the eggs on the seat next to her. The evening shadows were quickly enveloping the road as she drove the wagon to Ruth’s house. Before leaving, she double-checked the locks and made sure the windows were secured.

A candle glimmered in Ruth’s front window like a miniature beacon in a sea of descending darkness. Eliza had no doubt that she would be welcomed into the kind woman’s home for the night.

Knocking on the door, Eliza glanced furtively about. She supposed that Ruth could also be a target, but it was quite well known within the Puritan community that Ruth wasn’t any better off than Maeve had been. The door opened with a loud squeak, and the hunched woman appeared with a shawl clutched about her shoulders, her eyes as round as saucers.

“Hello, ma’am. It’s Eliza,” she said.

“What are thou doing out at this time of night?” Ruth asked.

“May I come in?”

The door opened wider, and Eliza stepped into the dim interior. The room felt quite different than the last time she’d been inside. Then it had seemed bright and cheerful in the morning light. “Are thou hungry?” the wizened woman asked.

Eliza shook her head. “I need a place to stay for a few nights.”

“Thou are welcome to stay here, child.”

“Thank you.” She followed Ruth into the sitting room and settled next to the fire. Ruth picked up a ball of yarn and resumed her knitting. She remained silent, waiting for Eliza to speak.

“The constable came this afternoon,” Eliza began.

Ruth nodded as her needles clicked.

Eliza watched the sparks crackle in the fire. “He’s trying to find my aunt’s murderer.”

Ruth looked up from her knitting. “I thought the murderer was found.”

“It turns out that it couldn’t have been the person that was first accused.”

“That’s why thou hast come here then?” Ruth asked. “Don’t worry about your safety here. We’ll be fine.”

Eliza nodded numbly and stared into the fire. Not until today did she want to leave Maybrook. The emotion from Maeve’s death, funeral, and now the reopened investigation, had left her empty.

“Art thou feeling well?” Ruth asked.

Eliza sighed. “I’m wrung out.”

“Perhaps you could read the letter I received from Jonny today,” Ruth said.

Eliza raised her eyes suddenly.

“Ah, I thought that might interest thee. Thou can read it to me,” Ruth said.

“Haven’t you read it?” Eliza asked.

“Alas, no. I misplaced my spectacles.” Ruth drew out a folded envelope from her apron pocket and handed it over.

Eliza took the envelope. The writing on it was now familiar to her—dark and bold, like the writer himself.

Withdrawing the letter, Eliza began to read. The words were common enough, asking about how Ruth was doing and offering monetary assistance. Halfway into it, she stopped reading.

“Continue, dear,” Ruth instructed.

Eliza exhaled then began.

Apryl spent the weekend at Mr. Thomas Beesley’s country estate, and I joined her there on my return. It was in a pleasant location, but unfortunately I wasn’t able to enjoy the visit. Apryl and I traveled home together, and her parents rode in my carriage. It was nice to have some private time with my fiancée without her inquisitive parents. I can always feel Mr. Maughan itching to ask what my father’s estate is worth.

Eliza’s chest tightened. Jon had gone to Thomas Beesley’s estate? Were they fast friends now? She groaned inwardly. What an unbelievable coincidence. Had they shared a good laugh about her at the Beesley estate—Jon, Thomas, the Maughans, and… his fiancée? Then the other part finally sank in.

He’s engaged.

She looked at Ruth. “Who’s Apryl?”

Ruth chuckled. “That’s an interesting question with an interesting answer. Apryl Maughan is Jonny’s fiancée. But from what I’ve heard of her, the pair couldn’t be more ill-matched.”

Eliza tried to ignore her tumultuous thoughts and focus on what Ruth was saying.

“I never thought I’d see Jonny get engaged so soon after law school,” Ruth continued. “Aye, the boy has always had ambition, and he knows that to work underneath the public eye, things at home must be in order.”

“What do you mean?” Eliza asked.

“He wants to enter politics… mayor, governor, congress, something like that. And a man who has a high-society wife and a strapping son or two will rise in leadership. Thou knowest that entertaining dignitaries and peers is an integral part of a public career. A bachelor can’t accomplish that on his own.”

“Are you saying it’s to be a marriage of convenience?”

“I can’t say exactly, child, since I’ve never met Apryl. Any girl in her right mind would fall for a handsome man such as my Jonny, right?” Her eyes gleamed.

Eliza smiled, feeling flushed. “Ruth, for living in Maybrook, you sure know a lot about the outside world.”

Ruth placed the knitting needles into her lap and sighed. “When thou reaches my age, thou wilt realize that every society is governed by the same ideologies.”

“And what are those?” Eliza asked.

“Money and religious persuasion.”

Chapter Sixteen

Jon awoke well before sunrise. His eyelids felt heavy; the previous night he’d spent most of the time trying to fall asleep. Exasperated, he rose and donned a heavy robe and slippers. Padding down the stairs, he stoked the fire in the library until it was a roaring blaze, hoping the flames would push the gloom away from his mind.

The evening newspaper was still on the desk, and he picked it up, but nothing held his interest. Why was he so restless? Apryl had been more than contrite about the business with Thomas. His father’s estate should be settled in a few weeks, and then wedding plans could begin. Thomas had left in a hurry last night, but not as an enemy. He’d sent the telegram to the constable in Maybrook, warning him about Maeve O’Brien’s murderer. Everything was in order, and there should be nothing to worry about.

But something kept gnawing at him—nothing was under his control. He didn’t know what had really transpired between Apryl and Thomas. She had sobbed when he accused her of kissing Thomas. The business with his father’s estate could drag on for months. Thomas Beesley definitely had something planned against the Robinsons, and it couldn’t be favorable. Maeve O’Brien’s murderer was still at-large.

And Eliza was still in Maybrook.

There. He admitted that he was worried about the girl. Fool. Losing sleep over someone who had nothing to do with him was ridiculous. She had a family and an inheritance and a beautiful face…

“That’s enough,” he said aloud.

“Sorry,” Sarah murmured.

Jon looked up and saw the maid leaving the room. “Wait, I didn’t see you there.”

Sarah turned around and faced him. “Would you like breakfast in the library this morning, sir?”

“Yes, that would be fine. I woke early and lit the fire myself. I apologize if I startled you,” Jon said.

Sarah bobbed her head and left the room.

After breakfast was brought in and Jon had eaten his fill, he made a new resolve. He pulled out a sheet of paper, ink and a dip pen and began to write.

Dear Miss Robinson,

Thank you for your speedy reply. As you may know already, the transient who was thought to be your aunt’s murderer has been proved innocent of that crime. I’m sorry that you continue to experience disappointments. But I assume you are returning to New York soon with your mother for safety purposes.

I look forward to having my mother’s journal in my possession. It will be helpful to learn about her. If you would prefer me to fetch the journal from your place of residence, I’m happy to oblige.

Regards,

Jonathan Porter

He set the pen down. It was done. Now he could forget about her and attend to more important matters. He would begin the day with a trip to the flower shop and purchase a bouquet for Apryl.

Late in the morning, Jon emerged from the flower shop, a bouquet of white lilies for Apryl in his hand. A couple approached him, and he stepped to the side to let them pass.

“Good morning, Mr. Porter,” the man said.

“Ah, Mr. Robinson,” Jon said, noticing who it was for the first time. “What a pleasant surprise.”

The woman at Mr. Robinson’s side regarded him with interest. She was fair-haired and stately.

“This is my wife, Grace.”

“Pleased to meet you ma’am.” Jon briefly clasped her hand.

She seemed to radiate pleasure. In her smile, Jon recognized the likeness of her daughter, although Eliza’s eyes and coloring came from her father.

“Haven’t we met?” Mrs. Robinson asked.

Jon smiled. “I’m afraid not, ma’am.”

“Grace, Mr. Porter is the young man whom I met on my journey to Maybrook,” Mr. Robinson said.

She smiled politely, but distaste crossed her features. “A quaint town I must say. I returned from there yesterday.”

A carriage rattled past, and Jon waited for the noise of it to fade before saying, “Did you enjoy your visit, ma’am?”

Mr. Robinson broke in. “Mr. Porter was raised in Maybrook. He was the one who helped Eliza get out of jail.”

Mrs. Robinson brought a hand to her throat, as if she didn’t want to be reminded of something so distasteful.

“Is your daughter quite recovered from her ordeal?” Jon asked.

Mr. Robinson chuckled, and Mrs. Robinson pursed her lips together.

“Our daughter is a stubborn one, but she will eventually come around to her mother’s more civilized ways,” Mr. Robinson said.

Jon looked from husband to wife. What was Eliza being stubborn about?

“She refused to return with her mother and remains in Maybrook for the time being,” Mr. Robinson continued.

Jon gripped the bouquet tightly. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Amusement leapt into Mr. Robinson’s eyes. “Obviously you don’t know my daughter well, Mr. Porter, or you would know that she doesn’t concern herself with the conventional.”

“Even when her life might be in danger?” Jon asked.

“What do you mean?” Mrs. Robinson’s voice rose in pitch.

“You haven’t heard?” Jon said. “The man who they thought killed Mrs. O’Brien turned out to be the wrong man, which means the real killer hasn’t been caught.”

Mrs. Robinson gasped and gripped her husband’s arm.

“My humble apologies. I thought you knew,” Jon said. “I sent a telegram to the constable in Maybrook so that he could reopen the investigation.”

Mr. Robinson had grown pale.

“Let’s find a place to sit down.” Jon led the way a short distance past the row of shops, and they sat together on a bench. “Is your daughter still staying at the Pranns’ house?”

“No,” Mrs. Robinson whispered. “She’s alone at Maeve’s.”

“That obstinate girl,” Mr. Robinson said. “I’ll drag her back here if that’s what it takes.”

“Perhaps the constable has already informed her, and she’s taken protective measures,” Jon suggested. But worry had already burrowed inside him.

“Let’s hope.” Mr. Robinson’s jaw was set firm. “We should go, dear. I need to catch the afternoon train to Maybrook.”

The couple rose from the bench and hastened away.

Jon stared after the Robinsons, thoughts of Eliza in danger tumbling through his mind. But what could he do? At least her father was on the way to Maybrook now. After several minutes, Jon finally walked back home. As he reached the doorstep, he realized that he still held the bouquet of flowers in his hand. A note from Apryl lay on the hall table—an invitation for dinner that night. Drained, Jon tossed the fresh flowers onto a table and scratched an acceptance reply.

* * *

Hours later, Jon found himself seated at the grand table in the Maughan’s massive dining room. Thomas Beesley and his sister, Jessa, were present, although they weren’t seated next to him this time. It was like a recurring nightmare. Apryl sat on his left, resplendent in a scarlet dress trimmed in velvet. Jon thought of Thomas’s words from the night with disdain, about being able to provide the lavish lifestyle Apryl was accustomed to.

Jon caught a glimpse of Thomas watching Apryl, and the familiar ill feeling returned. Last night’s visit wasn’t about representing Thomas in some legal matter against Mr. Robinson. Thomas was sizing up his competition. He’d probably laughed the whole way home. Jon’s eyes narrowed in Thomas’s direction.

May the best man win.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight, my love,” Apryl purred next to him.

Jon shrugged and took another sip of wine. He was feeling reckless, moody, and was on his third glass. The over-confident beast of a man across the table would soon be sorry he interfered. Jon had no intentions of representing Thomas against Mr. Robinson.

“Let’s play charades,” someone suggested.

“Oh, let’s do,” Apryl squealed and took Jon’s arm. He followed her into the drawing room, where the guests chattered excitedly.

“Thomas should start us off,” his sister said.

Thomas stepped forward, awesome in gaudy attire that would have made a king pale in comparison. Clapping greeted him, and he immediately delved into character. The charades had begun.

* * *

Eliza gaped at the broken glass scattered across Maeve’s floor.

“Is everything all right?” Ruth called from the porch.

“Someone… broke in. The side window is shattered.” She and Ruth had come to check on Maeve’s cottage. It was apparent that Eliza had made the right decision in not staying there the night before.

Ruth came in and stood next to Eliza, staring at the mayhem strewn about Maeve’s hearth room. Ashes and torn pages from books covered the fireplace. The lighthouse picture had been ripped down, and a long gash punctured the front of the painting.

Arm in arm, the two women proceeded cautiously toward the kitchen. The sturdy table was upturned, and the drawers dangled open.

“What were they looking for?” Eliza whispered in dismay.

A cupboard door had been torn from its hinges. Others had been scarred with knife marks. Eliza felt frozen in place. Whoever it had been had given no mercy.

“We should check thine aunt’s room.”

Eliza exhaled. They walked to Maeve’s room, where Ruth pushed open the door, which stood ajar. The bedding had been pulled off and lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.

“Whoever it was is not going to give up easily.” Ruth pointed at the chest of disheveled drawers in Maeve’s room. “It’s a blessing you didn’t stay here last night.”

Eliza could hardly comprehend the destruction as fear iced through her. They moved back into the hallway. The stair-boards leading to the second level had been pried open.

Shivering at the thought of the intruder making another appearance, Eliza said, “Let’s go. We must notify the constable immediately.”

“Yes,” Ruth agreed.

They left the house, and Eliza felt like she was stepping out of a dark hole into the light. But still she shivered. The women climbed into the wagon and headed for town.

* * *

After the constable had finished his investigation of the house, he brought Ruth and Eliza inside. “Have a seat,” he instructed.

Both women sat on the sofa, on top of the stuffing protruding from slashes.

“Did Maeve have anything in her possession that might be of value to someone else?” he asked.

“Nothing I know of,” Eliza said.

“Everyone knows how simply Maeve and her husband lived,” Ruth added. “Why, this land was the only thing of value they owned.”

The constable looked past the ladies as if he was in deep thought. When he focused back on them, he said, “There must be something more to this. Thou must try to think of something Maeve might have had that someone else would desperately want.”

“Secret recipes?” Ruth offered.

The constable’s mouth pulled down. “Thou wilt have to try harder than that.”

“If my aunt had a deposit of money, it would have been stated in her will, wouldn’t it?” Eliza asked.

“I would assume so,” the constable said. “But let’s say it’s not money. What else could Maeve have had that would be of value?”

“Eliza?” A male voice boomed from outside.

Her father. Her heart nearly burst at the sound of his voice. She hurried outside, having never before been so glad to see him in her life. It was truly him, in his dark suit, his hat askew. She rushed over and embraced him.

Her father held her tightly. “I’ve come to take you home,” he said, then pulled away. “Are you all right?”

She took a steadying breath. “Someone broke in and destroyed everything.”

“Were you hurt?” he asked.

“No, I stayed at Ruth’s last night… she’s the woman who raised Jon Porter.”

Her father put his arm about her shoulders as Ruth and the constable appeared on the front porch.

The constable spoke first. “We’ll board up the place until the murderer is found.” He looked at Eliza’s father. “I’d like to ask thee a few questions about thy sister. Come see what’s been done to the place.”

“Certainly,” her father said and followed the constable inside.

Ruth moved to Eliza’s side, grasping her hand. “Perhaps it’s better to return to New York where it’s safe.”

Eliza nodded in agreement. Every bit of stubbornness inside her had fled. The gossip columns could do their worst, but Eliza couldn’t remain in Maybrook any longer.

“Thou are both welcome to stay with me tonight.”

Chapter Seventeen

Long after Ruth and her father had retired for the night, Eliza lay in bed awake, thinking about Helena Talbot. She hadn’t yet finished reading the journal, and tomorrow she would be on a train back to New York with her father. Then she’d have to return the book to Jon. Lighting a candle on the nightstand, she pulled the trunk from under her bed and removed the journal, deciding to finish reading it tonight. She climbed back into bed, pulling the covers high, and began to read.

December 5, 1815. Any day my child will be born. I have felt a few pains over the past days. As thou seest, my handwriting is somewhat shaky. I am weak and alone. But I am not afraid. This is a challenge from God, and I will meet it. Ruth said she would look in on me from time to time. I hope she takes it upon herself to come soon, for I feel my time growing nigh.

December 12, 1815. I can finally see the light. I gave birth to a healthy son on December 6th. Praise God. During the labor, a hurricane hit the coast and most of my windows were blown out. Ruth arrived just in time. She settled me into the room under the stairs, and Little Jonny was born. He is strong and perfect in every way. Ruth cleared the debris around the house and ordered new window panes. She showed me how to care for my baby. For a woman with no children of her own, she knows a lot.

January 2, 1816. I’ve written a letter to Jonathan telling him of his son’s arrival. I pray he will receive it and come for me soon. I pray for the letter’s safe journey across the ocean—the ocean that divides our hearts. The townspeople have left small gifts at the doorstep after learning of the birth. I am overawed by their kindness. Little Jonny changes every day. His eyes are bright and inquisitive. It’s such a joy to have someone to love who doesn’t judge me. At night I watch him sleep. His soft breaths are so trusting and innocent. Sometimes I can’t hold him close enough, trying to ease the pain I feel in missing his father. Ruth is the only one whom I have seen, unless thou countest the lighthouse keeper, Gus. He is widowed with a young son. He’s an odd sort, nice enough, but something in his eyes reminds me of a hunted fox.

Even my own mother will not come see her grandchild.

March 18, 1816. Gus has been helping me a lot lately in the evenings. On those nights, I fix him supper, and we sit together in the evenings and watch our sons. His company helps to pass the time. Little Gus is awkward and clumsy, but gentle and loving with my son, something I admire. Even though Gus doesn’t go to Meeting, the townspeople seem to respect him.

I haven’t received a reply from Jonathan. The wait is almost unbearable. I wonder if his reply was lost in its travels. I don’t know how much longer I can wait.

The candlelight sputtered then dimmed. Eliza lit another and turned the page, surprised to see the next date—more than a year later.

July 23, 1817. I’ve decided to go to England. I’m raising chickens and selling eggs to anyone who will buy them, to raise money for the fare. I often attend market day, and some of the townspeople have been quite friendly. My father stopped by the other night and gawked at Jonny. When he picked up my son, he had tears in his eyes, and he held the baby for a long time. He promised that Mother would eventually visit. I doubt she ever will. I told Father I want to go to England, and he seemed concerned for my well-being. That made me sad, but I told him that at least I could hide my past there. After a quiet pause, he said that he would try to help with the fare.

September 1817. Gus comes over every night. I have been watching his son during the day while he’s working. Little Gus is slow-witted, but sweet. Gus chops wood, keeps the house in good repair, and gives me money for food. I have found some comfort in his presence. I can’t help but compare him to Jonathan. As the days pass, memories of Jonathan seem to grow ever more distant. As I watch little Jonny toddle about the house, I think of his father and wonder why he hasn’t replied to my letters. Many nights I have soaked my pillow with tears.

October 12, 1817. My father came to the market today. He said he heard that Jonathan was married last summer. The anger in his eyes betrayed his concern for me. I turned away, trying to hide my tears. I think maybe my father, too, hoped that Jonathan would return and make an honorable woman out of me. I feel worthless and used. I bore and am rearing Jonathan’s son, yet he has forgotten what we were to each other.

I have been so foolish letting my heart rule my head. I used to think the ocean was the only thing dividing our hearts; now I know that my heart has drowned in the deep waters.

Eliza wiped away a stray tear, feeling the pain in Helena’s words.

October 28, 1817. My heart is heavy with grief. If only I could see Jonathan and know for myself whether he has married. Is his wife carrying his child? Gus came over last night, and I decided to tell him of my burden. He was sympathetic and comforted me. I found myself feeling secure and appreciated in his strong arms. I let him share my bed.

I awoke this morning and felt worse than ever for sharing my bed with Gus. When he left, I ran outside and vomited. What have I become? The very thing my mother called me. A whore.

November 2, 1817. I have sunk into the depths of misery. My heart is dead, but I continue to act as a mother and a mistress. After Gus leaves each morning, I pretend that Jonny and I are waiting for his father to come home after a hard day’s work. It is only when I hear Gus’s heavy step on the front porch that my dream is crushed yet again. It is as if I am trying to climb a cliff but keep sliding back.

The only one who knows about me and Gus is Ruth. But I’m not worried about her telling the townspeople, because she seems quite fond of both Gus and little Gus.

Eliza wondered if Jon remembered playing with little Gus, and of having the elder Gus staying at the house. What a strange twist of events.

February 13, 1818. I am leaving this hell I’ve created. I loathe Gus’s touch, knowing it may be all I have for the rest of my life. His clumsy hands repulse me, and I can no longer pretend it is Jonathan caressing me. I’ve saved enough money for the fare to England. If Gus finds out, he’ll be furious. I’ll have to pack in secret for Jonny and me, and somehow get away. Maybe I could leave little Gus at Ruth’s house and hope that I’m not found missing for a long time. I’ve gone into town to see about the train schedule and plan to leave in a few weeks.

February 20, 1818.Yesterday, Gus found the train ticket. When my lies didn’t satisfy him, he hit me so hard, I fear my nose will never look the same. Sobbing, I confessed the whole plan. But my tears couldn’t coax mercy from him. He stripped my clothes off and bruised me with his passion. I pretended to faint, and he finally climbed off of me and left the room. I stayed in bed for a long time, waiting for him to leave the house, but he didn’t. Sometime in the middle of the night, he brought me tea and watched me drink it. Then he began to kiss me. I had to do everything possible not to retch. Finally this morning, he left. I am so bruised and sore that I can hardly walk. I don’t know where he went, but I’m afraid of what he’ll do next. He took little Gus with him, so maybe he’ll stay in his own house from now on. Jonny lies in bed with me, stroking my face—my sweet angel.

Eliza fought back the tears. She turned the page with trembling hands and found page after page blank.

Helena Talbot never wrote in her journal again.

Eliza squeezed her eyes shut at the horrible images she’d read. Gus entering the house, and stomping into Helena’s room, demanding her affection, angrily stripping her dignity away.

A breeze stirred the pages of the journal, and the hairs on her arm rose. “Ruth?” she called, peering into the darkness beyond the glow of the candle.

Silence.

“Father?”

A whisper sounded in her ear. “Help Maeve.”

Eliza turned her head, her eyes searching frantically in the darkness. The voice was back. Eliza climbed out of bed. “Helena?” The beating of Eliza’s heart was the only answer.

She stole out of Ruth’s house, running blindly, stumbling over the uneven earth, until she collapsed onto the ground. Helena had been murdered. Eliza felt it. Her jealous lover, Gus Senior, must have done it. There was no other explanation, and it was up to Eliza to discover the truth.

Help Maeve, the voice had said.

A sudden thought dawned. Maeve’s death had to be connected to Helena’s. Did Helena know who killed Maeve?

“How can I help her?” Eliza called into the darkness.

She held her breath, listening to nothing. Slowly rising, Eliza brushed off her clothing. The early morning air was cold and damp, but she paid no attention to it. Her heart seemed to be pumping warmth through her veins. She pressed forward through the undergrowth until she finally came to the clearing with Maeve’s home.

A faint light glowed from within. Eliza hesitated. Someone was there. Was Helena waiting for her? Could ghosts light candles? Eliza spun in a circle looking for any signs.

“Show me what to do,” she said.

“Go to her.” The voice was faint.

Eliza felt a shiver crawl up her back. She swallowed hard and walked to the door of Maeve’s—Helena’s—house. Even before she turned the door handle, Eliza knew it was Gus Junior inside. He sat on the rocking chair, staring at the ceiling, rocking slowly back and forth. When he saw her, he moved his head in surprise, blinking rapidly.

“Looking for something?” She was no longer afraid of the strange man, but she still stayed close to the door.

Gus’s eyes narrowed. “What are thou doing ’ere?”

“This is my property now.”

Gus rose from the chair. “Thou ’as it, doesn’t thee?” He took a step forward.

Eliza held her ground. “Has what?”

“’Er journal.”

“Helena’s?”

Gus’s face paled. “How dare thee speak ’er name? She’ll hear thee.”

Eliza stared at the man and realized that he believed Helena’s ghost was present too. But she had something he didn’t—Helena’s support.

A draft of air stirred Eliza’s hair, causing gooseflesh to rise on her neck. “Helena led me here.”

Gus’s face drained to white.

Eliza knew she had the advantage. “She can’t rest until her murderer confesses.”

“She drowned,” he said matter-of-factly, as if trying to convince himself.

“I don’t believe you.”

He crossed to the sofa and sat heavily upon it. He buried his face in his hands, swaying back and forth. Eliza was taken by surprise—she hadn’t expected this reaction.

Quiet sobs came from the surly man. “I didn’t mean to tell. But father said he’d whip me if I told what happened. He tried to stop her, but she fought back too much. He couldn’t let her get away. When he brought ’er back in the wagon, she wasn’t moving. The town thought she’d drowned, and we let ’em believe it.”

So it was true. Eliza sagged against the wall. “What did you do with Helena?”

Gus wiped his nose with his arm. “We hid ’er body.”

She felt sick.

Raising his tearstained face, Gus went on. “I found the journal after my father’s death and ne’er told anyone.”

She actually felt sorry for the poor man. He was a child when this happened and wasn’t to blame. “Your father can’t hurt you anymore.”

His shoulders stopped heaving, and his sobs quieted.

“Did you break into this house to find the journal?”

Gus lifted his head again, his eyes darkening with fury. “Maeve took it, and I know she was goin’ to tell someone. And when you moved in, I knew I had to stop ’er.”

Eliza steadied herself against the door. Had Gus just confessed to killing Maeve? She tried to conceal the panic in her eyes. “What did you do, Gus?” She inched her hand toward the door handle.

A shadow crossed his face as he rose. “Thou are goin’ to tell ’em, aren’t ’e? Thou are goin’ to tell how my father killed ’er, that I had to take care of Maeve too.”

Eliza reached the handle and spun around, pushing at the door with all her might. But it was too late. Gus lunged and grabbed her, dragging her to the floor. She gasped as she thudded against the ground. She was trapped beneath his weight. “Don’t hurt me. I won’t tell anyone.”

He laughed like a wild animal. “I won’t hurt thee, Helena. I love thee. Now stop moving so much.”

Cold fingers of fear spread through Eliza. Gus was repeating words he must have heard his father say.

“I’m not Helena. Get off me!” she screamed.

He covered her mouth with his heavy hand and grinned, his breath sour. “I know thou still lovest me.” Staring into Eliza’s eyes, he brought both hands to her neck and started to squeeze. Gagging, she tried to scratch him, but it only made him squeeze harder.

“Helena!” she gasped. “Help me.” A scraping sound came from the other side of the room.

Gus smiled. “It’s the only way, m’love, that thou wilt stay mine forever.”

Just before the darkness closed in, Eliza saw the rocking chair rise in the air and smash into Gus’s head.

* * *

“Please find me.”

Eliza opened her eyes as the voice faded from her mind. She was in a room with white-washed walls.

“Eliza?”

She turned her head and saw her father sitting next to her bed. He looked years older, his face darkened with whiskers and his eyes rimmed in red. Grimacing at the soreness in her neck, she tried to speak, but her voice was nothing but a croak.

“You’re at Ruth’s home,” her father said. “You’ve had an accident.”

Then it came flooding back to her—Gus, the journal, the attack. She closed her eyes against stinging tears. And now the voice was back.

Please find me, it had said.

Eliza wanted to get out of the bed, leave the house, and never return to Maybrook.

Her father took her hand. “You’re safe now.”

“What happened?” she whispered.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he soothed.

“Tell me now,” she said, flinching at the pain in her neck.

Her father hesitated. “I heard you leave the house. At first I thought you had gone for a short walk and would return soon. When you didn’t, I told Ruth, and she guessed that you had gone to Maeve’s. So I rode over as quickly as I could; it was as if someone was guiding me in the dark.”

Eliza swallowed painfully. She knew who was guiding her father.

He continued. “I heard a terrific racket and ran to the door, trying to push it open. Only it was blocked by something. Through the slit I saw a man pinning you down…” His voice cracked. “He was choking you.”

She brought a hand to her throat.

“It was strange, but the rocking chair fell on top of him,” her father said. “How that is possible, I do not know. But it made him release his grip on your neck.”

Eliza remembered the rocking chair lifting—and knew that the only explanation for it was Helena.

“When the man saw me, he scrambled away from you and stood up,” her father said. “I shot him with Ruth’s pistol.”

Eliza stared at her father’s haunted face, shocked at her father’s actions. With great effort she asked, “Is he…?”

“The bullet hit him in the leg.” Her father grimaced. “I’ve never been so scared in my life. The man’s in jail now—he can no longer hurt anyone.”

She brought her father’s hand to her cheek, tears wetting his palm. “His father killed Helena.”

Mr. Robinson stared at her. “Helena?”

“Jonathan Porter’s mother.” Eliza’s throat throbbed, but she had to explain. “She used to live in Aunt Maeve’s house. I found Helena’s journal and suspected how the poor woman died. Gus was trying to protect his dead father’s name. He thought Aunt Maeve had learned the secret of Helena’s death.”

Her father’s jaw locked firm. Then he took Eliza into his arms and held her tightly. Even with the pain shooting through her neck, she clung to her father and let the tears fall.

“Please find me.”

Eliza stiffened. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.

“Hear what?” her father said.

Eliza broke from her father, fear thundering through her. She’d discovered how Helena had died. She’d discovered who’d killed Maeve. Gus was in jail now. What more could Helena possibly want?

Leave me alone! she screamed inside.

“Father, I’m ready to go home,” she said in a shaky voice. “Now.”

Chapter Eighteen

Settling into the train compartment, Eliza allowed her father to fuss over her. He tucked blankets beneath her feet and placed a pillow behind her head.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Mr. Robinson offered a brief smile, temporarily masking the concern on his face. “Your mother will never forgive me.” The crease on his forehead deepened. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

After Eliza had felt well enough to travel, she went with her father to the constable’s office to make a sworn statement of all the facts she knew. She wrote her testimony about Gus’s murder confession. Mr. Robinson was congratulated for his timely appearance, and none were saddened at the imprisonment of the strange man named Gus, now revealed as the murderer, who had apparently followed in his father’s footsteps.

The bizarre event of how the rocking chair came to move across the room and fall upon Gus was explained by an open window and a strong gust of wind. But Eliza knew what had really happened. Helena had come to her aide. Still, Eliza was grateful that she was leaving Helena behind for good.

Now, Eliza’s heart was heavy for a different reason. Her father would tell Jonathan what had transpired and present him with Helena’s journal. Eliza’s stomach churned as she thought about Jon reading his mother’s words. Through her own close call with the younger Gus, she knew firsthand what Helena must have experienced. Then another question fleeted through her mind, but it was gone before she could answer it.

Why did Ruth own a pistol?

“Are you all right, dear? You look pale,” her father said.

“Only tired,” she whispered.

“Nothing will make me happier than to have you safe and sound at home.”

When they arrived in New York, her father helped her off of the train and into a waiting carriage.

Eliza settled into the carriage seat with relief. Dismal clouds hung low in the sky, promising rain and dreary cold, but New York City had never looked so beautiful to her.

When they at last arrived home, her mother was waiting. She waved the maid away, followed Eliza into her room and helped her change from her traveling clothes.

“I was so worried when I received the telegram from your father. How are you feeling, dear?”

“Much better, Mother,” Eliza whispered.

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you—I should have dragged you home.”

Eliza smiled at the thought of her mother physically dragging her. After all the tension that had been between them, it was good to know that her mother truly cared. When Eliza was settled beneath the down comforter and propped up with several pillows, she managed, “Are the papers full of my tale of woe?”

“Fancy that you are so interested in the local gossip on your first day back.”

Eliza laughed. “I guess I’ve changed.”

“The write-up was quite wonderful, actually,” her mother said. “It outlined the death of poor Maeve and your fortunate discovery of the murderer.”

“Really?”

“Really, Eliza. You’re so cynical.” She shook her head. “The earlier gossip was not brought up in today’s paper, and neither was the reason you went to Maybrook in the first place.”

“That’s a relief,” Eliza whispered.

Mrs. Robinson nodded. A knock sounded at the door. “Yes?” she called out.

“Mr. Porter is waiting downstairs,” the maid, Bess, said through the door. “And Mr. Robinson requests your presence, ma’am.”

Jon was here?

“I’m coming.” Mrs. Robinson turned to Eliza. “Stay here. You’ll be all right for a few moments?”

When her mother left, Eliza scanned the room, seeing it in a different light. Even though it had only been a couple of months, everything looked different, childish. Porcelain dolls lined one wall, and the curtains were a cheerful pink. A stuffed and ragged doll sat amongst the porcelain dolls—it was her childhood treasure. Her father had bought the doll for her when she was sick with the measles.

But now the ragged doll seemed unbefitting in the dainty room, as if she didn’t belong in such a pretty world. Eliza turned to her side and hugged a pillow to her chest. She was like that doll, out of place in this sheltered house.

The door clicked open, and her mother entered. “What a persistent man. He practically tried to bowl over your father and come up the stairs to see you. Thank goodness he finally left.” She frowned at Eliza. “Patience is a virtue in a person, you know.”

He wants to see me. Eliza hid a smile as her mother fussed about the room. “He’s engaged to the socialite Apryl Maughan. She’s a trifle gregarious for my taste, and her figure shows her indulgent lifestyle. I don’t understand how a mother could let her daughter become so overweight.”

“Appearance isn’t everything,” Eliza croaked.

Her mother turned. “Of course not, dear. I wasn’t suggesting such a thing. I was merely pointing out that there is always room for improvement.”

Eliza stifled an exasperated sigh.

“You should get your rest,” her mother said, adjusting the covers.

She waited until her mother left before letting out a moan into her pillow. Her mother was so judgmental—ironically, not unlike the Puritans who had ostracized Helena.

Warmth moved through her as she thought about Jon trying to push his way through the house to her room. Soon the warmth was replaced by exhaustion, and she fell into a deep sleep.

Eliza ran through the house, searching for Aunt Maeve. All of the doors were locked, and she began pounding then, one by one, until she finally started sobbing.

“Maeve, where are you?”

Then a knock sounded at the door, and she moved toward it, almost floating. It was Gus, and his face was lined with fury. “Let me in!”

Eliza braced herself against the door, but couldn’t fend off his weight. The door swung open, she fell, and Gus was standing above her.

“It’s time you joined Maeve.” He grabbed her hair and pulled upward.

Eliza woke in her bed; the collar of her nightgown was damp. She tried to still her heaving chest. The candle on the nightstand was wallowing in a puddle of wax, since she hadn’t blown it out before falling asleep. Eliza grabbed another candle, lighting it against the flame and placing it into a candleholder. She couldn’t decide which was worse—the voice of Helena plaguing her, or nightmares about Gus.

She began to shiver, so she rose and grabbed the ragged doll. She climbed back into bed and held the tattered doll tightly, letting the flickering candle burn itself out. It was a long time before she fell asleep again.

* * *

In the morning, Eliza’s voice was nearly recovered, only slightly hoarse. She stayed in bed long after breakfast, not ready to face the daily chatter of local events. Bess brought her a tray in bed, and Eliza was content with the quiet meal.

Before noon, her mother peeked in. “Are you ready to receive visitors?”

“I suppose.”

Her mother smiled. “Wonderful. Mrs. Graydon will be coming at three.”

Eliza hoped she was equal to the task. If Mrs. Graydon came, there would be no need for anyone else to visit. The seventy-year old woman was better than a newspaper at distributing news.

“I know what you’re thinking, Eliza, but Mrs. Graydon has been one of the steadfast friends through all of this.” Mrs. Robinson removed a letter from her pocket. “This was delivered this morning.” She handed Eliza the small square envelope, her lips pursed.

“Thank you.” Eliza wondered if it was another note from Nathaniel; she’d already received two. But there was no return address on the envelope. She pulled out the brief message.

“I hope you’re feeling better.”

There was no signature, but Eliza recognized the handwriting as Jon’s. Eliza burrowed into her covers, thinking about the man who seemed to have plenty of compassion in him after all.

An hour later, Eliza was situated in the parlor, assailed with the jasmine aroma that preceded Mrs. Graydon’s presence. Mrs. Graydon firmly believed in making an indelible impression on everyone she met, and although she was nearly seventy, Eliza thought the woman looked many years younger. Mrs. Graydon kept up with the latest fashions, showing them off with her still-trim figure.

Eliza smiled politely as the elegant woman sat next to her. With each movement, Eliza caught a whiff of perfume. But Eliza was glad for the visit—it made her feel normal. It made things like a ghostly voice seem unreal, existing only in her imagination.

“You look pale, my dear,” Mrs. Graydon began. “And so thin.” Her gaze flitted in Mrs. Robinson’s direction.

Eliza’s mother straightened in her chair. “Each day she grows stronger.”

Mrs. Graydon placed a dry silky hand over Eliza’s. “After what you’ve been through, it’s a wonder you are out of bed at all. My granddaughter, Gina, would love to come and spend time with you. It will brighten your countenance to socialize again.”

Eliza didn’t know Gina well, but it would be nice to have a friend. All of her others had been silent since the Thomas Beesley incident. “I’d love to visit with Gina.”

“What a dear,” Mrs. Graydon crooned, her eyes watering. “I assure you, you’ve been at the top of my priorities. Just the other day, I went to see poor Miss Mable. She’s still recovering from childbirth, you know. Some women aren’t meant to bear children.”

Mrs. Robinson threw Mrs. Graydon a piercing stare; the woman didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re normally a strong young thing,” Mrs. Graydon continued. “When you marry, you’ll have healthy children.”

Eliza had to force herself not to laugh at her mother’s shocked expression.

“Thomas Beesley has thankfully turned his attention elsewhere.” It seemed Mrs. Graydon was not to be cowed. “As I told your mother, I support your decision completely. No one should feel pressured to marry, certainly in our modern world—”

“Well,” Mrs. Robinson interrupted. “Should I call for refreshments?”

“Lovely,” Mrs. Graydon said, then turned her attention back to Eliza. “Only a week ago, I ran into Mrs. Maughan. Have you met her?” Without giving Eliza a chance to reply, she continued, “Her daughter, Apryl, is engaged to a wealthy man—a Mr. Porter. Anyway, Mrs. Maughan thinks he’s inherited quite a sum from his father’s estate.”

Yes, I know him.

As Mrs. Graydon filled her in on all the happenings in New York, Eliza’s thoughts were far from the parlor.

Later that afternoon, with Mrs. Graydon gone, Eliza was exhausted and begged not to receive any more visitors. Her mother helped make her comfortable in the library by the fire.

“Your father and I have a dinner engagement tonight. Will you be all right without us?” her mother asked.

“Of course, Mother. I can ask Bess if I need anything.”

Mrs. Robinson kissed Eliza’s cheek and left the room. Half an hour later, Eliza heard them leave the house, and she was finally alone.

Dozing before the fireplace, she thought she heard the bell ring. Bess answered, and a male voice resonated through the hallway. There was some sort of discussion, and Eliza tried to make out what was being said and by whom. The library doors opened, and Jonathan Porter strode into the room.

Bess hurried after him, protesting, “Sir—”

Eliza stood a bit awkwardly at the sight of Jon. “It’s all right, Bess.”

The maid looked from Eliza to Jon, disapproval clear in her eyes. But in a professional manner, she nodded curtly and left, closing the doors behind her.

Jon stood there gazing at Eliza. She sat in her chair and motioned for him to do the same. He crossed the room and stopped in front of her. She offered him a faint smile, but he remained silent, his eyes searching hers.

“Hello, Mr. Porter,” she said.

The sound of her strained voice brought him to his senses. A look of concern passed over his face as his gaze traced the dark bruises on her neck. “Are you all right?”

Eliza shifted, feeling her face heat up. “Each day is a little better.”

“Tell me what happened, if it’s not too… painful.”

She looked down at her lap, tears beginning to fill her eyes. Why am I crying? I haven’t cried since returning home.

Jon pulled a chair close to hers and sat down, grasping her hand. It was a tender gesture really, nothing more than any gentleman would do, yet it made Eliza’s heart pound harder than it should have.

“I’m all right.” She pulled her hand away from his.

“I should have been there,” he said, rising to his feet. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “That man, Gus, is a strange one. I should have seen it from the beginning when he was bothering you in the lighthouse.”

“How could you have known?”

Jon ignored her question and changed the subject. “I spent all day reading my mother’s journal.”

Eliza looked at him, searching his eyes—what had he thought? Had the news devastated him? He seemed more upset at Eliza’s condition than reading about his mother’s broken heart.

“Your aunt’s murderer was the son of the man who murdered my mother… unbelievable. And,” his voice softened as he looked at her, “he nearly killed you, too.”

She swallowed hard. Before she knew it, Jon was kneeling in front of her, taking both of her hands in his.

“Why was he allowed to get away with it?” he asked.

Eliza looked at her hands enfolded by his. She didn’t know if he was talking about Gus Senior or the one who had attacked her.

“Both of those men—Gus and my father—used her. How could anyone be so callous?” he said. “My father knew I had been conceived, yet he married another woman. Only later in life did he try to contact me.” He snorted as he added, “to offer me money out of a guilty conscience.”

She let him continue uninterrupted. She wanted to reach out to him, embrace him, but she didn’t dare—for a number of reasons.

“My mother had the world against her. Even her parents acted like strangers, and they let her give birth alone and afraid. She waited years for my father to return, only to realize that he had betrayed her.” His head lowered as he exhaled.

Eliza knew all of this, but she didn’t want to tell him so. She didn’t know what to think about Jon Porter now; she’d never seen him so vulnerable. So sorrowful. She caught a glimpse of the lonely boy he must have been in his youth.

Without thinking of what she was doing, she touched his cheek. He didn’t move, didn’t pull away, as she ran her fingers along his face then down his neck, stopping at his shoulder. “Jon,” she whispered, “you can’t change the past.”

His bloodshot eyes seemed to burn through hers. He brought his hand to her neck and lightly touched the brutal markings. Eliza bit her lip, suppressing a gasp as his fingers brushed her skin, but she didn’t move away. His touch was both painful and exhilarating at the same time. She closed her eyes, inhaling his nearness.

Then she felt his lips on hers, soft at first, hesitant. She couldn’t say she was surprised that he’d kissed her—there had always been something tugging them together—but still, she felt like she was in a dream, that this wasn’t really happening. Couldn’t be happening.

Yet, it definitely was. As she ran her hands up his chest and behind his neck, kissing him in return, his hesitancy ended. She didn’t know where she found her boldness, but right then, all she knew was that she wanted him closer. She didn’t dare open her eyes, afraid Jon would snap out of whatever trance caused him to touch her, and the dream would end.

His hand moved along her jaw line, tracing its way to her hair. His kisses were deeper now, possessive, as if he couldn’t get enough. The warmth between them turned hot, spreading to every part of her body. He pulled her upward until they were standing together, and she was fully in his arms. Every curve of hers seemed to fit perfectly against the length of his body.

“Eliza,” he whispered, kissing her neck, the hollow at her throat, and then his mouth was back to hers. Her lips parted, and she welcomed them eagerly. It was as if she was a different person, not herself, but one with Jon, in another existence that was theirs alone.

Then as suddenly as the kiss had begun, it ended.

Jon released her and took a step away, his breathing ragged. “I’m sorry,” he said, running his hands through his hair. But the way he was staring at her said he was anything but sorry. “I’d better stick to letter writing from now on.”

“Jon—” She didn’t want him to be sorry—but what had this meant? He was engaged, after all. What had they done?

He leaned toward her and brushed a stray tendril from her cheek. “Your face has haunted my dreams, Eliza,” he said softly. Then he dropped his hand, as if he’d touched something hot.

Eliza lifted her face to his, wanting to kiss him again, wanting to hold him and not let go. His eyes searched her face, but sorrow had crept into them. He closed his eyes, exhaling. And at that moment, Eliza knew he was saying good-bye.

“But I don’t believe in dreams,” he said. “Forgive me. I’ve taken advantage of you, and I will not do so again.”

Tears welled in her eyes; she turned away, not wanting to see him leave. She heard the library door open and shut softly. And then he was gone.

Chapter Nineteen

The following morning, Jon canceled all his appointments and sent a note to Apryl, inviting her to the matinee. He planned to spend the day with her, and hopefully, erase the memory of the previous evening. Maybe last night’s after-dinner sherry had affected him more than he’d realized. But today, sitting in his library, Jon knew that alcohol was not responsible for his behavior with Eliza. In fact, he would like nothing better than to repeat it. And he believed she felt the same way.

Jon slammed his fist on the desk. Damn her. Damn me. Pressing his fingers against his temples, he tried to massage her out of his mind. Maybe he should move to England. Put an ocean between them. He opened his eyes and stared straight ahead. That was the answer. He and Apryl could elope and honeymoon in Europe. Eliza would meet another man, and eventually everyone would be happy. No promises would be broken, no scandals would arise, and no political career blackened.

He would not be like his father, abandoning the woman he’d committed himself to.

He spent the rest of the morning taking care of correspondence. By noon, he was ready to leave and instructed Richards to prepare the carriage. As an extra touch, he brought wine and flowers. Arriving at the Maughans, he was surprised to see another carriage parked in front of their home—a sleek burgundy one—belonging to one Thomas Beesley.

Jon was led into the hall, and he insisted on waiting there. Merry voices floated from the drawing room, but he resisted the urge to inspect. Soon, Thomas, Apryl, and her parents appeared.

“Why, Jon, you’ve arrived.” Apryl crossed over and kissed his cheek. “Thomas was just telling us that he has enlisted your help in a business matter concerning Mr. Robinson.”

Jon shot a look at Thomas, who met his gaze smoothly. “We don’t have the particulars worked out, but I’m sure the joint venture will be more than successful.”

“If I know Mr. Beesley,” Mr. Maughan said, patting Jon on the back, “You’ll be generously compensated.”

Jon kept his gaze on Thomas. “I’ve no doubt about that, sir.”

“Well, then, it’s settled,” Apryl said brightly, then her face drew into a pout. “I asked Thomas if he would like to accompany us to the theater, but he said he didn’t want to intrude.”

Thomas smiled boldly at Jon, gallantly spreading his arms. “I’m a man who knows my place.”

Everyone laughed except Jon.

Even after Apryl and Jon were seated in the carriage, Jon was still scowling.

“Oh, don’t be so sour,” Apryl said.

He turned to her. “I thought you weren’t going to have anything more to do with that man.”

Apryl’s eyes widened. “He stopped over this morning to return something my mother left at his estate. When he started talking about doing business with you, I thought that all ill feelings had passed between you two, so there was no harm in keeping my friendship with him.”

Jon didn’t answer. On one hand, he couldn’t stand Apryl’s association with Thomas. On the other, if Apryl believed that Jon wanted to work for Thomas, it might make things easier between them. Apryl seemed to revere Thomas, and Jon didn’t want that to come between them.

“Perhaps I’ve been too quick to judge,” he said.

Apryl leaned over to kiss him. Jon met her lips, noticing the lack of warmth in her touch, as if their affection had become a formality.

Nothing about kissing Eliza the night before had been cold or remote, but he forced himself to clear her from his mind. “Let’s make a toast to a day of nothing but frivolity.”He brought out the wine and two flutes. Apryl giggled.

“My lady,” he said nobly and poured a glass. Then the carriage hit a bump, and a few drops splashed across Apryl’s chest.

She burst out laughing. “How am I going to explain already smelling like wine to my mother?”

Jon joined her laughter and realized he’d gone several seconds without thinking about Eliza.

Soon they arrived at the theater, which was already crowded. It seemed that everyone decided to see Henry IV that afternoon at the Bowery. Jon and Apryl greeted a few friends before they found their seats in the balcony. Moments later, excited chatter rose around them. Everyone was looking at the couple entering the main doors: President Martin Van Buren, his son Abraham, and daughter-in-law, Angelica.

Jon rose in respect and bowed as the presidential party passed their balcony entrance. President Van Buren nodded, and both Abraham and his wife smiled. When they had moved on, Apryl touched Jon’s arm. “Did you see that? I think he recognized you.”

“I don’t think so, my dear,” he said, amused with Apryl. “I met him only briefly a year ago.”

“You have something about you that draws people,” Apryl said, her eyes shining.

He chuckled. “You’re being overgenerous.”

“Jon, I’m serious. They say the president’s daughter-in-law now presides as the lady of the White House ever since his wife passed.”

“Perhaps that’s best.”

They returned to their seats, and Apryl scanned the crowd beneath them, intermittently pointing out an acquaintance. Jon found himself nodding but not really listening.

“How odd,” Apryl said rather loudly.

Jon glanced at her. “What is it?”

“Look there.” She tilted her head toward the audience below. “Third row.”

He saw Thomas Beesley squeezing his way through an aisle. A young woman, obviously not his sister, led the way. Soon they were settled, talking animatedly.

Apryl sniffed. “Well, he could at least have told me that he declined my invitation because he was already coming.”

Jon looked sharply at Apryl, who continued to gaze at the lively couple. “It’s none of our business.”

“You’re right. I don’t know why I let it bother me.” She tore her eyes away from the couple and focused on the rising curtain. The music started, quelling all audience conversation.

Each time Jon stole a glance at Apryl, he saw her glumly watching Thomas. Jon’s neck grew hot beneath his collar. Thomas Beesley had probably planned this very incident to cause Apryl to grow envious. But why should Apryl be jealous, unless she had feelings for Thomas? That’s what bothered Jon the most.

During the intermission, Jon remained in his seat. When Apryl left for the powder room, he found himself watching Thomas. To Jon’s surprise, he saw Apryl approaching him. It appeared as if introductions were made, and then Apryl pointed to her seat in the balcony. Jon looked the other way to avoid being caught spying.

Moments later when Apryl returned, she was breathless with two bright spots on her cheeks. “I happened to see Thomas. He introduced me to his companion.”

“Oh?”

“The woman is his next-door neighbor, and her escort became ill at the last minute. That’s how Thomas happened to come with her.”

Jon looked at Apryl. “And did he apologize for turning you down?”

“Most profusely,” she said, smiling. “It’s not like I care who he’s courting; I just don’t want him to have another awful experience like he did with Eliza Robinson.”

He bit back a retort. “We only know one side of that story.”

“You can’t be taking her side.” Apryl arched her brow.

“The people who gossip about her don’t even know her.” Jon glanced away, knowing he’d probably said too much. “Innocent until proven guilty.”

Apryl scoffed. “One would think you knew her, Jon.”

Jon didn’t reply. He stared straight ahead, waiting for the next act to begin. He hadn’t intended to argue with Apryl. It was only that he hated to hear Eliza being criticized by those who didn’t even know her.

After the play ended, Apryl and Jon left together silently. Once outside, they greeted Thomas as if there had never been contention between them.

“Mr. Porter?” a man called out.

Jon turned and found Mr. and Mrs. Robinson standing before him. Behind them stood Eliza. She wore a large hat with a veil that concealed her eyes. The lace at her neckline was ruffled, obscuring any signs of discoloration on her neck.

“Good afternoon.” Jon hadn’t expected to see Eliza so soon… or ever again. His collar felt too tight, and he needed a good dose of cold air.

Apryl linked her arm through his, drawing close to him.

“Let me introduce Apryl Maughan,” he said, recovering somewhat of his senses. “Apryl, this is Mr. and Mrs. Robinson and—”

“Our daughter, Eliza,” Mr. Robinson interjected.

Jon was surprised that Apryl didn’t faint on the spot. She put on her best smile and said in a honeyed voice, “Pleasure to meet you.” She pressed against Jon’s side, as if making it clear to Eliza that they were engaged. Which was ridiculous, because of course they were engaged, and Eliza knew it as well as anyone.

“It’s our pleasure,” Mrs. Robinson said. “I know your mother through the social engagements.”

“I’ll tell her we met you then.” Apryl looked past the woman and openly appraised Eliza.

Jon cringed. He would hear about Apryl’s opinion of Eliza soon enough. For now, he wanted to put needed distance between himself and Eliza. “Nice to see you again,” Jon said as they left.

Once inside the carriage, Apryl wasted no time in delivering her pronouncement. “What a coincidence! She was prettier than I expected, but I couldn’t exactly tell because of her veil. It’s no wonder Thomas fell in love with her, but her personality was quite unremarkable. She hardly spoke a word. I’d think Thomas wouldn’t have been happy with that for long. He needs someone who can equal him in conversation, keep him interested.” She paused for only a second. “I wonder if Thomas saw her.”

“I’m sure they would greet each other like civilized people,” he said in a tight voice.

Apryl stared out the window for a few moments. “She was a dainty thing,” she said. “Not a good match for a robust man such as Thomas.”

Agreed, Jon thought.

“I wish I’d gotten a better look at her, but I could tell she has an innocent-type beauty. She’s surely used to being pampered.”

“Pampered? How could you tell?” he asked.

She jabbed him in the ribs. “Oh, really, Jon. You say the funniest things sometimes. Did you not notice that porcelain doll skin and perfectly styled hair? She obviously has a half-dozen maids and spends every moment indoors with them at her beck and call.”

“I didn’t notice.” He had noticed—particularly that she looked pale. Was it too early for her to be in public? Was she well?

“I wonder why she was dressed like an old maid,” she said.

“She was nearly strangled to death, Apryl,” Jon said. “The bruises on her neck are still visible.”

“Oh?” She looked at him. “How do you know that?”

“I read the papers and… natural assumption, I suppose.”

“I do feel sorry for her in that regard,” Apryl said.

They rode the rest of the way in silence. When the carriage pulled to a stop in front of Apryl’s house, she invited him to join her parents for dinner. Jon agreed and followed her inside.

Soon they were seated at the dinner table, steaming pumpkin soup before them. Apryl wasted no time in relaying the details about meeting Eliza at the theater. Mr. and Mrs. Maughan let their soup grow cold as they listened with great interest to Apryl’s tale. When Apryl finished, she turned to Jon. “Tell us what she’s really like beneath that awful veil.”

Jon reluctantly set his spoon down, searching for words. He couldn’t tell them about the way her hair fell onto her cheeks in silky strands. How it was the first time he’d seen her with such tight curls, because her hair had been wavy in Maybrook. Nor could he talk about the way she had stroked his cheek in his moment of weakness. He couldn’t reveal how supple and inviting her lips were or the way she responded to his kiss as if there was no one else she desired but him. Or how torturous it was to meet her in public and not be able to talk to her or ask her how she was doing.

“She’s quiet, but headstrong,” he finally said.

“She’d have to be headstrong to turn down Thomas Beesley,” Mrs. Maughan said.

Everyone around the table nodded in unison.

“Speaking of Thomas,” Mr. Maughan said, “he’s invited us to meet at his house for cocktails before the masquerade ball.”

Although Jon didn’t care for the topic of Thomas Beesley, he was grateful that the subject had left Eliza.

After dinner, Jon followed Mr. Maughan into the library. Cigars were lit and brandy poured. Wasting no time, Mr. Maughan said, “Tell me about the business between you and Thomas Beesley.”

“I can’t rightly say,” Jon said.

“Client confidentiality?”

“Not exactly. We haven’t gone over any specifics yet. I’m sure we’ll meet soon to create an outline.”

Mr. Maughan nodded and took a drag on his cigar. “How are things going with your father’s estate?”

“Too slowly,” Jon said, then, feeling it was the perfect opportunity, he added, “unfortunately there are some roadblocks I hadn’t counted on.”

Mr. Maughan leaned closer. “Such as?”

“Apparently I have a half-sister who wants a share of the estate,” Jon said. Doughty had assured him there were no concerns, but he wanted to see Mr. Maughan’s reaction. “I didn’t know my father had married and had another family until I received notice in the will.”

The man gave a little start, looking as if he were trying to keep his reactions under control. “I thought it was all left to you.”

Just the reaction that Jon expected. “It was, but according to English law, wills can be contested by family members with probable claim.”

Mr. Maughan sniffed, his mouth working against the cigar. “The property is rightfully yours, being his eldest and only son.”

Jon remained silent.

After a few moments of companionable smoking, Mr. Maughan asked, “Out of curiosity, what would you say the estate was worth?”

Trying to keep his face somber, Jon casually shrugged. He’d decided to downplay the amount. The more time Apryl spent with Thomas Beesley, the less secure he became that she truly cared for him, and not his potential of earnings. “Perhaps only fifty thousand.”

Mr. Maughan quickly recovered his shock at the small amount. “That will keep you comfortable.”

Hiding a smile, Jon nodded in agreement. He knew the amount was not as much as the Maughans would have hoped for their daughter. But more importantly, what would Apryl think? The Maughans would find out soon enough that their future son-in-law was really to be a millionaire. Until then, Jon had business to take care of with Thomas Beesley, and that included discovering what Apryl’s true intentions were toward the man.

Mr. Maughan checked his pocket watch. “It’s getting late. I’m sure my wife is ready to retire.”

Jon followed him out of the library. They found the women visiting in the drawing room.

“Ready dear?” Mr. Maughan asked.

Mrs. Maughan rose and took his arm. They left Jon and Apryl alone and went up the stairs.

Apryl smiled at Jon when her parents left. “I guess I’m rather tired too.”

Jon helped her stand. Without letting go of her hand, he said, “Let’s elope.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Elope? You must be mad.”

Perhaps he was mad. But he was also wondering if he wanted to spend the rest of his life married to this woman—did she really care about him? The way that he had felt that Eliza cared about him last night? “You’re probably right,” he said, “but wouldn’t it be exciting?” Wasn’t exciting what Apryl wanted?

She flushed. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. My mother would be furious if I denied her the right to plan a wedding.”

“But what if it made me happy?”

“Really, Jon. Why are you so interested in hurrying up things? I couldn’t do that to my family.”

Jon released Apryl’s hand, both relieved and disappointed. Perhaps she wasn’t as attached to him as she claimed to be. Was this what he wanted? A wife who wasn’t in love with him?

“Very well,” he said.

“Oh, don’t be angry. It’s because I’m their only child.”

“I’m not angry,” he said, trying to hide his annoyance with himself. He wasn’t thinking straight. Kissing Eliza, then asking Apryl to elope—what had he been thinking? “Just impatient… Is an elaborate wedding necessary?”

“Of course—it’s every girl’s dream.” She kissed his cheek. “Now be a good boy and let me get my beauty rest.”

Jon studied her face, noting her too cheerful smile. He wanted to push one more time. “Think about it, Apryl.”

She didn’t answer for a moment. The only sound between them was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. A slight frown crept to her brow. “Are you feeling well?”

“Nothing that will not soon pass.” She was right. He wasn’t feeling well—at least not in his heart. He showed himself out the door.

* * *

The following morning he sent a note to Mr. Thomas Beesley, and that afternoon, they were seated across from each other in Jon’s library.

Thomas smiled. “So you’ve come to your senses.”

“If that’s how you choose to look at it.” Jon’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s begin. I want to know what legal action you have in mind.”

“I want to terminate my partnership with Mr. Robinson. I have wanted to do so for some time, since his, er—”

“Since his daughter turned you down?” Jon finished.

Thomas dabbed his nose with a handkerchief. “It’s difficult to work with someone on a daily basis when you don’t respect them.”

“Surely you wouldn’t let a personal matter get in the way of honest business?” Jon countered.

Thomas grimaced. “I’ve lost important clients over the affair, and fear I’ll lose even more. With his daughter back in New York, flaunting her inheritance and making people pity her for the attack that was made on her—”

“She was nearly killed, and you think she’s seeking pity? You must really hate Eliza.”

At the mention of her name, Thomas jerked his head up. “I don’t hate Miss Robinson,” he said evenly. “I hate the position she put me in. She flirted incessantly and made me believe she was very fond of me. There was never a dance or party in which she wasn’t continually by my side.”

Jon had a hard time imagining Eliza attaching herself to this irritating man. What did Thomas think about Apryl’s behavior? “Don’t you think it possible to put the incident behind you?

“I’ve tried. But the gossip columns continue, and my earnings are down this month. I can’t afford the lost revenue.”

“Have you tried speaking with Mr. Robinson about your concerns?”

Thomas chuckled. “According to our contract, we can’t dissolve the partnership unless one of us participates in illegal action or can’t hold up his end of the agreement.”

“And Mr. Robinson has not violated any of the agreements?” Jon clarified.

“Not yet.” Thomas shifted in his seat, his face reddening. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“That depends on what sort of help you need. So far I haven’t seen any valid reason to end your partnership with Mr. Robinson, unless you are basing it on obstinate pride.”

Thomas handed over a stack of papers, his hands trembling. “Read through the contract for any loopholes.” He stood with effort. “If you can find one, I’ll make it worth your while.”

Jon took the papers as Thomas stormed out of the room.

Chapter Twenty

Each day, Eliza felt a little stronger, but each night Gus appeared again and again in her dreams. Helena’s voice had fallen silent, but the nightmares only grew more detailed and frightening. Sometimes Gus chased her with a knife. Others, he cornered her in the lighthouse. And always, he called her Helena. Eliza’s only comfort was to know that he was imprisoned.

Soon she took the medicine ordered by the doctor to help her sleep. It wasn’t that she couldn’t sleep, but she was afraid to dream. With the medicine, she woke feeling groggy, but at least not remembering the night.

But that proved equally frustrating. Too bad she couldn’t take medicine to forget during the days. As it was, they were filled with thinking about Jon. His fiancée was certainly possessive enough, practically clinging to him when she’d met them, and didn’t seem to be a woman to shy away from competition. But as the days went by, remembering Jon’s kiss grew more difficult, and she was left with only the tortured events that followed it—Jon asking for forgiveness. Jon leaving. Jon’s startled expression when they ran into each other at the theater.

And then one day, a letter came from him.

She took it to her room to read in private. The words were not what she had hoped for.

Dear Eliza,

I sincerely apologize for the other week when I burst into your home and laid my problems on your shoulders. I’ve thought about my mother’s words and realize I can’t change the past. Nor can I change what happened between us. But I can apologize and hope that I did not embarrass you or hurt your feelings. I promise to be a complete gentleman in the future. I’m happily engaged and would not want something trivial to come between my fiancée and me. I trust you to be discreet.

Eliza stared at the space where Jon should have included his signature, but it was blank. He hadn’t even signed his apology. Maybe he feared someone would read it and guess what had happened. Her eyes burned as tears began to fall. Eliza let them drip onto the letter, blurring the inked words. He had kissed her. It was as if he was warning her not to create a scene and damage his reputation as a faithful fiancé.

At that moment, Eliza saw a little bit of Jon’s father in the son. What did I expect? He’s engaged, and I knew he was engaged.

She closed her eyes for a moment, willing rational thoughts to replace the wild ones in her mind. Then she felt composed enough to pen a reply.

Dear Sir,

I’m more than happy to oblige you in your request. As it happens, it never occurred to me to make good on the affection you bestowed. I viewed you as a distraught man, unsure of his feelings for anyone, including his mother and his fiancée, let alone myself. Now that you have everything straightened out in your life and know what your dreams are, I’ll be the first to offer congratulations and wish you all the best.

It is not often that a woman is saved more than once by the same man. Perhaps it is your nature to attract damsels in distress. And like your father, you will always take the socially accepted path. Whatever the case, you’ll make a fine husband for Apryl, and I wish both of you many happy years together.

Best wishes,

A damsel no longer in distress

* * *

Eliza sorted through her closet. The masquerade ball was in a few days, and she didn’t have anything to wear. She’d promised her new friend Gina that she’d attend the ball with her. Eliza crossed to the dressing table and looked into the mirror. The bruises on her neck were barely visible; only yellow-tinged marks remained.

“Eliza,” her mother called from outside the bedroom door. “Gina is here.”

“Send her in,” Eliza said.

Gina entered the room and embraced her. They’d become fast friends in only a couple of weeks, although opposites in almost every way. Gina was tall with fiery red hair and an infectious laugh. What she lacked in beauty, she made up for in energy and enthusiasm.

“Have you talked to your parents yet about coming to France with my family?” Gina asked.

Eliza smiled. With Gina, everything seemed so simple. But hope had grown inside Eliza—hope that if she left the States, the nightmares would stop, and Helena’s voice would be left far behind. “I will mention the trip when they stop treating me like a glass vase.”

“Don’t stall too long; I’m dying for you to come.” Gina grinned. “I’m so glad you’ll be coming to the masquerade ball with me. I couldn’t bear it if I had to stand by my parents the entire time. Or, heaven forbid, my grandmother.”

Eliza laughed. “I’ll probably be as tiresome.”

Concern crossed Gina’s sunny face. “Are you feeling up to the ball?”

“I suppose so.” Eliza unconsciously touched her neck. “It will give me something else to think about.” Going to the masquerade ball was so normal, so unlike what her days had become—hours when she was afraid to sleep, afraid to dream.

All smiles again, Gina said, “Show me what you’re going to wear.”

Eliza led her to the closet and pulled out a dress from the far corner. It was plain and simple, dark gray.

Gina wrinkled her nose. “You can’t be serious.”

“It was my aunt’s—she was Puritan.”

“You can’t go as a Puritan!” Gina said, looking horrified. “The dress is dreadful and boring. No one will dare ask you to dance for fear of receiving a lashing at the whipping post.”

Eliza pulled out another article from the closet—a white bonnet. “Don’t you think this will complete the outfit perfectly?”

Gina braced herself against the doorframe. “If this is a trick—”

“Don’t worry. Even I am not that brave. I want to blend in, not stand out.”

Gina breathed a sigh of relief. “Finally, you’ve regained your good sense.” After Eliza replaced the dress and bonnet, Gina asked, “What are you going to wear?”

“Mother says it’s too late to have something made, so I guess I’ll have to make do with what’s in my closet.”

Gina took a step back and surveyed her friend. “Hmmm,” she said. “It will have to be something grand so all of the eligible bachelors will fight over you.”

“I wouldn’t want to take the attention away from your Queen Elizabeth costume,” Eliza said.

Gina swept her hair back and twisted it into a bun. “Should I wear my hair like this?”

“Yes, but add a row of curls at the top.”

Gina turned to the mirror, experimenting with several twists.

Eliza sat on the bed and watched her tall, graceful friend. Gina would make the perfect Queen Elizabeth. “Perhaps I’ll wax my hairline like all the royal greats and be your half-sister, Queen Mary.”

Gina twirled around and clapped her hands together. “That would be perfect. If you wear a scarlet dress, it will set off your complexion.”

But Eliza waved her off. “Too elaborate for last minute.”

Gina sat next to Eliza and grabbed her hands. “I have a dress you could wear, and we can make a crown for you out of beads.”

“You’re six inches taller than I am. It will be far too long for me.”

“Emma will take in the hem.” She tugged on Eliza’s arm. “Come on, it will be fun.”

Eliza hesitated. Perhaps dressing as Queen Mary would work. There were sure to be others dressed as royalty, so she would blend in. “All right. I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”

“Emma can redo the sleeves and lower the neckline…” Gina’s face was radiant as she spoke.

Eliza covered her chest with her hands. “I don’t think we need to be that authentic.”

“If we don’t, no one will even know who you are.”

“But my parents—”

“Aren’t going, and you can get dressed at my house,” Gina said.

“What will your parents think?” Eliza asked.

“They’ll realize you’re a mature young woman. Besides, they will be tipsy before the first hour is gone and won’t notice anyway.” She burst into laughter. “You know that Elizabeth was the ‘virgin queen,’ not Mary, so you can be a little more daring.”

The next few days were busy as Eliza and Gina spent time preparing their costumes. Gina’s costume was nearly finished; they only had to add a lace ruff. Eliza’s costume took the remainder of the time to create. After Emma’s alterations, they began to embroider and sew on glittering beads. Gina insisted on attaching only a partial ruff, so Eliza’s bosom wouldn’t be completely hidden. Eliza discovered that she was enjoying the process and became absorbed in the plans for the ball.

Later that night, well after the twelve o’clock hour, she stole into the kitchen for a cup of warm milk. She was surprised to hear voices coming from the library. Tiptoeing to the closed door, she leaned forward and listened. Her father was discussing business with another man. Then she shrank back in horror as she recognized the high nasal pitch of Thomas Beesley.

“It’s a breach of contract,” her father said.

“My lawyer found that this clause applies to our situation,” Thomas answered.

A pause, then her father said, “‘An extraneous circumstance due to lack of cooperation?’”

Eliza held her breath. Was this about Thomas asking her to marry him?

Her father’s voice came again. “You can’t mean to apply this to what happened between you and my daughter? I know things have been strained lately, but I hoped that we could put it behind us—especially with all the details to work out on the new factory.”

Thomas uttered a low chuckle. “You understand, Mr. Robinson, that I don’t intend to open a new factory with you. And I mean to have my way.”

She had to strain to hear her father’s reply. “I thought we were men who could keep business separate from personal matters.”

“It doesn’t matter what we think, Mr. Robinson. It matters what our clients think—the ones canceling their orders and taking their business elsewhere.”

“It’s been a bad couple of months, but surely business will pick up again.”

“I can’t afford to wait for that,” Thomas said. “Mr. Porter will draw up an agreement this week, and I’ll have it sent over.”

Eliza gasped at the mention of Mr. Porter—Jon?

“I know the relationship between your family and Mr. Porter,” Thomas said. “I thought it might make my job a little easier, as Porter apparently knows the character of your daughter.”

Her father’s next comment was sharp with anger. “How dare you insinuate that my daughter’s character is questionable? She’s merely too young to be serious about a marriage proposal from any man, including you.”

Thomas’s voice matched the anger. “I know plenty of young women her age who would be more than happy to accept such an offer.”

Tension seeped through the doors and wrapped its grip around her.

“Some women are ready for matrimony sooner than others,” her father said in a low voice. “But this is not the case with Eliza, and no one should force her to marry. I have never been insulted such as this in all my life.”

“Now you know how I feel,” Thomas replied bitterly.

Eliza heard the scrape of a chair; Thomas was preparing to leave. She fled down the hallway and hid behind the curved arch of the staircase. A moment later the library doors flew open, and Thomas strode through the opening. Eliza caught a glimpse of his scarlet face as he stormed through the front door.

She remained crouched for a long time behind the stairway, trembling. Even after her father had ascended the stairs to retire for the night, Eliza couldn’t bring herself to leave her hiding place. A deep hole had formed in her soul.

Jonathan Porter had betrayed her family.

Chapter Twenty-one

Eliza woke early on the day of the masquerade ball. She hadn’t dreamed last night—no Gus, no Helena. She exhaled in relief. Maybe burying herself in dance preparations had replaced the nightmares. She was looking forward to the ball, although she was nervous for it. The Queen Mary costume was complete, down to the last details on the ruff and overskirt. She spent the morning bathing and washing her hair. Emma had provided an ointment that was supposed to make her hair look redder. But after it had been applied, Eliza couldn’t see much difference.

After lunch, her mother bustled into the room. “Let’s see the costume.”

“It’s at Gina’s,” Eliza said.

Her mother’s lips moved disapprovingly. “Why didn’t you bring it home?”

“We’re getting ready together at her house tonight.”

Hesitating, her mother said, “I suppose that’s all right. I did want to see you dressed up though.”Mrs. Robinson kissed Eliza’s forehead. “Be sure to wake me, dear, when you return home, so that I can see your costume.” And with that she left the room.

Eliza breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t want her mother fussing over her tonight. It was time for her to face reality now. Discovering that Jonathan Porter was Thomas Beesley’s lawyer was a revelation. The world was full of people who only had their interests in mind, not caring who their grand agendas affected.

She was glad that the ball was a masquerade, so she’d remain anonymous until midnight, although she planned to be waiting in Gina’s carriage by then. She knew there was a chance Jon would be there with Apryl, and she couldn’t endure another falsely cheerful introduction, followed by scrutiny.

By mid-afternoon, Eliza decided to approach her father and talk to him about her aunt’s estate. She could go to Maybrook for a couple of weeks and distance herself from Jon.

Mr. Robinson was in the library, writing letters. He looked up as she entered and smiled wearily. “Come in. What can I do for you?”

She settled into a chair near his desk. “Have you given any more thought to what we’ll do with Aunt Maeve’s property?”

A faint look of surprise crossed her father’s face. “The property is listed for sale. Once that’s complete, the money will go into a trust until you’re twenty-one. I thought we’d already discussed this.”

“Oh, I know. I just wondered if I decided to take a trip, could I use some of the money for the expenses.”

Her father leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “You want to travel at a time like this?”

“Only to Europe, and not for long. Gina Graydon’s family is leaving in a couple of weeks for France. I’ve never been outside the States, and I thought it might be a good opportunity before…”

“Before what?” Her father prompted.

“Before I marry and have my own household to run.”I want to get away for a while and stop the nightmares for good.

Her father frowned. “I didn’t know you had been thinking of marriage.”

“Not in the immediate future, of course—another few years at least.”

“Perhaps we could plan a family trip sometime. But I don’t think your mother would want you to leave until you’re fully recovered.”

Eliza hesitated then said, “All right.” She left the room feeling disappointed. She had to find a way to convince her father to let her travel with Gina.

When it was time to leave for Gina’s house, she bid her parents goodbye and climbed into the carriage alone, nervous and excited at the same time. It would be her first dance since leaving New York to stay with her aunt. Undoubtedly Thomas Beesley’s large figure would be a dead giveaway if he was to attend the ball, so it would be easy for her to avoid him.

The evening air was brisk as Eliza settled into her carriage. Gina lived in the more fashionable part of town, and Eliza marveled at the size of the homes she passed. One of them was Apryl Maughan’s.

When Eliza arrived at Gina’s, her friend flung the front door open before Eliza could ring the bell.

“I’ve been watching for you,” Gina said breathlessly. The girls embraced and hurried up the stairs to Gina’s room.

They spent the next hour primping and preening until each was satisfied with the outcome. Then they tried on their masks. Looking at each other, they burst into a fit of giggles.

“No one will ever guess who you really are,” Eliza said.

Gina strode about the room. She held her head regally and spoke in a low voice. “I’m the stately Queen Elizabeth.” Then she stopped and surveyed Eliza. “Your hair might give you away.”

Eliza lowered her mask. “How so?”

“No one has thick wavy locks like Eliza Robinson.”

Eliza patted her head. “That’s not true.”

Gina laughed. “In your costume, only the most astute will recognize you.”

Eliza gazed in the mirror, raising and lowering the mask. She wondered how astute Thomas Beesley and Jonathan Porter were. Her gaze fell to her swollen cleavage, pushed up by the costume so that she looked like she might rival the likes of Apryl Maughan… not that she was trying to rival anyone. Her face flushed a deep red.

“You look very alluring,” Gina said.

“What if I attract the scoundrels?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll fend them off with my ice-cold queen look.” Gina laughed. “By the way, did you ask your parents about going to France with us?”

Eliza sighed, replacing her mask. “Oh, that. I talked to my father, but he thinks my mother will object—which really means he objects.”

“It will be so dreary without you. Following my parents around will be the death of me,” Gina said with a moan.

Eliza rolled her eyes. “How horrible to be traveling in Europe. I’m sure everyone will pity you.”

“Ha.” Gina swiped at Eliza, who easily dodged her.

A voice from the outside of the door called out, “Girls, are you ready?”

“One more minute.” She grabbed Eliza’s free hand. “Are you ready?”

Eliza swallowed and looked into her excited friend’s eyes. “You tell me.”

Gina grinned. “You look perfect.”

* * *

A line of carriages had formed in front of the City Hotel. Gina’s mother let out an audible sigh. “It’s bad enough that we have to wait to get in the door. Why can’t they hurry things up?” She adjusted the folds on her Roman tunic. Her face was an exact replica of her daughter’s, only older. Her hair was a more faded red. Mrs. Graydon had the same stately height and infectious laughter, although tonight she was quite impatient.

Gina’s father smiled as he smoothed his own tunic and straightened the wreath of leaves on his head. “We’ll be inside soon enough, dear.” He licked his lips as if he could already taste the wine.

While they waited their turn, Eliza watched the elegant carriages lining up one behind the other. She didn’t recognize any of the people who climbed out of them. Maybe decoding each other’s disguises would be harder than she thought.

Gina pointed intermittently at arriving guests, trying to guess who their costumes represented. “There’s Marie Antoinette, and look, that must be Caesar Augustus, just like Father.”

Finally they were next in line, and it was their turn to exit the carriage and enter the grand hotel. A full orchestra played at one end of the ballroom, and a table stood close to the entrance, set up with drinks. Gina’s parents stopped at the table. Mrs. Graydon said, “We’ll meet you right here after midnight. Look for the Romans.” A high laugh escaped her lips.

Gina tugged Eliza through the maze of costumes until they had reached the far wall, where chairs had been set up. Eliza scanned the room. Cloth streamers billowed from the ceiling, and paper flower arrangements adorned each table. She pulled away from Gina. “I don’t want to sit there.”

“That’s how the men know we’re waiting to be asked to dance.”

Eliza grimaced beneath her mask. “Let’s walk around for a moment to look at all the costumes. I don’t want to seem desperate for a dance partner so early in the night.”

Gina laughed, and they began to mill through the crowd. They stared at the numerous guests who looked curiously back. Nearing the entrance they saw Gina’s parents still standing next to the wine table, caught up in animated conversation with another couple.

“Look,” Gina said, grabbing Eliza’s arm. “There’s Mr. and Mrs. Gelding.”

The stooped shoulders and slow gait of the elderly couple made it obvious who they were. Eliza remembered them from drawing-room gatherings.“Who do you think they are chaperoning?”

“Maybe no one.” Gina shrugged. “Maybe they’re here for the free spirits. Come on, let’s find a seat. I can’t wait to dance.”

Eliza followed her friend into the mass again. They pulled two chairs together and sat down. It wasn’t long before a couple of men approached and asked for a dance.

Gina rose immediately and accepted for both of them. Eliza stood and was led to the floor by a man half a foot shorter than she, who wore white trousers and a military-style jacket. The dancing was a bit awkward at first until Eliza grew used to her partner’s jerky movements.

“Are vous from around here?” His accent was thick.

“Yes, I live in the city,” Eliza said. “Where are you from?”

“Paris,” the man said, accentuating the second syllable.

“Bon,” Eliza replied.

The man grinned. “Ah! Parlez-vous Française?”

“Un petite peu.”

“Trés bien.” He quickened his pace. “What is your name?”

“I cannot tell you,” she said.

“Because of the mask?” He stared at her quite intently. “Are you Queen Mary tonight?”

“Oui.”

The man pulled her a little closer, so that Eliza caught a full whiff of his cologne. “I’m here for one week only,” the man said. “Tell me your name, Mary, so that I may remember this dance on the voyage home.”

What was the harm? She’d never see this foreigner again. “Eliza.”

“Ah. So vous are related to Elizabeth. How very clever.”

“And what’s your name, sir?” she countered.

“Alfred… Bonaparte.”

“Bonaparte? Isn’t that your costume tonight?”

“Yes, clever, no?”

The dance number came to an end, and Alfred escorted Eliza back to her seat, where Gina was waiting. She thanked him, and he left after giving her a dramatic bow.

“How was the dance?” Gina asked, stifling a laugh.

Eliza settled next to her.“It was… interesting. How about your dance partner?”

“Oh, he was wonderful. He asked me a lot of questions though,” Gina said.

Eliza turned to look at her. “Did you answer them?”

“Most, but I didn’t tell him my name,” Gina said.

“I told my dance partner mine,” Eliza said nonchalantly, looking at the dancing crowd.

“But why?”

Eliza shrugged. “He’s from Paris and said he was leaving soon.”

“Look over there,” Gina said, nudging her. “Isn’t that the man you danced with?”

Eliza followed Gina’s direction and saw Alfred Bonaparte surrounded by a group of people. His short arms were flailing as if to emphasize a very important point he was making. Before she realized it, a member of the group had broken off and crossed over to her.

“May I have this dance?”

Eliza’s tongue froze. The man before her was none other than Thomas Beesley. Did he know who she was? It would be frightfully rude to turn him down at a public ball, so she nodded, and the man led her to the dance floor for a waltz. She swallowed the revulsion that had risen in her throat, hoping Thomas didn’t know who she really was.

“How are you, Eliza?” he asked.

Eliza felt sick. “How did you know it was me?”

“I sent a scout.”

“The Frenchman?” she asked.

Thomas chuckled until other couples surrounding them looked over. “He’s a loyal friend trying to help me out.”

Heat rose in her face; she was glad the mask concealed her embarrassment. “That was a cutting move, Thomas.”

“We need to settle some things between us,” Thomas said in a low voice. His hold tightened. “I’ve heard that you’re trying to taint my reputation.”

“I’ve done no such thing,” she said, stepping back and trying to put more distance between them.

But Thomas held her firm. “A reliable source has informed me that you have threatened to sue me for breaking the partnership with your father.”

Eliza tried not to panic. “Your reliable source is a meddling liar,” she retorted in a low voice. “If you and your shoddy lawyer, Jonathan Porter, want to believe such filth, go right ahead. The fact is, you’ve tainted your own reputation because of the way you’ve come after my father to cover your wounded ego.” With effort, she pulled away from him. “Never come near me again, sir.”

Eliza held back her tears until she’d left the dance floor. It was too cold to stand outside so she turned to the left and walked down a dark hallway until she found a bench to collapse on.

Chapter Twenty-two

Jon watched the entire interchange between Thomas and Eliza. No costume could disguise Thomas, and it took only a moment longer to realize that the partner was Eliza. The unmistakable hair and translucent skin gave her away.

When they had first arrived at the ball, Apryl pointed out Thomas almost immediately. Since then, Jon had kept an occasional eye on the man, wondering when they would cross paths. He’d heard about the exchange between Thomas and Mr. Robinson, and was sorry he’d ever gotten involved. Eliza would undoubtedly discover the connection.

Apryl had been dancing with a tall gentleman dressed as William Shakespeare. Jon had watched her for a moment, before moving through the crowd to find the wine table. It was then that he saw Thomas with Eliza. They were talking rapidly, and Jon wondered if they were catching up on old times. Before the number ended, Eliza withdrew from Thomas and left the dance floor, her mouth set in a firm line.

When Jon looked to find Thomas again, the man had already joined his friends, talking and laughing as if nothing untoward had just happened. Perhaps the exchange with Eliza hadn’t been anything more than a regular conversation. What would a normal conversation between them look like?

She was clearly upset, and it had to do with Thomas. Without another thought, Jon scanned the room. She was nowhere to be seen. As he passed the wine table, he took a glass and continued, walking outside. The night was quiet, and the first snow of the season had started to gently fall.

Walking back inside, Jon stopped and scanned the foyer. A darkened hallway extended on both sides. At the end of one stood a couple, their masks removed. They were busily engaged in kissing. Jon opted for the other hallway. The sound of his shoes against the polished floor echoed on the walls. He was about to turn around when he heard a sniffle around a corner.

He walked in the direction of the sound. As he grew closer, he could make out the form of a person sitting on a bench and the faint glitter of a costume.

“Eliza?” he whispered. He heard a sharp intake of breath, and he removed his mask.

The voice that answered was cold. “What do you want?”

“It’s me, Jon,” he said.

“Please leave me alone. You’ve done enough damage.”

Jon crossed to her, trying to read her expression concealed by the shadows. “I sent you an apology.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Her voice was steely, cold.

Jon didn’t let that stop him, although he probably should have. Ignoring himself, he sat beside her. “What is it?”

“You know very well.” Eliza gathered her heavy skirts around her and scooted to the far end of the bench.

“You’ll fall off,” Jon said.

The humor was lost on Eliza.

“Does this have something to do with Mr. Beesley?” he asked.

With that, fresh tears cascaded down Eliza cheeks. She turned her face away from Jon. “Don’t men like you have anything better to do with your time than destroy a man and his family?”

Jon sighed and wished he could reach out and console her. “Your father will walk away from the lawsuit with only minor setbacks, nothing compared to what Thomas will face. Thomas is no decent man—”

Eliza turned and faced him. “That didn’t stop you from becoming his lawyer and trying to ruin my father.” Without giving him a chance to answer, she stood and began to walk away.

He jumped to block her and placed both hands on her shoulders. “I don’t know what you’ve been told, but I’m not Thomas’s lawyer.” He lowered his voice. “Please believe me.”

Eliza blinked back tears and met his eyes with defiance. “Why should I?”

Slowly, he lowered his hands. A thousand words floated through his mind, all disjointed and unattainable. If he could only tell her how he really felt. The faint glimmer of hope in her eyes pierced his heart. He reached for her hand, but she drew back. “I can’t bear to think that I’m the cause of your misery,” he finally managed.

Her eyes grew cold and hard again. “Don’t flatter yourself.” She pushed past him.

Jon stared after her, aching to follow and take her in his arms. The sorrow in her eyes would remain with him forever.

* * *

Eliza hurried down the hallway, not knowing where she was going. A staircase rose in front of her, but she didn’t want to climb it. She sat on the lower stair and tried to calm her rapid breathing. The pressure of Jon’s hands on her shoulders had sent daggers of heat through her arms. She rubbed them furiously, trying to erase his touch. She couldn’t deny the conversation she’d overheard between her father and Thomas. Was Jon brash enough to lie straight to her face?

“Tell him.”

A cold chill spread through Eliza’s body. It was Helena’s voice again. It hadn’t stayed behind in Maybrook after all. Frustration crashed through Eliza. Looking around in the dim light she said, “Tell him what? Tell him that his mother is haunting me?”

No one—or nothing—answered. Only the distant sound of the orchestra could be heard.

“Why have you followed me here?” Her voice grew hysterical. “Why can’t you leave me alone?” She buried her face in her hands, trembling. How could Helena still want something from her? Maybe the voice was in her head—maybe it had always been in her head, and she was going mad.

Eliza rose and put on her mask. She retraced her steps down the now-empty corridor to the front entrance of the ballroom. The wine table had never been so inviting. She crossed over to it and helped herself to a glass, then another. A few feet away, she spotted Thomas surrounded by his friends, including the supposed Frenchman.

She felt nauseated. She put down the wineglass and went to find Gina. Pushing through the throng of elaborately dressed people, she finally spotted her friend.

“Where have you been?” Gina asked as soon as she saw her.

“I don’t feel well,” Eliza said.

Gina studied her. “Do you need to sit down for a while?”

“I want to leave.”

“I’ll go with you then,” Gina offered.

“No, enjoy the evening. It’s not even ten yet. I’ll be fine.” Eliza turned and hurried to the front entrance before Gina could protest further.

Outside several public carriages were waiting. She climbed into the first one and gave the driver directions to take her home.

* * *

Eliza ran up the stairs to her room and was half undressed when her mother entered.

“You’re home early.”

Eliza nodded as she began to pull the pins out of her hair. Her mother crossed the room. “Here, let me help you.”

Eliza lowered her arms and allowed her mother to undo the apparatus on her head.

“Are you feeling all right?” her mother asked.

“I think it was too early to go out,” Eliza said. “I’ll feel better in the morning.”

Her mother kissed the top of her head. “Sleep well then. I’ll hear more about it tomorrow.”

When her mother was gone, Eliza’s brave exterior began to crumble. She climbed between the cool sheets and hugged her pillow to her chest. She eventually fell asleep on her tear-stained pillow.

Helena packed her bags as little Gus watched her. “I’m going on a trip, sweetie, and will be back soon. Tell thy papa not to worry.”The little boy nodded with trusting eyes. She patted his head as she passed. “Be a good boy.”

She left him and climbed on her horse, with Jonny strapped in front of her in the saddle, sleeping. She could barely keep the horse on the road and was tempted to take the shortcut. But she didn’t want any neighbors to notice her. She had to appear as if she were simply going to market, and she hoped the bundle tied to the back of the saddle wasn’t too suspicious. Then the accident happened. The horse tripped on a root and threw her and Jonny from the saddle. Jonny woke with a start and began to wail. She untied him from the horse and tried to help the horse to its feet, but it was lame.

Helena hobbled along the road as quickly as she could, carrying her bag and child. She couldn’t afford to be late to the train station. She hoped the townspeople wouldn’t be alerted by her dirty appearance.

Her heart sank when she heard a rider approach behind her. One fearful look over her shoulder, and she knew it was Gus. She turned sharply and ran into the trees, hoping to lose him. But he was gaining, and she finally put Jonny down, kissed him through her tears, and ran in the opposite direction. Someone would find Jonny. Gus could have his way with her, but she wouldn’t let her child witness it.

It wasn’t long before her strength ran out and Gus was on top of her. His eyes were burning, his chest heaving. It was only when she saw the glittering blade in his hands that she realized she would never see daylight again. She’d never see her son again. She heard someone shouting Gus’s name, but it was too late. As the blade began its trail across her neck, her last words were, “God forgive me.”

Eliza woke from her dream with a start, her pulse racing.

“Tell him how I died.”

The voice seemed to penetrate her skin, sending goose pimples up her back. She sat up and gripped the pillow tightly.

“Go away!” she said into the darkness, and then she succumbed to the shaking sobs.

Sometime later, with her eyes still squeezed shut, the voice whispered again, “Tell him how I died.”

This time, Eliza felt a calm pass over her. The voice had been clear. Helena wanted her to tell Jon about the horrible dream. The clock downstairs chimed once.

Perhaps the only way to stop Helena’s haunting her dreams was to tell Jon about them. Her breathing came rapidly as she thought about seeing Jon again. Panic rose in her throat. How could she tell him that she dreamed about his mother’s death? That his mother spoke to her? He’d think she was insane.

She’d tell him right before leaving New York—it was the only way to escape the voice and to forget Jon. And going to Maybrook wasn’t an option, even though Gus was in jail. She didn’t want to be reminded of all that had happened there. Surely the voice would grow more demanding and the nightmares would get worse. The more she thought about it the more she realized that Europe was the answer. She had to convince her parents to let her go.

The following day an opportunity arose that Eliza couldn’t pass up. After telling her mother the details about the ball, omitting the part about dancing with Thomas and being cornered by Jon, her mother mentioned that the Graydon family was traveling to France soon.

Eliza saw her chance. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that they’ve invited me to go along.”

Mrs. Robinson’s painted lips parted. “Have they, now? When did this happen?”

“A few days ago.” Eliza pressed forward. “I’d like to see another country, and the Graydons would like company for Gina.”

Mrs. Robinson stared at her. “Eliza. You can’t be serious. You barely escaped for your life a matter of weeks ago.”

“I’m in the way here—you and father are so busy right now with all the changes in the business.”

“How do you know about any changes?” her mother asked.

Eliza looked at the floor, avoiding her mother’s gaze.

“I don’t think you’re strong enough to travel. You couldn’t even stay at the ball for more than an hour last night.”

“I’m better each day, Mother. It will do me good to have a break from all the people who know all about what happened to me. And I can’t go back to Maybrook.”

“No, you can’t,” her mother said firmly.

Eliza waited for more, but her mother had fallen silent.

“Should I speak to Father about it?” she asked.

Mrs. Robinson appraised Eliza for a moment. “No, I will.”

Eliza’s heart leapt. That meant her mother was considering it.

* * *

After supper that night, Mr. Robinson called his family into the library. He looked at his wife and daughter, his face etched with concern. “Things aren’t going so well with the company right now.”

Eliza flushed, knowing it was the fault of Thomas Beesley and his sidekick, Jon Porter.

Mrs. Robinson asked, “Will we keep the estate?”

“It’s not as serious as that, dear,” Mr. Robinson said. “But we’re going to have to close a factory instead of opening one, if we are to stay profitable.” He looked at Eliza. “The reason I’m including you in this bad news is that I have decided that I feel that the strain of our family, and what you went through in Maybrook, is hurting your health. It might do you good to travel for a bit—get away from everything. I’ve decided that you shall travel to Europe with Gina’s family.”

Eliza stared at him, not knowing whether or not to be overjoyed or dismayed. She was desperate to leave her nightmares and Helena’s voice behind, but not if it would hurt her family. “But you’ll need all resources for your company. The money from Maeve’s place could help the business.”

Her father smiled tenderly at her. “You are generous, but the cost of traveling with the Graydon family will be minimal. You’ll share their rooms and meals. Besides, I received notice today that Maeve’s property has been sold. I’ll withhold a portion of it from your trust so you can enjoy yourself in Europe.”

“I don’t want to go if you and mother are struggling,” Eliza said. “Take the money for your company. I don’t need it.”

Mr. Robinson shook his head. “The business will soon improve, and your mother and I will be fine. The balmy weather in southern France will improve your health.”

With her parents’ minds made up, Eliza began to prepare for the trip, wishing her father wasn’t going through such a difficult time, but relieved that she’d finally be able to get away from Helena’s voice. Surely a ghost couldn’t travel across the ocean.

Chapter Twenty-three

It was two days before she was scheduled to leave for France when Eliza woke in the middle of the night, her forehead perspiring, her mouth dry—the image of Gus Senior strangling Helena fresh in her mind. Gasping, Eliza tried to calm her nerves. She lit the lamp at her bedside and with trembling hands began to write down the dream. When she was finished she knew she had to mail it to Jon. Either that or tell him in person.

She stared at the flickering flame dancing in the lamp a long time before she began a letter to him.

Jon,

It is not my wish to write you this letter. It is your mother’s. I know that must sound strange to you, but ever since I lived with my aunt in Maybrook, I’ve felt someone close by and have heard a voice—your mother’s. Each night I’ve dreamed of her death and have been tormented by the details. Are they true? Is my dream what really happened? I don’t know, but I’ve decided to record the nightmare and give it to you. You’ll find it enclosed with this letter.

I hope the news is not too shocking. I don’t know what to believe myself anymore. But I hope that once I complete this task, your mother will rest in peace. Please do not contact me or try to contact my family. I will be away for some time.

Eliza

Without rereading the letter, Eliza sealed it in an envelope. As soon as the hour was decent to leave the house, she went out and posted the letter herself. She wouldn’t take any chances with her mother seeing to whom the envelope was addressed.

Preparations for the journey were made more complex by her mother’s fussiness. “You’ll need at least seven hats. The sun can be quite brutal in that part of the world,” Mrs. Robinson said, examining their hatboxes.

“I’m not going to be gone for more than a couple of months. I think I can get away with four.”

“Four day hats—and three evening ones.”

Eliza sighed, watching as her mother arranged them on the bed. She placed each hat next to a respective outfit. When she reached the final one, she held up the plain gray dress. “What’s this shabby thing?”

“It was Aunt Maeve’s. I wore it while helping her in the garden.”

Her mother stared at her. “You are not taking this.”

“I thought if I left it behind, you’d throw it out.”

“You’re probably right.” Her mother wrinkled her nose. “But you can’t be serious about taking something so ghastly.”

Eliza folded her arms. “I won’t if you promise not to get rid of it.”

Mrs. Robinson carried it to the closet and hung it up. “It will stay there until you return.”

Eliza looked back at the bed, then rolled her eyes when she saw what her mother had added. “Mother, I won’t need three parasols. It’s not as if we are going to be in one neighborhood and run into the same people each day.”

“You can never been too prepared.” Her mother’s mouth was firm. “I’ll call Bess to organize your things into the trunks.”

Before Bess arrived, Eliza removed two parasols, two hats and three dresses from the bed. She stuffed them in the back of her closet, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice.

Bess entered and embraced her. “I’ll miss you.”

“It’s only for a short while.”Eliza squeezed back. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“You’ll be grown up, I say, travelin’ abroad an’ all.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

Bess wiped her eyes, and then both women turned to the bed and began to pack silently.

* * *

The following morning, Eliza woke early. Energy hummed through her body, and she realized she was looking forward to the trip more than she’d thought. Surely Helena couldn’t follow her to Europe. Eliza would leave the woman’s voice and nightmares behind.

Descending the stairs, Eliza was surprised to see both of her parents already at the breakfast table. Her mother’s eyes were moist, and Eliza thought back to the day when they had departed in anger at the Maybrook train station.

Now, there was only tenderness in her mother’s eyes. “Eat a good breakfast, darling.”

“I don’t feel hungry,” Eliza said. “But I’ll try to eat something.”

Mr. Robinson watched as Eliza picked at her food. “Remember to only eat things that are cooked over there.”

“What about escargot?” she asked, only to see what her mother would say.

Her mother blanched, and Eliza hid a smile.

“Only if the restaurant is reputable,” her father said.

“And only stay at hotels with indoor plumbing,” her mother cautioned.

A tap sounded from the front door.

“The carriage must be ready,” her father said.

Her mother rose. “Always show good manners, and don’t speak to strangers.”

“Everyone will be a stranger, Mother.” Eliza pushed away the breakfast plate and stood.

“If Gina’s family is speaking to someone then it will be all right to speak too. Just don’t leave their side.”

Eliza nodded. She embraced her mother, then her father. They walked her out to the carriage. After hugging her parents, she climbed in, hardly believing she was actually leaving.

The carriage traveled to Gina’s home, where Eliza waited until they were loaded and ready to go. Gina climbed in beside her. Her face glowed with excitement, and she squeezed Eliza’s hands. “I’m so glad you’re coming with us. It would have been so dull—”

“I know, I know. You’d die of boredom in dreary France.”

Gina grinned as the carriage set off for the harbor. Eliza stared out the window, half listening to Gina’s chatter, and soaked in the details of the passing scenery as she wondered what the streets of Europe would look like. They moved through the quiet, still slumbering neighborhoods, past the rows of shops and then through lesser neighborhoods.

Eliza spotted a young boy who was barefoot, sitting on the corner, selling the morning paper. His youthful face was streaked with dirt, but his countenance was happy. She wondered how a boy who had practically nothing could look so content.

Soon they arrived at the harbor. Eliza climbed out of the carriage and stared at the massive ship that would take them across the Atlantic. Sailors moved furiously about the harbor, loading crates and other cargo.

Gina tugged at her elbow. “Let’s go on deck.”

Eliza linked her arm through Gina’s, and they walked up the ramp together, Gina’s parents following close behind. Other passengers surrounded them, waving to those on shore.

“It’ll be another thirty minutes before we leave. Let’s go see our quarters,” Mr. Graydon said.

Eliza and Gina followed them into the main lobby. Down a flight of stairs, they arrived on the first floor below deck, where their cabins were. Gina and Eliza shared one adjacent to Mr. and Mrs. Graydon. At first, Eliza was surprised to see how small the cabins were, but they were immaculately decorated.

Two narrow beds were positioned against the sloping wall. A single dresser and a closet were the only places for their clothing. Their trunks had already been brought in.

Gina plopped on one of the beds. “Which side do you want?”

Eliza shrugged and crossed over to the porthole. It was hard to make out any details beyond a fuzzy image of the harbor.

Mr. Graydon stepped into the doorway. “Ready, girls?”

Gina rose. “Let’s go say goodbye to America.”

Together they exited the cabin and followed the Graydons up the stairs to the deck.

The number of passengers had increased. They moved through the crowds until they reached the rail, where Eliza stood by the family and waved to the people on shore. Many shouted their goodbyes around her, and she saw a few passengers had tears in their eyes.

A small commotion on the ramp caught Eliza’s attention. A man was being turned away. Eliza squinted at the figure and caught a glimpse of the man’s profile. For an instant, she thought he resembled Jonathan Porter. She stared at the man, but then shook her head to rid the foolish assumption as he retreated down the ramp. After all, what would he be doing trying to board a ship bound for Europe?

* * *

Supper would be served at one o’clock. Gina had spread out her clothes on the bed, and for several minutes she deliberated what to wear. Eliza had decided to wear the same dress she had arrived in then change for the evening meal.

“I thought your mother brought a lot of luggage,” Eliza said dryly.

Gina frowned in concentration. “How long is this voyage?”

“Fourteen days.”

Gina pulled a cream colored dress from the pile and held it up. She turned toward the mirror hanging on the wall. “Why does the mirror have to be so small?”

“I’ll be your mirror. You’d better get dressed, or we’ll be late and draw unwanted attention,” Eliza said.“Unless, of course, that’s what you wish.”

Gina smiled.

Once they were finally ready, they waited for the Graydons to join them before entering the dining hall. Eliza stared at the opulent dining room. Pale blue brocade drapes hung against the narrow windows. The wallpaper was blue and white in an Italian cherub pattern, and fine crystal glasses and china adorned the tables. The atmosphere was quiet as people politely milled about, greeting fellow passengers.

Anytime Eliza saw a tall man with dark hair, she thought of Jon. But he’s in New York, not here. Don’t be foolish.

The Graydons were led to their assigned table and found themselves joined by another family. A man and his wife were already seated. The man rose and made introductions. “I am Monsieur Bonne, and this is my wife, Madam Bonne. Our son will be joining us shortly.” He was plainly French, but unlike the man she’d met at the dance, Mr. Bonne’s English was excellent.

Mr. Graydon introduced his wife and Gina, then their guest, Eliza. The waiter took their orders, and Mr. Bonne ordered for his absent son. He then turned to the Graydons. “What takes you to Europe?”

“Pleasure,” Mr. Graydon said.

Mr. Bonne flicked open a snuff box. “Ah, and where will you visit?”

Eliza listened politely as Mr. Graydon outlined the cities and sites they planned to tour. Then her attention was diverted elsewhere. Approaching the table was a boy of fourteen or fifteen.

Mr. Bonne turned his head and saw the young man. “Ah, here’s our son now. André, we’d like you to meet Mr. and Mrs. Graydon, their daughter Gina, and their family friend, Eliza.”

André gave an adorable bow then greeted them in perfect English. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, then took his seat.

As the Bonnes talked about their homeland, Eliza’s thoughts wandered again to Jon. Had he received her letter yet? What did he think of her dream?

“Have you young ladies been to France before?” Mrs. Bonne asked, paying particular attention to Gina.

“I’ve been once,” Gina answered. “But Eliza hasn’t yet.”

Eliza smiled politely and let the two of them discuss various sites and people that they knew. She thought again of Jon and whether it could have possibly been him trying to get on the ship.

“Are you ready?” Gina was saying to her.

Snapping back into focus, Eliza looked down at her barely touched dinner. “Yes.”

They excused themselves from the table, and on the way back to their cabin, Gina linked arms with Eliza. “What’s wrong? You hardly said a word in there.”

Eliza glanced over at Gina. She really had been a good friend. Perhaps she could share part of her worries. “I didn’t tell you the whole story of what happened at the masquerade ball. Meeting the French family reminded me of the Frenchman who asked me to dance.”

“I remember.”

“But I didn’t tell you about the next man who asked me to dance—Thomas. He accused me of planning to bring a suit against him. We argued, and I escaped the dance floor.”

They’d reached the cabin door, and Gina opened it, ushering Eliza inside. The women sat on their beds, facing each other.

“I walked down a corridor,” Eliza said, “but someone followed me. Jonathan Porter.”

Gina’s eyes widened. “The man you met in Maybrook?”

“He’s Thomas’s lawyer now.” Eliza exhaled. “Why do I have to keep running into vile men?”

Later that night, Eliza lay in bed listening to Gina’s even breathing. It had been nice to confess to Gina, but Eliza still hadn’t told her everything. Gina would think her mad if she knew about the voice. Eliza closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but she couldn’t stop wondering what Jon had thought her letter describing her nightmares about his mother. Thankfully, last night she hadn’t dreamed at all. She hoped that tonight she wouldn’t either. Maybe Helena was pacified now that the truth of her death was in her son’s hands. Maybe crossing the ocean was the answer.

Eliza finally fell asleep to the gentle rocking of the great ship.

Jon stood before her. “Eliza? It’s Jon.”

“I know who you are,” she said, glancing at his Shake-spearean costume. She lowered her mask.

But she knew that the darkness couldn’t conceal her tear-brimmed eyes.

He knelt before her, as he had once before. “Eliza,” he whispered, “Please trust me.” He pulled her into his arms.

She didn’t resist him. She couldn’t. Her body felt powerless as he kissed her. It was the kiss she’d been yearning for. The words she’d been hoping for.

Eliza opened her eyes. Her body was completely warm and relaxed, as if the dream had continued into reality. She pulled her pillow from behind her head and squeezed it tightly against her chest. The kiss was still hot on her mouth. Then her mind began to focus—Jon was not holding her in his arms. She was in bed, on a ship, heading for Europe. But the contentment from the dream would not leave, no matter how much she scolded herself.

Finally drifting off to sleep again, Eliza realized that in running to Europe, she was doing what Helena had tried to do—and lost her life over—all those years ago.

Chapter Twenty-four

Jon read the letter from Eliza for the umpteenth time. Her words chilled him. He couldn’t explain it, but he believed her—his mother had been somehow communicating with the girl.

It was late in the morning when he had first opened his correspondence and read the letter. At first he was angry at the presumption Eliza had taken, assuming intimate details about his mother. What right had she?

He had gone to her home immediately, only to find that she had departed for Europe. The ship was still in the harbor when he’d leapt from the carriage and ran up the loading ramp. “No ticket, no entrance,” he was told. He turned away, deflated, not knowing what he was going to say to her, but also not ready to see the last link to his mother disappear.

It was with dejection that he headed home and spent the next several hours in seclusion, reading and rereading the letter Eliza wrote about her dreams.

When Thomas Beesley arrived at four, Jon had nearly forgotten they had an appointment. As the man was led into the library by Mr. Richards, Jon stood and cordially greeted Thomas. “You’ve gone over my notes on the contract, I presume?”

“Yes,” Thomas said, settling into the opposite chair. “But I have another concern I’d like to discuss with you. It has to do with Mr. Robinson’s daughter. I’ve heard through reliable sources that she is planning to sue me for slander,” Thomas said.

Jon almost choked. He couldn’t imagine Eliza suing this man. “On what basis?”

“That I fed malicious gossip to the newspapers.”

Jon stared at the heavy jowls on Thomas’s face. “Are the allegations true?”

Thomas chuckled. “Spoken like a true lawyer. Perhaps there’s an inkling of truth to them, but there’s no evidence or witnesses.”

Fed up with the man, Jon decided to get straight to the point. “I can no longer represent you.”

Thomas’s face reddened. “Why in the hell not?”

Jon pushed a piece of paper across his desk. “Here are two references you might look up.”

Thomas ignored the paper.

“I cannot represent a case in which I do not believe.”

“You’ve grown soft,” Thomas spat out.

“I know both sides of the case, yes, and perhaps I am biased because of recent events.”

Thomas clenched his hands together.“I saw you follow her.”

Jon’s heart jolted. “You what?”

“At the masquerade ball. You followed Eliza out.”

Jon leaned forward. “What’s your point?”

“That you are interested in the girl—”

Jon stood and pointed his finger at Thomas. “Don’t you dare say what I think you—”

“You’re a philandering scoundrel who’s not good enough for Apryl!” He stood and faced Jon, his face scarlet. “I’ll see that she never marries you.” He grabbed his hat from the end table and tugged it onto his head. Seconds later, he was across the room, making his exit.

It was several seconds before Jon realized what had transpired. He sank heavily into his chair and pressed his palms against his temples, squeezing his eyes shut. A voice inside his head kept saying Thomas is right, but he couldn’t allow the thought to progress any further.

A sickening feeling rose inside him, and the grisly events began to play before his eyes: Thomas arriving at Apryl’s with lavish gifts, convincing her that her fiancé was in love with another woman, spreading gossip throughout the city until all chance of him running for public office was ruined.

It was well into the night before Jon climbed the stairs to his bedroom. And even then, lying in bed, he couldn’t sleep. He knew that Thomas had nothing to base his implications on, but the words had struck Jon dead center. As he finally fell asleep, a single question haunted his mind.

How could he marry one woman when he was in love with another?

* * *

When the dull gray morning light woke him, Jon rose and dressed. Looking in the mirror, he saw a gaunt face staring back at him. He’d lost weight, and his features had taken on a gray tinge. Something Ruth had said once to him came back to his mind. If you really want something, you’ll find a way to get it. She had encouraged him to leave Maybrook and take the money from his father for college. Education was everything, she had told him.

The dark eyes reflected in the mirror were haunted, confused and lonely. It was time to make up his mind—to leave his parents in the past and look to the future. He needed to begin the steps to achieve his goals. Marrying Apryl would introduce him to the proper circle of society to jump into the political confidences. Letting Eliza crowd his thoughts was a dangerous deterrent. She was in Europe, and according to his newest resolve, she may as well no longer exist.

Yet less than an hour later, Jon found himself drafting a letter to Mr. Robinson, father of the non-existent Eliza. He explained that he was no longer representing the opposing party and wished the man the best of luck. Reading over the letter, Jon shook his head at his own foolishness. Then he shredded the page and dropped it into the fire. All ties needed to be broken with the Robinsons—even ones that might provide some recompense.

That same morning, Jon received a note from Mr. Doughty. His father’s estate was now in order, and he was required to sign the paperwork. Jon breathed a sigh of relief. It was a sign. Time to move forward with the wedding plans and begin his life as a gentleman and politician.

With anticipating steps, he made his way to the solicitor’s office. Entering, he brushed past the oily-haired clerk and bounded up the stairs two at a time.

Mr. Doughty raised his head in surprise as Jon entered. “Good morning, Mr. Porter. I see you received my note.”

“Indeed.” Jon sat in the nearest chair and looked about the office with pleasure. It was now organized, removed of excess books.

Mr. Doughty slid a folder across his desk. “I trust you’ll find everything in order.”

Grabbing the folder, Jon leafed through the pages. Then he returned to the first and swallowed hard.

“You’re a wealthy man,” Mr. Doughty said softly.

Jon looked at the lawyer, a slow smile spread across his face. “It’s more than I expected… I thought there would be debt to pay, my half-sister’s family to support—”

“The number you see is the amount after all business obligations have been settled.”

Jon blinked and refocused on the page before him. He was a millionaire many times over.

“There are three places for you to sign,” Mr. Doughty said, handing over a pen.

“What happens next?” Jon took the pen.

“In two to three months the money will be funded to your bank. After the bank receives the funds and these documents, estate taxes will be paid, the property consolidated. And then the holdings will be transferred to your name. From there it’s up to you. You may choose to visit England or decide to sell the property right away, or a portion of it.” At the surprised look he received from Jon, he chuckled.“Who knows? Maybe you’ll fall in love with the place and decide to become a citizen.”

“I doubt that, sir,” Jon said with a smile. He leafed through the pages again, and with an unwavering hand, he signed his name three times. Returning to the first page, he stared at the numbers again until they went out of focus. He closed the folder and passed it back to Mr. Doughty.

The solicitor came around the desk and extended his hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Porter. I hope we can do business again in the future.”

In a sudden movement, Jon embraced the man and clapped him on the back. “Thank you,” he said in a thick voice. His future was about to change.

The walk back to his home was not quick and light as it had been on the way over. Now it was the slow, deliberate steps of a man who had the weight of power and fortune upon his shoulders, and many questions about the future.

* * *

In bed that night, Jon lay awake for a long time thinking about whether or not he should make a trip to England. By viewing his newly acquired property, he’d be able to make responsible decisions about them. Explaining the matter to Apryl might prove quite difficult. Undoubtedly she already knew from her father that Jon’s holdings were supposedly insignificant. In the quiet darkness, he decided to invite her to travel with him. It would be good for their relationship to get out from under the scrutiny of her parents and the ever-present Thomas Beesley. She could bring one of her aunts or a friend as a chaperone.

Then in England, after showing her the estate, he’d reveal the true amount of his inheritance. It would be a surprise she’d never forget.

The following evening, Jon arrived at the Maughan household as a guest for yet another dinner. He was relieved, but not surprised, to discover that Mr. Beesley and his sister would not be in attendance. After dinner, Jon had a chance to speak to Mr. Maughan in the library about the possibility of taking Apryl to England.

“Her mother would never allow her to accompany you un-chaperoned,” Mr. Maughan said, lighting a cigar for Jon.

Jon accepted it. “Of course Apryl will bring along one of her aunts or a friend. I can assure you, sir, that she will be well taken care of.”

Mr. Maughan nodded. “I trust you, Jon. But Apryl can be overcome with flights of fancy from time to time.”

“What do you mean?” Jon asked.

Hesitating, Mr. Maughan finally said, “I probably shouldn’t mention this, but when you were in Massachusetts, both Mrs. Maughan and I grew quite concerned about her.” He rushed on. “Nothing to worry about now, though. She’s seemed to come back to herself since your return.”

“Did it have anything to do with Thomas Beesley?” Jon asked.

Mr. Maughan’s face remained impassive. “Looking back, it all seems quite ridiculous to have ever worried, doesn’t it?”

“Worried about what exactly?”

“Oh, just that Apryl can have flights of fancy.”

Jon took another puff on his cigar. Were her flights of fancy over with now?

It was another hour before the guests went home, and Jon had a secluded moment with Apryl. He found her in the drawing room, gazing absently at a painting. “Tired, my dear?”

She looked at him, her eyes unusually dull. “Yes. Has everyone left?”

“They have.” Jon sat beside her. “My inheritance has been settled.”

Apryl’s eyes shifted to him curiously.

“I need to travel to England on related business.”

Her attention went back to the painting.

Jon grasped her hand. “I want you to come with me. We’ll get away from all this for a while. It will be the two of us… except for a chaperone.”

Apryl offered a small smile, yet her eyes didn’t hold promise. “My mother would never allow it.”

Chuckling, Jon said, “That’s what your father said.”

“You already asked him?” She turned her head to really look at him.

“Of course. Apryl, let’s get married right away, and we’ll go to England on our honeymoon.” He stopped speaking when he saw her eyes fill with tears.

“You don’t understand, Jon. It’s not about a marriage certificate that I want. It’s the engagement dinner and the perfect wedding dress and all that accompanies it.”

Jon leaned back and sighed. “Is that what you want, or what your mother wants?”

“I want everything I’ve dreamed of since I was a young girl,” she said, her voice trembling. “I want the white dress with the long train and the flower girls walking before me. I want my father to give me away, and for you to be standing at the end of the aisle, dressed in a fine black suit. I want thousands of flowers and a cake no one will ever forget—” Her words were choked off by her sobs.

Jon put his arm around her shoulders and brought her cheek to his. “You shall have all of that and more. I promise.”

* * *

The next thirteen days were the most peaceful Eliza could remember having in a long time, perhaps as far back as before meeting Thomas Beesley.

She didn’t dream, she didn’t hear voices, she didn’t have any conversations with eligible men. Jon was never far from her mind, but she decided that that would soon change too. She and Gina spent a lot of time on deck, in the fresh air, talking about nothing. Which was divine.

When the ship docked outside of the Bordeaux harbor, Eliza and Gina were on the deck, watching the approach anxiously. Once ashore, they found themselves a little unsteady on their legs, and they clung together, laughing.

Mr. Graydon hired a carriage to take them to a hotel. Young boys ran after them, shouting things in French.

“I wonder what they’re they’re saying,” Gina said.

“They want to see the Americans,” Eliza said, staring out the window.

“You understand them?” Gina asked.

Eliza nodded. “Doesn’t everyone know a little French?”

“She was never proficient in the languages,” Mrs. Graydon said.

Gina ignored her mother’s comment and pointed at a passing sign. “What does that say?”

Eliza squinted into the growing darkness. “La Petite Café,” she read.

“What does it mean?”

“The Little Café,” Eliza said with a laugh. “They probably have refreshments there.” She hoped the Graydons would take the hint.

“Oh, how quaint,” Mrs. Graydon said, peering out her window. “But we’ll be at the hotel soon enough. Then we’ll have tea.”

Eliza settled back into her seat for the journey. There would be plenty of time tomorrow to explore the area. For now, she was exhausted and looked forward to sleeping in a bed that didn’t sway.

Their hotel was small but elegant. Eliza marveled at all of the artwork on the walls. The employees were cordial but reluctant to speak English. Eliza tried her best to use French and received warm smiles in return.

In the morning, she accompanied the Graydons on a stroll through the surrounding village. Many children waved and watched them with curiosity. Upon returning to the hotel, the manager informed them that a special reception would be held that night for all visiting foreigners.

Gina clapped her hands. “Maybe we’ll meet a handsome foreigner,” she whispered to Eliza.

Eliza smirked. “We are the foreigners here.”

“Oh, of course,” Gina said, but continued to smile.

* * *

It didn’t take long for Eliza to fall in love with the French countryside. A couple of weeks in Bordeaux had her fully converted, and now they were on their way to Marseilles. Though the velvety darkness now enveloped the landscape, Eliza felt the charged atmosphere of romance that France was famous for.

They were in a sleeper compartment on a night train, Mr. and Mrs. Graydon on one, and Eliza and Gina in the other. Gina was sleeping, but it wasn’t late yet, and Eliza pressed her forehead against the window, trying to make out any shapes in the darkness. The moon, darkened by passing clouds, didn’t offer much light.

The train slowed as it approached an upcoming station, and Eliza watched as a lone person climbed on board. No one exited. Soon the train pulled away and gathered momentum.

Just then Eliza remembered the letters stowed away in her baggage, two envelopes that had arrived for her that afternoon. She had asked the porter how they happened to arrive so quickly.

“They were sent on a smaller, much faster cargo ship,” he had replied.

She rose and stretched over Gina’s sleeping form and brought down her bag from overhead. With the rush of repacking, Eliza hadn’t had the time to read them. One was from her mother, the other from Nathaniel.

Deciding to read her mother’s first, she opened the envelope. The news was general and a trifle sentimental. But the postscript caught her attention.

P. S. Soon after your carriage left, Mr. Porter appeared at our doorstep. He was in a rush to speak with you. What ever could he have wanted?

Eliza wondered what he thought when he’d received the letter outlining her dream. Was he angry? Her mother’s letter stated only that he’d been in a rush.

Finally, Eliza opened the letter from Nathaniel. She wasn’t surprised he’d written her again. She’d received two letters since leaving Maybrook.

Dearest Eliza,

I’m writing in hopes that thy recovery hast been full. I am leaving Massachusetts soon and hope to visit thee before I go. I’ll be attending Cambridge overseas for a period of four years. Knowing that I’ll likely live my life in Maybrook, going to England now may be the only chance I have to see any of the world before becoming a reverend. Of course, I will continue to work my own land and provide for a future family, but God may have other plans for me.

The town will help pay for my schooling, provided that I commit to return to them in due time and take over Reverend Clement’s position.

Please reply and let me know how thou fares. May the Lord be with thee always.

Thy truest and ever hopeful friend,

Nathaniel Prann

Eliza let the letter fall into her lap. Wouldn’t her parents be surprised to see a Puritan show up on their doorstep?

She picked up his letter and scanned the words again. It was easy to say what one really meant in writing. Deciding to write him back in the morning, she closed her eyes and soon fell asleep to the rhythmic motion of the train.

* * *

The following morning, Eliza and the Graydons descended from the train at the Marseilles station. Eliza found herself relieved to have the long journey over with. Once they were settled into their hotel, Gina asked Eliza to explore with her.

As they walked along the boardwalks with their parasols, Eliza enjoyed being away from everything she knew. She felt free. Helena had been quiet; perhaps ghosts couldn’t transcend oceans.

That first evening in the hotel, Gina fell asleep almost immediately. Eliza took the opportunity to reply to Nathaniel’s letter. She made it brief.

Dear Nathaniel,

I was pleased to hear that you are leaving for college. As you may know by now, I have left New York and am currently traveling in France with a friend and her family. The change of scenery has done me good. I feel stronger already, and it seems that the events surrounding my aunt’s death are far removed.

I wish only the best for you.

Regards,

Eliza

Chapter Twenty-five

Jon gazed at the diminishing New York harbor. He could no longer make out Apryl’s violet-clad figure, nor her hand waving animatedly to him. Holding up his for one final farewell, he found that he was one of the last passengers on deck. Most had gone to their cabins to settle in for the voyage.

Ironically, he’d been at this same harbor four weeks before, trying to find Eliza. But that was in the past, and now he was headed to his future. When he returned, he’d surprise Apryl with the news of his true wealth, and he’d give her the lavish wedding she’d always dreamed of.

When Apryl had first discovered that he was going to England, with or without her, she had been disappointed. That was when he’d committed to a wedding date, and after that, she didn’t seem to mind his impending departure.

With the absence of Thomas Beesley in their lives, Jon found that he had become more rational about his feelings toward Apryl. Once in awhile, he even fancied that he loved her. During his youth, he’d never witnessed a marriage firsthand. Only the Puritan couples at Meeting provided a limited example. He’d seen deep lines etched upon faithful faces and never doubted that they held a great love for their way of life. Although life had been hard in Maybrook, husbands and wives worked together as one.

That was the most important thing in marriage, Jon determined—a willingness to work together toward a common goal. The romantic frills of love were for the less ambitious. He needed practicality, social standing, and good morals surrounding him. Apryl would provide them.

Jon scanned the eastern horizon. It was still early in the day, and the sun was new in the sky. A bird landed not too far from Jon, and he watched as it hopped about the deck, scouring the planks for any sign of nourishment. The immaculately swabbed floor didn’t offer a single morsel, and eventually the disappointed gull flew away.

A few deckhands scrambled about, going about their business. Jon walked into the lobby and found the stairs. Descending them, he passed a few passengers and was greeted in French or English.

His cabin was small but respectable—two beds stood side by side. He began to unpack his baggage. He’d brought several books to read on the voyage, including a volume of poetry by William Bryant.

With two hours until the midday meal, he made himself comfortable across the beds and started reading “The Constellations.”

The next couple of weeks were uneventful. A squall arose, but nothing the capable crew couldn’t handle. Jon spent most of his time playing card games with other gentlemen who were content to pass the lazy hours in such a way. One evening he attended the ship’s jubilee dance, but then left soon after it started. He wasn’t in the mood to keep frivolous conversation with ever-flirtatious ladies.

At last, England’s coast came into sight. They passed through the English Channel, and after stops at Portsmouth and Dover, arrived at Norfolk.

Stepping onto land, Jon felt as if he were entering another world. The mist hung heavy with potential rain, and instead of expanses of untamed land, Norfolk was a neat and tidy province. Once his baggage was unloaded, he hailed a carriage. He climbed inside and stretched his cramped legs before him. The carriage was smaller than he was used to in New York, but it would do. His overcoat did little to prevent the damp air from reaching his skin, causing him to feel chilled to the core.

At last they reached Norwich, the capital of Norfolk, and the carriage slowed. Jon peered through the windows at the drizzling scene before him. Few people were in the shop-lined streets, braving the moist weather. Jon watched as a group of bawdy men stepped out of the pub, turned up their collars, and scattered in different directions. The supper hour was over.

Once he’d gone over Bishop’s Bridge and across the river Wensum, the scenery began to change. The cramped buildings thinned and the foliage grew denser. Soon they were traveling on a lonely road, with only an occasional farmhouse coming into view. Presently the carriage driver stopped at a massive hedge. Jon leaned forward and looked beyond the hedge at an even more massive gate: Porter Estate.

The driver stepped out of the carriage and into the thick mud which surrounded the wheels. He pushed the heavy gate open then climbed back onto the seat. Jon had expected some sort of security at such a pretentious gate, but the place was quiet.

The lane leading to the house wound through a dense grove of trees. The rain had stopped, but the winter leaves above were still dripping with water. The ground was littered with small branches and leaves that seemed to groan underneath the weight of the passing carriage.

As they rounded the final bend, the dismal clouds parted above, offering a peek at the waning sun. The Porter House came into view at last, the sun shedding a more favorable view than the rain would have. Windows lined the stoic rock exterior of the two-story mansion. The house looked forlorn, as if awaiting its master’s arrival.

The carriage circled the driveway and pulled to a stop by the front entrance. An older gentleman appeared at the doorway, his face as gray as his suit. The man made no move to step down and greet the visitor. Instead Jon climbed out of the carriage and ascended the porch steps.

“Jonathan Porter,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m here to see Mrs. Mary Reine.”

The man shook Jon’s hand limply. If he was surprised at the visitor’s name, he did not show it. “Mr. March, head butler.”

Jon nodded and motioned for the driver to bring his luggage.

Entering the massive hall behind Mr. March, Jon noticed the lack of decoration. A bronze bust sat upon a side table and a rather soiled rug lined the floor.

“Mrs. Reine is expecting you, sir. She’s waiting in the library.”

Jon told the driver to place his luggage in the entryway then paid the fare. “Lead the way,” he said to Mr. March.

The butler opened the first doors on the right. There was no forewarning knock; his half-sister had probably watched his arrival.

She was older than he’d expected, maybe only a couple years younger than he. Her dress was as drab as the room she stood in, and her black hair was pulled into a severe bun, her expression matching her style.

The coldness of the room was the second thing Jon noticed. Doesn’t anyone build fires in England? The hearth behind the woman was merely a gaping hole with a few smoking logs.

Mrs. Reine looked at Jon for several moments, as if she was unsure what to say. Her mouth worked almost imperceptibly until Jon wondered if she had a nervous habit.

“I didn’t expect you to look so much like him,” she said at last.

“I wouldn’t know. I never met my father.”

Mrs. Reine gave a curt nod. “You’ve had a pleasant journey?”

“Yes, thank you.” He crossed to her and gave her a peck on the cheek, which was received with genuine surprise.

A faint color spread to the woman’s cheeks—the formal atmosphere had been cracked. “Sit down, please, and tell me about yourself.”

Jon found a chair near the one Mrs. Reine stood in front of. “There’s not much to tell. I grew up an orphan, raised by a Puritan woman who knew my mother. When Mr. Porter made his relation to me known, I attended Cambridge on his contribution.”

Mrs. Reine’s eyes rounded as if she was surprised at his honesty, but didn’t want to show it. “Our family learned of your existence only after my father’s death.” She took out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “You can well imagine our shock.”

Jon lowered his gaze. He could imagine it indeed, especially since he’d been named heir.

The woman continued. “As you may know, I was the eldest daughter. Father always lamented that I wasn’t a son, but after a while he seemed to grow content with having a daughter. Now I know that his lament wasn’t as genuine as he led us to believe.”

“A son by his wife would have been ideal for him, I suppose.”

Mrs. Reine nodded. “Of course. I was grateful that my mother did not live to learn of his secret.”

Jon shifted in his seat. “And I’m grateful my mother never learned that he married and had a new family.”

The woman paled and looked away.

“I know we have different loyalties, Mrs. Reine…”

“Call me Mary. After all, we’re brother and sister,” she said in a strained voice.

“All right, Mary. My mother was a Puritan—a young, innocent girl of seventeen when she met our father.”

Mary clutched the edge of her chair. “Really, I don’t think the details are necessary.”

“I do,” Jon said, raising his voice. “You asked me to tell about myself, and that begins when my mother met my father.”

Staring past him, Mary’s eyes began to cloud. “Let’s leave the past alone.”

Jon felt frustration building in his chest. “No. The past has been buried long enough. I want you to understand that I’m not here just to go over financial matters. I came to discover why my father seduced my mother then abandoned her to live a life as an outcast among a people who would reject her.”

Mary placed her hands on her knees, looking at the carpet.

Jon continued the story he had wanted to tell for so long. “My mother knew she was with child before he left but didn’t want to tell him, making him feel obligated toward her. She wanted him to return for love. Love. Can you imagine that?

“Her family disowned her, and then she gave birth to me, alone in the world. For the next three years, she saved every penny so she could purchase a fare to England. She wrote letter after letter to my father, but never once received a reply.”

Mary looked up at Jon, her watery gaze riveted to his face.

“When she finally had enough money saved, she was ready to leave behind everything she had built for her life. But as she was leaving, she was stopped by another man—one who thought he owned her and could do what he willed to her. Instead of letting her go, he killed her.”

Mary suppressed a gasp with her thin fingers.

“I was about three years old at the time. A neighbor took me in and raised me as her own. At what point your father learned of my mother’s death, I do not know. But the inheritance left to me by our father is small compared to the pain my mother endured.” Jon stared into the gloomy fireplace and presently heard Mary sniffle.

Moments later, she finally spoke. “I’ll have Mr. March show you to your rooms. The solicitor will arrive in the morning. Supper is at eight.”

Jon snapped his head around and looked at his half-sister. Hadn’t she heard a word he’d said? Maybe she would rather keep cobwebs on the past, but he intended to find answers to his questions before leaving England. He left the room and found Mr. March in the hall, apparently waiting to show him the way.

Following Mr. March up the main staircase, Jon once again noticed the plainness of the décor. It was as if his father had been a bachelor all his life—perhaps he had been one in his heart. The hallway was dimly lit. Jon quickened his pace to keep up with the old man. Portraits lined the paneled walls, undoubtedly ancestors dating back several centuries.

“Your room, sir.” Mr. March stopped and opened a door near the end of the corridor.

Jon ducked his head and passed through the doorway. A stately room greeted him, and although musty, it looked clean. The furnishings were dark, the coverlet on the bed a deep blue. Crossing to the large windows, Jon gazed at the backside of the estate. The sprawling lawns were dotted with trees and cut in half by a river.

“Anything else, sir?” Mr. March asked.

Jon shook his head and thanked him.

“Very well. Until supper then.”

After the butler left, Jon started unpacking when a soft knock sounded on the door.

Mary was on the other side, her eyes rimmed in red. She held a book up. “You might be interested in our father’s journal. I found it a short time ago.”

He stared at the brown leather binding, then took it from Mary. “Thank you,” he said in a voice thick with emotion.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered, then turned and walked down the hall.

Left to himself, he moved toward the narrow windows, and opened to the first page and began reading. He’d read his mother’s writings, and now he held his father’s in his hands.

April 15, 1815

I arrived in Norwich yesterday. My father gave me a grand welcome home, but I can see from his complexion that he is very anxious. His health is failing, and he wants me married and settled so he can die in peace.

Lord, how I miss Helena. I should have thrown away all caution and brought her with me. We could have been married as soon as we reached English soil. Then my father wouldn’t have been able to object.

There is already talk of my marrying Shannon Worth. She is the perfect match, they say—wealthy, from a proper family, pleasant to look upon—as if these attributes could guarantee a marriage of love.

Helena, if I could reach across the ocean and pull you toward me, I would.

Jon scanned the next few pages. Most of the writing was similar, telling of how much he missed Helena. Then one entry stopped Jon.

June 1, 1815

Tomorrow I marry Shannon Worth. It is sudden. Father asked me when I intended on proposing. It wasn’t a request, but a command. My inheritance and the future of the Porter family depended on the union, he said. It’s been two months since I’ve seen Helena’s angelic face, and I am beginning to think she was a dream, not real at all.

Shannon is real, even though she doesn’t hold my heart.

As soon as my first son is born, I will burn this journal, and my second son will be forgotten.

The next entries were spaced weeks apart, with less and less mention of Helena. One entry documented the birth of his daughter, Mary.

The light was fading outside, so Jon lit a candle and continued leafing through the journal. Pressed between two pages, he found a letter. He opened the brittle, yellowed paper carefully. It was a letter from his mother. The writing was faded, but familiar. It told of his birth and her hopeful waiting for his return to Maybrook. His father had kept the letter through the years and hadn’t been fearful enough to burn it. Why? Nevertheless, the secret had been well-kept until his death.

Jon leaned back in the chair, gazing through the windows at the descending darkness.

Had Shannon Worth ever known of her husband’s divided heart?

Chapter Twenty-six

Jon entered the dining room at eight and found Mary seated at the table with her husband and two children. They were somber and formal when introduced.

Throughout dinner, Mr. Reine made an attempt at light conversation, but Jon found it superficial and pointless. Jon answered politely, but finally the man fell silent. With the formalities of their first meal over, Mary requested Jon join them in the library.

The children were shuffled off by a maid, and Jon followed his hosts to the library. Once seated, Mary began. “We’re ready to vacate the home upon your request.”

Of course matters had to come to this. “I haven’t finalized my decision, but will do so tomorrow, after meeting with the solicitors.”

“Of course,” she said. “My husband and I have overseen the care of the estate for several years as Father’s health declined and he continually put more and more responsibility upon us. It was our assumption that we would be the permanent caretakers of the place. That is, until the will was read.”

Jon winced at the familiar territory. “No doubt I was left the property out of guilt.”

Mary’s face grew pale, and her husband’s face reddened. “We don’t envy your inheritance, Mr. Porter,” Mr. Reine said.

“Of course you don’t,” Jon said in a careful voice. “The old man must have left you something.”

Mr. and Mrs. Reine glanced at each other.

“Well?” Jon prompted.

“He did leave some property which provides a modest income,” Mary said quietly.

“But not what you feel you deserved, I assume?” Jon asked.

Mary shifted in her seat and looked at her tightly clenched hands.

“Let’s meet tomorrow evening after dinner,” Jon said.

Mr. and Mrs. Reine stared at Jon, apprehension in their eyes.

* * *

Jon rose early the next morning and walked the misty grounds. Delicate dew clung to the leaves as the sun began to warm the earth. He kept his pace brisk to fend off the morning chill and to prepare his mind for the decisions ahead. Whatever bounty he bestowed on his half-sister and her husband must be a single, final act. He didn’t want this to drag on.

When he entered the massive front doors, Mr. March was waiting for him. “A letter has arrived for you, sir.”

Jon took the letter and saw Apryl’s familiar handwriting. He walked into the library and settled next to the cold hearth. It would be good to hear news from home.

Jonathan,

Although it’s only been two weeks since you left, it seems ages ago that I waved goodbye to you at the New York harbor. Since I don’t know when to expect your return, I thought I’d write this letter explaining recent events. The day after you left, Thomas Beesley visited our home. He explained what had really happened between the two of you. I don’t blame you, Jon, for I know that you only had the best interest of the Robinson family in mind, but I had to agree with Thomas. He laid the details out, and I realized that you had been far too critical of him.

Thomas confessed that he has loved me since our first encounter. In our first encounters, I thought he was teasing, but he began to tell me things that only the most ardent suitor could notice. At first, I was overwhelmed with a man expressing such sincere devotion and undying love, but soon I began to believe him. I couldn’t help but compare him to you. Perhaps it was wrong of me to compare the two of you, but I couldn’t help see what was lacking in our relationship when I compared you to Thomas.

My parents and I had quite a row about my change of mind, but eventually they began to see what I saw in Thomas. It breaks my heart to have to write this to you, but I’ve accepted a proposal of marriage from him.

You might wonder how that is possible, as I am yet engaged to you. But Thomas says you viewed our engagement as a business opportunity, as your inheritance amounts to so little. That knowledge helped me make my decision. I love Thomas, and now I know that what I felt for you was but deep affection and regard.

We have set the date for the first of June, and you will, of course, be an honored guest. I hope we can remain civil and on friendly terms. Perhaps, Jon, one day you’ll find someone you’ll truly love.

Sincerest regards,

Apryl Maughan

Jon let the letter drop onto his lap. Disbelief shot through him—disbelief and disgust for Thomas Beesley. Disgust for the entire Maughan family, who had allowed themselves to be tricked by a greedy man. Thomas didn’t love Apryl any more than… well… any more than Jon himself did. That’s what hurt the most—the fact that Thomas had told Apryl that her engagement to Jon was only a business arrangement, when Thomas was the one obsessed with money.

He opened the letter again and stared at the words until they jumbled together illegibly. Jon stood and began to pace the room. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered under his breath, “if I let Thomas Beesley have Apryl.”

He sank onto a chair. He was thousands of miles away. What could he do? Take the next ship back and arrive in two weeks’ time—after the ring had been chosen and the cake ordered? Pledge his love to Apryl then? Would she change her mind if he did?

A knock sounded at the door. “The solicitors have arrived, sir,” Mr. March said.

“I’ll be down shortly,” Jon replied. He placed the letter in his waistcoat pocket and straightened his collar. It was time to sign the final documents.

Two gentlemen were waiting in the library. They both stood when Jon entered. Extending his hand, Jon greeted them.

“I’m Mr. Rush, and this is Mr. Penchant,” said the taller man.

Jon sat opposite them at the head of the credenza and nodded for them to begin.

Mr. Rush opened his satchel and withdrew a stack of papers. “There are several documents that need to be signed. At the end of today, everything will be transferred to your name.” He proceeded to issue one document at a time, explaining the fundamentals of each.

Jon leaned forward, feeling the sharp corner of the folded letter in his pocket. It made him realize that his fortune would be his alone now, with no bride to share it with. After signing his name on the first document, he blotted the ink dry. His signature was added to the official papers, making him a multi-millionaire in a single morning.

With the paperwork done, Jon poured his guests a drink. They toasted to the successful transaction, and then Mr. Rush and Mr. Penchant were on their way. When Jon bid the men goodbye, he saw Mary hovering at the top of the stairs. He didn’t call her down yet. After the letter from Apryl, his decision about the Reines would be changing.

* * *

At nine that evening, Mary and her husband were seated in the library where Jon had stoked the fire into a roaring blaze. The place was entirely his now, and he wanted it warm.

Jon turned to his expectant audience. “I’ve made a decision on the house.”

Mary and her husband both watched him warily.

“For the time being, I do not plan to reside in England. And I do not plan to sell the estate. Thus, I need to hire an estate manager, someone who can be trusted to look after all of the details.”

Mr. Reine glanced surreptitiously at his wife.

“Perhaps the two of you wish to take on the task.” Jon looked back and forth between them.

Mr. Reine raised his eyebrows. Clearly, he hadn’t expected this development. “Wonderful! What would it entail?”

Jon smiled and folded his hands behind his back. “The offer will be more generous than if I were hiring a stranger. I think even the old man himself would be pleased.” He glanced upward. “You’ll live in the house and care for it as your own. A regular salary will be paid and all estate expenses covered. We’ll go over those details tomorrow. Your children’s educations will also be paid for.”

Mary’s eyes were shining.

“I expect a quarterly report on all the happenings, expenditures and events surrounding the estate,” Jon continued.

Mr. Reine nodded his head vigorously.

“If I decide to relocate to England, then you’ll be asked to move. So there is some risk involved. But for now, you’ll have a comfortable income and your childhood home in which to raise your children,” he said, looking at Mary.

Tears formed in her eyes. “We’re so grateful for your generosity.”

“I’m not as generous as you think. I expect a well-run estate in return. Also, I will be selling the other property.”

“Of course,” Mr. Reine said.

Mr. and Mrs. Reine stood and came forward to thank him. Jon received Mary’s kiss and her husband’s enthusiastic handshake.

Jon spent the next few weeks riding about the property with Mr. Reine, meeting the surrounding neighbors, and learning about how the estate functioned. With each day that passed, Apryl grew further from his mind. At night he slept fitfully, only to be awakened early in the morning with disturbing dreams about his parents and visions of things that had never happened. He saw his mother traveling on the ship to England, arriving and finding her love married to another woman. In a way, he was repeating his mother’s history—although this time, he was the one who had been rejected.

Mr. Reine offered to take him to visit some of the surrounding towns, then finally to London, where he’d take the ship back to New York. The night before leaving Norwich, Jon fell asleep easily, but his dreams took a different turn.

She stood before him, dressed in a white nightgown. The same one she’d worn the night he found her struggling through the mud. The gown was clean now, falling in soft folds about her body. He reached out to touch her, but she smiled and turned away, her hair cascading down her back, gently swaying in the breeze. She started to run, looking back at him, laughing. He ran after her as she zigzagged through the fields. Where was she heading? He tried to call out, but he had no voice.

The lighthouse loomed ahead. She ran into it and shut the door. He hurried to the door and tried to push it open, but it was stuck. Kicking with all his might, he finally forced the lock. She was lying on the floor, her nightgown spread out from her body, her hair a halo about her face. But something was wrong—she was writhing in pain and clutching her throat—eyes wide and staring.

He ran to her and lifted her head, cradling it.

“Eliza! Eliza!” He tried to yell her name, but no sound came.

Sitting up in bed, Jon wiped the dampness on his forehead. Even after the letter from Apryl, he hadn’t allowed himself to think of Eliza again. She was somewhere in Europe, only a ghost of his past now.

He knew he couldn’t change what had happened to her or what had happened between them, but he could try to forget. Pressing his temples against the throbbing pain, he sighed. Why was Eliza entering his dreams now? It was as if he had really seen her, had really chased her laughing figure, and had really cradled her head in his arms.

Jon crossed his arms over his chest, trying to squeeze away the aching sensation that had formed inside him. He lay back in bed, placing his hands behind his head. The sky outside was still black, and he knew there were many hours until dawn. He would stay awake all night, if only to not fall prey to such dreams again.

Eliza was in his room, standing over him. He wanted to ask why she’d come to Norwich. He couldn’t form the words. She smiled at him and reached for him, saying nothing. He didn’t intend to let her come into his heart, but Apryl wasn’t in the way anymore. Why was he holding back?

He felt her lips on his, and soon she was nestled next to him. It was as if they’d been together their whole lives.

Jon opened his eyes. He had allowed himself to fall asleep again. Pulling the covers to his chin, he concentrated on the coolness of the fabric. Eventually, the warmth of his dream faded, and he began to laugh at himself.

He made a sorry, rich bachelor.

“I’m in the lighthouse.”

Jon bolted straight up. “Who’s there?” He looked around.

The room was quiet. No one was in his room. Letting out a sigh, he settled beneath the covers again. Not only was he dreaming about someone he’d probably never see again, he was hearing voices… like Eliza did.

Chapter Twenty-seven

We’re leaving for London tomorrow,” Gina said, entering the room with a bright smile. She carried the paper in her hand. “Father has a bit of business there. I’ve always wanted to see London. We’ll be staying at his cousin’s townhouse, right in the city.

Eliza smiled absently and browsed through the paper for any news that might be of New York.

One item in particular stood out—an announcement for the wedding of Mr. Jonathan Porter to his fiancée Miss Apryl Maughan. The wedding date had been set.

The following day, Eliza stepped out of the carriage at a London townhouse. “It’s not much, but it’s cheerful,” Mrs. Graydon announced.

Eliza and Gina started up the stairs, leaving the driver to bring their baggage. They entered the front hallway together. The wooden floor shone in the sunlight, and the place smelled of lemon. “It’s beautiful,” Eliza said.

“Follow me.” Gina led Eliza up a set of narrow stairs. They entered one of the bedrooms. “It looks like this one’s ours. Two beds and a dresser.”

Eliza crossed the room and peered out the window. Below the bustle of the city street reminded her of New York. With the official wedding announcement of Jonathan Porter to Apryl, Eliza realized that she’d been waiting to hear about it. Now that she had, it brought finality to her thoughts of Jon. It was time to put him completely and utterly in the past.

“What do you think?” Gina asked.

She turned and smiled. “Perfect. I’ll take it.”

“Like we have a choice.” Gina laughed. “Let’s go have some tea.”

They descended the stairs together and the housekeeper, Rochelle, brought in tea.

Mr. and Mrs. Graydon only stayed a few moments before going off to meet friends. Gina pled a headache, so Eliza stayed behind with her. A cozy fire glimmered in the fireplace, and Eliza was content to sit and watch it while sipping her hot drink.

“I feel so grown-up traveling Europe,” Gina said.

“Somehow you look older.”

“I hope that is a compliment.”

Eliza laughed. “So, what are you going to do with all of your freedom tonight?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps freedom is overrated. I’ll just do what you do.” She let out a sigh. “Cambridge is quite close, and surely there are plenty of eligible bachelors there. Maybe we can visit.”

Eliza took another sip of her tea. “I already know one of those eager bachelors at Cambridge.”

“Oh?” Gina asked, leaning forward. “Do tell.”

“Nathaniel Prann.”

“The one from Maybrook who proposed to you?” Gina asked.

“One and the same.”

“You know, love isn’t everything in a marriage,” Gina teased. “But since you’re obviously not in love with Nathaniel… who comes to mind when you think of love?”

Immediately the image of Jon’s dark eyes and unruly hair appeared in Eliza’s mind.

“Why, you’re blushing. Tell me his name. Is it another mysterious Puritan?”

“I—It’s no one,” she stammered. “Just an ideal every woman carries, I suppose.”

“Very well, keep your mystery man to yourself,” Gina said. “As for me, I’m going to scour the bookcases and find the most scandalous novel to read.”

* * *

The following morning, the sun was high in the sky by the time Eliza awoke. Stretching, she realized that it had been months since she’d slept so well, and without dreaming. She looked over at the other bed and saw that Gina had already risen.

After wrapping her robe about her, Eliza went into the adjoining bathroom to brush her teeth. She gazed at her image in the mirror and fancied that she seemed older as well—perhaps twenty or twenty-one. She certainly felt wiser. After washing her face, she went downstairs in search of breakfast. Mr. and Mrs. Graydon were already gone, and Gina was reading in the parlor. Apparently she’d found quite a good gothic novel.

“Oh, there you are,” Gina said. “Eggs and toast are in the kitchen. When you’ve finished come sit with me.”

Eliza found the breakfast covered with a lid and still warm. She ate then joined Gina, who asked, “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a dream.” Eliza stifled a yawn.

Gina closed her book. “I have some good news. The funniest thing happened last night when my parents went to dinner.” A small smile crept to Gina’s lips. “They told me all about it this morning over breakfast. Last night, they were eating at the new restaurant down the street and couldn’t help but overhear what was being said at the table next to them.” She paused.

“And…?” Eliza prompted.

“It was a group of college students from Cambridge,” Gina continued. “My parents heard someone speaking like a Puritan.”

“No,” Eliza said.

“Yes. My parents were curious and got to talking to them. A young man at the table was none other than Nathaniel Prann.’”

“You’re teasing.”

“No.” Gina’s eyes danced with amusement. “My parents asked if he knew your family, and he pulled his chair over to their table and joined them for dinner. My mother said she thinks his thee’s and thou’s are simply charming.”

Eliza was speechless. But there was no mistaking that it was Nathaniel whom Gina’s parents had spoken about. Her friend continued to talk; all Eliza heard was a faint murmur. What were the odds of this encounter? What did Nathaniel think when learning that she was in town? Had he received her letter?

“…and he said he’d stop by this afternoon.”

Eliza’s mouth fell open. “Here?”

“Don’t look so surprised. Of course he wants to see you. I’m sure only as a friend, though,” Gina said, her voice teasing.

Eliza began to feel lightheaded. Maybe Nathaniel hadn’t received her letter. “Did he say something about me?”

Gina laughed. “He didn’t need to. My mother said it was written all over his face.”

By afternoon, Eliza was pacing the floor of the bedroom, ignoring the fact Gina watched from the bed with amusement. Eliza wore a pale green dress, and her hair was piled on top of her head. What could she possibly say to Nathaniel?

“Let me put a few ribbons in your hair,” Gina said.

“No. I don’t want to look like I primped too much.”

“Men don’t notice those things,” Gina said.

“Then why do it?” Eliza faced her friend. “Look, there’s something you don’t know.”

Gina clasped her hands together in eagerness. “Do tell.”

“Nathaniel has proposed to me twice.” Eliza sighed and sank on the bed. “I’ve told him over and over that we are not meant for each other, but he won’t give up. Meeting him will encourage him further.” She groaned and covered her face with her hands.

“Simply be honest with him,” Gina suggested, patting Eliza’s shoulder.

“I have been, but he won’t take no for an answer,” Eliza said.

“You must admit,” Gina said, “this all seems so romantic.”

Eliza moaned.

“Was that the doorbell? I think he’s here.”

Eliza dropped her hands and reached for Gina’s arm. “What am I to say?”

“Talk about the weather; that always works for me.” She flashed a smile.

“This is the last time I’m ever going to see him.” Eliza left the room and descended the stairs. Take deep breaths.

In the entryway stood Nathaniel, handing his overcoat and hat to Rochelle.

He was just as she remembered—a little taller perhaps. His regular clothing made him look older than the young man who had wooed her on the countryside of Maybrook.

“Eliza,” he said simply.

She crossed the hallway, and he took her hands and kissed her cheek.

“Thou are beautiful.”

“I see you haven’t changed your opinion of me,” she said.

Nathaniel laughed. “Never.”

Eliza offered a nervous smile and led the way into the parlor, where they sat across from each other. “What a coincidence that you met the Graydons last night.”

For a moment, Nathaniel didn’t say anything—so intent he was on studying her. “’Tis a miracle.”

Eliza flushed. “Nonsense. Just a… coincidence.”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

Her neck grew hot. “You’re very presumptuous.”

He grinned. “I’ve made some changes that I know thou wilt be pleased with.”

“Oh?” Eliza shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She didn’t want him making any changes with her in mind.

“I’ve decided not to return to Maybrook as a farmer.”

“I know. I received your letter while we were in France.”

Nathaniel continued, his eyes bright. “And I received your reply.” If he had, he certainly didn’t seem upset over her answer.

“I plan to repay Reverend Clement the money for the first year of school, then procure a scholarship to help pay for the rest.” He leaned forward. “I’m going to start my own religious branch—a more modern form of Puritanism.”

“Is there such a thing? I thought that Puritanism was a reformation in itself.”

“Don’t you see, Eliza?” he said. “Thou wilt not have to settle for being a farmer’s wife. I’ll have my own congregation, and I’ve already started writing a book about my ideas. Once people become converted to my true doctrines, I’ll make a living on the proceeds on my book.”

Eliza shrank back in her chair, glancing desperately at the door, wishing that Gina would come in.

“I’ll build thee a beautiful home, and our daughters will wear dresses with petticoats and ruffles—”

“Please stop, Nathaniel Prann.” Eliza’s throat constricted, and her cheeks flamed. She stood abruptly. “I’m so very sorry. I spoke the absolute truth in my last letter—I still feel the same. You must stop hoping that it will change.”

Nathaniel’s smile faded. “But I thought that was what thou wanted, and if I provided, thou wouldst change thy mind.”

Eliza crossed her arms. “No, I won’t change my mind.” The look on his face made her want to cry. She moved to the door, holding it open for his exit.

She avoided his gaze as he walked out of the door. She shut it firmly and leaned against it, realizing that she was shaking. She heard Nathaniel’s quiet thanks to Rochelle as he gathered his coat and hat. Despite her words to him, he was still the gentleman to the maid. Finally the outside door shut.

Moments later, Gina burst into the parlor. Taking one look at Eliza’s pale features, she asked, “What happened?”

Eliza sank into a chair. “I think he finally received the message.”

Gina’s eyes strayed to the window. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that. He’s coming back.”

Eliza turned her head and saw Nathaniel ascending the porch steps. “Tell him I’m busy.” She ran out of the room and up the stairs. There she hovered, listening to the voices coming from below.

Soon the door shut, and Gina came upstairs. She entered the room, holding an envelope. “He gave this to me and asked me to assure you that he’s only inviting you as a friend.”

Eliza took the envelope and opened it—inside was an invitation to a formal ball sponsored by the university. She looked at Gina. “Odd. He’s inviting me to a ball—he doesn’t dance.”

“Puritan restrictions?” Gina took the invitation from Eliza and read the details.

“This man has a lot of nerve,” Eliza mused. She lay back on her bed and stared at the ceiling. “This doesn’t sound innocent.”

“It’s harmless. After all, there will be plenty of interesting men there. I’ll go with you.”

“Just what I need… you coming so that you can pick out my future husband,” Eliza said and threw a pillow at Gina.

Gina ducked and started laughing.

* * *

The next two weeks the weather was blustery. Gina and Eliza got out when they could, but mostly they stayed inside by the fire, visiting with whatever distant relation of the Graydons happened to stop in. Letters kept coming from Nathaniel.

“A letter for you, Miss Eliza,” Rochelle announced one morning.

“Thank you,” she said and glanced at the address. She placed the envelope on the side table, upon a growing stack of unopened letters.

Gina watched with amusement. “Are you ever going to read them?”

“Not unless I grow desperate.” Eliza stood before the fire to warm her hands.

“What about the ball?” Gina asked.

Eliza shrugged. “I’m not going.”

“Poor Nathaniel.”

“Don’t pity him. Pity me,” Eliza said.

“I would never pity you, Eliza Robinson.” Gina sat on a chair. “Men fall at your feet wherever you go, and you don’t appreciate any of them.”

Eliza remained silent.

Rising, Gina joined Eliza at the hearth. “Are you going to tell me his name?” she asked quietly.

“Whose?”

“The man you think about when your thoughts are far away.”

“I don’t have the slightest notion what you are talking about,” Eliza said. “Don’t you have a scandalous novel to read?”

“That I do,” Gina said with a smile. She touched Eliza’s arm. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he feels the same way about you.”

Eliza opened her mouth to protest, but Gina flounced out of the room and up the stairs.

Taking a deep breath, Eliza knew she could never tell her friend that the man who occupied her dreams was about to marry another woman. She pulled a chair close to the fire and sat down, wrapping her arms about her. Clouds crowded the sky outside, making the light from the window dim.

“I’m in the lighthouse.”

Eliza froze at the sound of the voice. She’d thought Helena had left her alone for good. “What do you mean?” she asked the empty room. The fire sputtered, and a log crackled as if to answer. Eliza shivered despite the warmth. The journal had been found and Maeve’s murder solved. She’d even written to Jon about her dream.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please tell me what you want me to do.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

Eliza slept little, her mind wracked with why Helena continued to haunt her—even in England. There was nothing Eliza could do for Helena here. She didn’t dream, didn’t have nightmares, but maybe that was because she couldn’t sleep. When morning finally arrived, it dawned gray. When Eliza went down for breakfast, Mrs. Graydon met her at the bottom of the steps, a letter in hand.

“Another letter from Mr. Prann,” she said. “I think you should read it.”

Eliza took the envelope. Would she never be able to free herself of Maybrook? First Helena was speaking to her again, and now another letter from Nathaniel. She walked into the parlor and tore open the letter.

Dearest Eliza,

Tomorrow night is the university ball, which I would love to attend with thee. I hope all is well. Know that I’m praying for thy forgiveness for my bold assumptions. As stated in my other letters that you have not replied to, I am truly sorry for my behavior.

I only want thy friendship.

I’ll be on thy doorstep tomorrow night at eight. Answer my knock if thou wants to join me. If not, I’ll walk away and never contact thee again.

Sincerely,

Nathaniel

Eliza closed her eyes for a moment. Had Nathaniel finally accepted the inevitable and only wanted a companion for the ball? Eliza had two choices: Cower in the townhouse, dreading Helena’s voice, or go out and forget Helena’s torments for an evening.

She walked upstairs to the bedroom and sifted through the closet. There was one dress that she hadn’t worn yet since leaving New York, which might work. She pulled out the lavender gown and held it up to her figure. It would have to do.

That evening, Eliza and Gina were ready by seven-thirty. She paced nervously in the parlor while Gina sat engrossed in her book.

Eliza began doubting her decision. What if Nathaniel was trapping her into another long tirade about the alterations he was making in his life so that they could be married? She sighed at the thought. She had never asked him to make changes in the first place, and she’d told him that she wouldn’t marry him even if he did.

The minutes ticked by, agonizingly slow, but finally she heard a carriage arrive. Gina looked up expectantly. Eliza went to the door and opened it before he could knock.

Nathaniel stood on the porch, his hand raised. When he saw Eliza, his eyes widened. “Thou hast forgiven me,” he said, smiling. “I mean… you have forgiven me.”

Was he changing his manner of speech too? For some reason, it sounded unnatural coming from him. “We’re only friends?” she asked.

“Yes.” He agreed. “But I have to tell thee that you look heavenly.”

Gina laughed behind them, and the two of them followed Nathaniel to the waiting carriage.

The ball was in full swing when they arrived. Carriages lined the streets, unloading passengers. Nathaniel could barely contain his excitement and spoke non-stop about all of the friends he planned to introduce them to. “I’ve told them all about you.”

Eliza held in a groan. “What have you told them?”

“That thou are a wonderful young lady and maybe someday… I mean, your friendship is valuable, and I want them to meet you.”

Eliza smiled politely, but inside she was nervous—what exactly had he told his friends about her? Gina elbowed her, stifling a giggle. The carriage came to a stop, and Nathaniel helped her down.

They had arrived at a stately building, with dozens of stairs leading to the entrance. Nathaniel offered his arm to Eliza, and together they walked up the steps. The music grew louder as they approached. Soon after they entered the great hall, Nathaniel was greeted by another couple, then another. It seemed he knew almost everyone at the ball. Introductions were made and smiles shared. Gina was asked to dance almost immediately. By the time Nathaniel led Eliza to the dance floor, she was relieved to be away from introductions.

He wrapped one arm about her and held her other hand in his—his palm was perspiring.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“This is my first real dance,” he confessed.

Eliza pulled away. “I don’t want you to do something against your religion.”

“No, you don’t understand.” He drew her back into position, his brow creased. “I’ve been practicing for weeks; I wanted my first dance to be with you.”

Eliza’s neck grew warm as Nathaniel led her around the floor. His steps were awkward, but accurate. No one seemed to notice that a Puritan had joined their ranks. “Relax,” she said. “You’re doing fine.”

He smiled, sweat beading on his forehead. Glancing around, he whispered, “Do you think people are watching us?”

“No one is.” Eliza couldn’t help but smile. “And if they are, they won’t notice anything different.”

Nathaniel’s steps grew more fluid, and his shoulders straightened. Eliza found herself enjoying the evening, perhaps she was capable of maintaining a friendship with this ever-changing man.

Time passed quickly. Eliza danced with several of Nathaniel’s friends. Each of them had amusing stories to tell about him, and she found herself laughing along with them. She started to see Nathaniel in a different light, although that didn’t change her resolve.

When she danced with Nathaniel again, he glowed from physical exertion and the occasion of dancing with numerous girls.

“I’ve met so many delightful women here,” he sputtered. “All of them have been patient with my questions.”

Eliza smiled. “I’m happy for you. I’m sure you’ll discover that I pale in comparison to the women of London.”

He looked at her fondly. “You’ll always shine in my eyes, Eliza, no matter what happens.”

Glancing away, Eliza felt a lump form in her throat. Nathaniel drew her close. He began to hum softly in her ear, but Eliza remained stiff in his arms.

“Another thing that has changed about me,” he whispered, sending shivers down her neck, “is that I can show my affection for the woman of my choosing.”

The music came to an end, and before another waltz number started up, Eliza disengaged. But Nathaniel held her fast and continued to hum. “If you ever do change your mind,” he said. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Nathaniel, you said we were friends,” Eliza said.

“Friendship is a wonderful basis to build a marriage on.”

The spell had been broken, and Eliza pulled away. “Excuse me. I must find the powder room.”

Nathaniel released her, reluctance in his eyes. “I’ll be here when you return.”

She turned and moved through the crowd. She knew her cheeks were flaming, but she didn’t care who noticed. Once inside the powder room, she found an empty chair and sank into it. She squeezed her eyes shut. Coming had been a mistake. Nathaniel would never change.

After several minutes, she felt composed enough to reenter the ball. She’d find Gina and tell her she had to leave, and to pass the message to Nathaniel so he couldn’t stop her from leaving.

Standing on the outskirts of the dance floor, she scanned the faces. No one looked familiar—yet everyone looked familiar. Amid the swirling skirts, she couldn’t find Gina.

Eliza sighed, gazing at the churning mass of colors before her. One separated from the rest, and Eliza stared in disbelief at the man coming toward her.

It was him. Blood rushed to her head. She reached out and steadied herself on a marble column. Jon had seen her—the man who had haunted her dreams for months.

She glanced around, trying to spot Gina, who was nowhere in sight. Gazing forward again, she looked for him, but he’d disappeared also—maybe it hadn’t been him after all.

“Eliza?”

He stood next to her, those same dark eyes that she’d seen in her dreams a thousand times, absorbing her features. His hair was blacker than she remembered, his shoulders broad under a well-cut suit. But it was his countenance that seemed the most changed. He was a man with hope in his eyes.

“Hello, Jon,” she managed to say.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” he said.

“I think I have.”Her voice sounded tinny to her ears, as if someone else spoke the hollow words.

Jon’s eyes clouded. “You mean my mother?”

Shaking her head, Eliza took a step backward. He must be on his honeymoon—but so soon? Maybe they moved up their wedding date. “Are you here with your wife?”

A look of amusement crossed his face. “I’m not married.”

Not married? Her mind raced as she tried to comprehend. “But I thought…” Her face flushed. “Your fiancée then, of course.”

Jon took a step closer. “If you can believe it, Apryl left me for Thomas Beesley.”

Eliza covered her mouth. She didn’t know whether to laugh or offer sympathy. Thomas and Apryl? Of all the odd things to happen . . .

Jon seemed to read her thoughts. “I’ve no hard feelings anymore. It’s rather amusing when you think about it.”

Not married. Eliza tried to organize her thoughts. “Quite amusing.” His eyes stayed on her, quite unnerving her in fact. “What brings you to England?”

“I came to settle my late father’s estate in Norwich. I’m in London with his son-in-law, a Cambridge graduate.”

She nodded, hardly daring to believe that Jon was standing before her.

“I’ve a confession to make,” he said.

The music around them grew dim, and the people faded into the background. Eliza looked at him, her heart pounding, trying to remember what he’d said.

“The morning after I received the letter from you about my mother,” Jon said, “I hurried to your house and… finding you gone, I decided to try to catch you at the ship harbor. But I wasn’t allowed on board.”

Eliza stared at him. So it was him.

“And,” he paused, “I need to explain that I’m not Thomas Beesley’s lawyer, nor have I ever represented him.” He tilted his head, capturing her gaze. “I want you to know that when I return to New York, I’ll be in a position to help your father if he needs it.”

Thomas Beesley lied. All of this time, she’d believed him. Of course Thomas had lied—she knew his character better than anyone. What a fool she’d been.

“You never represented Thomas Beesley?” Eliza asked.

“No. I have a very little opinion of the man, and even less so now, if that’s possible,” Jon said.

She opened her mouth to inquire further, but Jon cocked his head to one side and said, “Now tell me what you are doing in London.”

“I’m…” She hesitated and glanced away, hoping Nathaniel was nowhere in sight. “Mr. Graydon has business in London for several days.”

Just then, Nathaniel appeared. “Hello, Mr. Porter,” he said, his greeting sounding more like a question.

The warmth faded from Eliza’s face, but she managed to keep a pleasant expression. She didn’t know what Jon would think of her being at the dance with Nathaniel.

“All the way from Maybrook? What a coincidence,” Nathaniel said.

Jon looked from him to Eliza, curiosity in his eyes. “Quite.”

“What brings you here, sir?” Nathaniel asked.

“I’m here with a relative who happens to be an alumnus,” Jon explained.“But even more surprising is seeing you here, Mr. Prann… at a dance.”

Nathaniel gave a curt nod. “I’m attending Cambridge.”

Jon remained silent, waiting for his question to be answered.

“And I’ve had a change of conviction,” Nathaniel said with a smile. “When I return to home, I will found my own sect based on the Puritan laws I was brought up on, but it will have a more modern understanding and flexibility.”

“As in an understanding of the art of dance?” Jon asked.

A flush crept onto Nathaniel’s face. “Among other things,” he said stiffly.

Jon nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, and I wish both of you all the best.”

Eliza touched Jon’s arm. “You’ll be in England long?”

“I depart tomorrow, as a matter of fact.” He glanced at Nathaniel, then Eliza. “Good luck with your plans.” Jon spun on his heels and walked away.

Nathaniel took Eliza’s hand. “What a queer fellow. So moody—”

“Excuse me for a moment,” Eliza said, tugging her hand away.

She turned away and zigzagged across the room, hoping that Nathaniel wouldn’t see that she was following Jon. As he reached the entrance of the hall, Eliza caught up with him.

“Jon,” she said.

He turned, puzzlement crossing his face when he saw her.

“Please wait.” She covered the last few steps, glancing furtively behind her.

“We can talk outside, if you don’t want him to see us,” Jon said.

Eliza hesitated for a moment then followed him. The sky was clear, with a bright moon, but the air chilly. She wrapped her arms about her with a shiver. “I wanted to explain.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” Jon said. “Would you like my jacket?”

“I’m fine.” Eliza lowered her gaze, searching for her next words.

“I think it’s wonderful that you and Nathaniel are together. His regard for you has been obvious all along.” Jon spoke the generous words, but his voice was empty. “He’s a good man, in addition to the fact that he’s changed his Puritan ways for you—a true statement of devotion.”

“I’m not marrying him,” Eliza blurted.

Jon’s expression was as flat as his tone. “He appears to think otherwise.”

Glancing away, Eliza bit her lip. “Not for lack of trying to convince him on my part.”

He was silent for a moment. “I should go.”

Eliza brought her gaze back to Jon, not wanting him to leave yet. “You received my letter?”

He nodded. “It must have been quite horrific for you to dream about her death,” he said gently.

“It still is.”

“You’re still dreaming about her?”

Eliza hesitated. “Among other things.” She felt Jon’s hand on hers, and her pulse quickened.

“Like what?” he asked.

His touch was warm and comforting somehow, but Eliza wondered whether she should tell him any more. This might be her only chance. “Your mother speaks to me, and she told me that she’s in the lighthouse. But I don’t know why she tells me that or what she wants me to do.”

Jon’s eyes flickered, but his face remained grave. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I suppose it’s her way of letting us know what happened to her.”

Her tears began to fall, and Eliza wiped them away. “What happened to her was awful. I only wish she was able to board that ship to England.”

Jon dropped his hand and looked past her. “She might not have liked what she found.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I’ve been in England to settle my father’s estate, among other things,” he said. “Apparently, my father married soon after I was born. If my mother had arrived in England, she would have found him with a wife and child.”

“But she knew about his marriage.” A sigh escaped Eliza’s lips. She’d read it in the journal.

“Seeing it would have been hard.”

“Perhaps it was better that she never came over to England.”

“Perhaps.” Jon brought his gaze back to focus on her.

Eliza tried to think of something else to say that wouldn’t be unpleasant. But the only topics the two of them had in common seemed melancholy—Apryl and Thomas Beesley, Nathaniel Prann, or Helena. Feeling deflated, she said, “I should get back to—”

“To your future,” Jon finished.

“No, I don’t—”

Suddenly, Jon took both of her hands and held them to his chest.

Eliza’s breath hitched at his touch.

“It was a great surprise to see you again, Eliza,” he said. “And… finding you in good health, enjoying the social scene, was more than I expected. I hope you’ll be able to put the nightmare of my family tragedy behind you.”

She nodded blindly, her eyes stinging. “But meeting you was a blessing, not a nightmare.”

Jon held her hands tightly for another moment before he reached out and stroked her cheek. “Perhaps dreams do come true.”

Eliza searched for the words to say—words to keep him from going away. But he turned and left, disappearing into the night.

She stood there for several moments, staring after him, oblivious of the twinkling stars above. Finally the cold air made her to return to the dance hall, where she found a chair to sit on. She was relieved that no one asked her to dance, for she was trembling and sure her eyes were bloodshot. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her breathing.

Perhaps dreams do come true. Just not mine.

Chapter Twenty-nine

The rest of the evening was a blur. When Eliza saw Gina, she hurried to her side.

“I’m not feeling well,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t have to explain.

Gina took one look at her and said, “I’ll fetch Nathaniel. Meet us at the entrance.”

The ride home was quiet after Eliza assured both Gina and Nathaniel that she was only tired and needed rest. Once they arrived at the townhouse, Nathaniel escorted both women inside.

After Gina disappeared upstairs, Eliza endured a clumsy goodbye in the form of a stiff hug with Nathaniel. Tonight had been nothing like she expected. She walked slowly up the stairs to her room, where she changed into her nightgown. Gina stayed downstairs, talking to her parents. Eliza fell into bed, clutching her pillow close, still feeling Jon’s warm touch on her cheek. Her tears could finally come, and she let them flow.

Eliza lay awake into the morning hours, afraid to sleep and dream. It wasn’t until after the sun had risen that she fell asleep, exhausted.

Soon after midday, Eliza woke with a start. When the events from the night before came into focus, she touched her cheek. Would she ever see Jon again? She rose and peered out the curtains. The normal business of the day seemed to be going on below, without her.

By the time the afternoon post arrived, the Graydons had left on errands. Eliza was dressed and sitting in the parlor, writing a letter home. Rochelle brought in the post on a tray and placed the letters next to her.

There was one from her parents, and another from… Eliza’s eyes widened at seeing Jon’s handwriting. She tore open the envelope and scanned to the end of the page. Nervously she began to read from the beginning.

Dear Eliza,

This letter may come at an inopportune time, but I have spent the whole of the night since leaving you, awake. Your connection with my mother is more remarkable than anything that I can express at this time. I tell myself over and over that I should be grateful for meeting you and Nathaniel in London. I offer my sincerest congratulations and know that you will be a strong and devoted couple.

I confess that seeing the two of you together made me anything but happy. I wasn’t prepared to feel this way upon seeing you again. Having said that, you probably don’t have the slightest idea what I am talking about.

When I received the letter from Apryl telling me that she’d fallen in love with Thomas Beesley, I was, in fact, envious. Not because she loved another, but because she knew what she wanted and had the courage to partake of it.

I did not think that I could look upon another woman and think of marriage—until I saw you at the dance.

Forgive me for my intrusion.

Sincerely,

Jonathan Porter

Eliza read the letter again and then a third time. Was Jon saying what she thought he was? That he truly cared for her? She dropped the letter onto the sofa and ran out of the parlor. “Rochelle, bring me my cloak.”

The maid appeared, a worried look on her face. “Where are you going?”

“To the harbor.”

“But a storm is approaching,” Rochelle protested.

“Call the carriage.”

“The Graydons took the carriage.”

“Then the wagon.”

Once the wagon was prepared, Eliza climbed in. She leaned forward, watching the passing scenery impatiently. She’d told the driver to make all haste, but he seemed to be driving unusually slow. Eliza retied the scarf about her head against the increasing wind. With luck, the weather would be too turbulent for Jon’s ship to depart today, and it would still be docked.

Even before they rounded the last bend, Eliza knew it was gone. Although she argued against the sinking feeling she had, when the harbor came into view, she couldn’t deny the fact that there was no ship in the harbor. Jon was gone.

Vendors were cleaning up their wares amidst howling gusts. She signaled for the carriage to stop and climbed out. Wrapping her arms about her, a fruitless effort to stave off the biting wind, she walked to the edge of the dock. Two ships were on the horizon, although it was difficult to tell whether they were departing or arriving. They might as well have been a thousand miles away, for all the good it would do her. Jon had left.

Head down, Eliza returned to the waiting wagon. The ride back to the townhouse was swift and cold. The single blanket did little to protect her from the icy draft.

Once inside the house, she went straight to the parlor and found the letter, unmoved, and took it to the hearth. Rochelle had lit a fire, and Eliza sat next to it, reading the letter over and over. Finally, she folded the pages and tucked them into her bodice.

Eliza had to tell Nathaniel the truth. He’d have to know she was in love with another man or Nathaniel would never give up. Even if she lived out her days as a spinster, she’d be more content on her own than marrying Nathaniel out of pity.

* * *

In the early evening, someone knocked at the door. Eliza sensed Nathaniel’s presence before she heard Rochelle greet him.

The Graydons were sitting in the parlor as well, and they all decided to go upstairs at once. By the time Nathaniel entered, Eliza was the only one in the room.

“Thou—I mean—you look tired,” Nathaniel said, taking her hands and gazing at her face.

Eliza lowered her eyes. “I didn’t sleep well last night.” Or at all. She gently removed her hands from his and directed him to sit down.

Nathaniel smiled brightly. “Well, I have good news that might help. I received a letter from home, and my parents have reconciled themselves to my change of plans.”

“That’s wonderful for you,” Eliza said in a polite tone.

“I thought it would be wonderful for us.”

“Oh, Nathaniel. Please don’t do this.” Eliza rose and crossed to the darkened window.

Nathaniel came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I awoke this morning with a feeling of dread. Please, tell me you’ve changed your mind and that you’ll marry me.”

She turned and faced him. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

His face paled. “Then it’s true. How I envy Jonathan Porter.” His shoulders sagged, and his composure began to crumble.

“What are you talking about?”

“The man who has your love will be blessed for life.” He turned and paced the room. “I should have seen it in Maybrook, from that first moment I saw the both of you at the lighthouse.”

“I hardly know him—” Eliza began.

“Love isn’t knowledge.” He stopped and looked at her, his eyes flaming. “It comes from here,” he said, bringing his fist to his chest. “Thou wilt never know, Eliza, how thy rejection has wounded me.”

“It hurts me, too, Nathaniel—”

“I’ve been a fool.” His voice rose. “A fool to fall in love with a woman who makes rejecting suitors a daily habit.”

She stared at him, his hurtful words burrowing deep. “I’ve always been honest with you. How dare you think I’ve been heartless.”

Nathaniel’s countenance fell. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.” He sank into a chair. “All of my plans have been dashed.”

Seeing him crestfallen, Eliza’s throat swelled. She crossed to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve no doubt you’ll find someone who will return your love. Give yourself the freedom to search for it.”

He raised his head and looked at her, his eyes bloodshot. “Perhaps thou are right. I gave up everything for thee. Love shouldn’t have to be that way, should it?”

She shook her head.

“I’ve seen reason and will no longer fall prey to foolish dreams.” He stood.

Eliza watched as Nathaniel picked up his coat and hat and strode out of the room, out of the house, and out of her life.

* * *

It had been weeks since Eliza’s return to New York, but she remained restless. The nightmares continued, although the voice had been silent. The daily tasks of shopping with her mother and writing thank-you notes for the welcome home visits she had received seemed pointless. And furthermore, she had no desire to attend social gatherings or parties—especially if it meant encountering Jonathan Porter without any privacy.

But she was afraid to go to his home and confess her feelings. So she waited and wondered if he’d contact her. He must know she was back in New York and wasn’t engaged to Nathaniel… Jon had probably taken precautions to avoid her, and she didn’t blame him. After all, he didn’t know how she felt. She kept his last letter hidden in her jewelry box. No one would ever see his words, though she doubted he meant them anymore.

Yet the words of his letter had given her the courage to return to New York and help her family face the business problems. There had been a complete split between Beesley and her father, but her father had secured a large investor making the rebuilding of the business possible.

She knew Nathaniel would have no trouble finding a young woman who would find happiness in his sun-kissed hair and bright blue eyes—a happiness she could never envision for herself.

During the daylight hours she listened to her mother prattle about who was doing what. But it was during the darkest moments of the night when her nightmares returned.

Each night she dreamt about Helena, and each morning she woke to her voice repeating, “I’m in the lighthouse.”

Soon, Eliza’s mother noticed the circles under her eyes.

“Are you ill?” Her mother placed a cool hand on Eliza’s forehead. “Maybe you should rest today.”

Eliza found herself agreeing, and as days passed, she spent more and more time secluded in her room. Even Gina had stopped visiting very often.

* * *

Spring arrived, and Eliza confined herself to her room, pleading a persistent headache. As brilliant greens emerged outside her window, a dark curtain had fallen over her heart.

One mid-April night, Eliza awoke from her sleep. She stared into the darkness—trying to remember her dream—then realized there hadn’t been one.

“Are you finally gone?” she whispered.

“Go to the lighthouse.”

A jolt passed through Eliza’s body. The voice was not giving up.

She knew that she had to go look in the lighthouse—if not for Helena’s sake, then for her own. She lit the candle by her bedside and rose. Packing took very little time, and writing a note to her parents even less. She hoped that they would not come after her, at least before she had a chance to discover the truth about the lighthouse. She needed to do whatever it took to get rid of the voice once and for all.

* * *

Stepping off the train at the Maybrook station, Eliza squinted into the bright sun. Nothing had changed about the sleepy town, and few people gave her a second glance. She hired a buckboard and horse, and loaded her single bag into the back. As she drove along the familiar rutted road, memories of Maeve flooded through her, and she found herself smiling.

Shortly after turning onto Main Street, she arrived at the constable’s office. She knocked at the door, and after a moment, it opened.

“Good morrow, Miss,” the constable said, surprise registering on his face. “Come in.”

Eliza followed him into the inner office and helped herself to a chair. “I’ve come to speak with Gus.”

The constable blanched. “Whatever for?”

She hesitated, eyeing the constable carefully. “I believe he knows where Helena Talbot’s body is buried.”

The constable’s face was a mask of stone. “Gus is not here.”

“Has he been moved to a different jail? Where can I find him?”

Averting his eyes, the constable spoke quietly. “He was released last month. Haven’t seen or heard from him since.”

Eliza gripped the edge of her seat, half-rising. “How could you release a murderer?”

The constable held up his hand, his eyes hard. “It’s cruel to imprison a slow wit, and he never confessed to the crime.”

Sinking back into her chair, Eliza let out a small cry. “He confessed his father’s murder of Helena to me. Gus wanted to avenge his father, and he tried to kill me. Isn’t that enough to hold him?” Her head began to spin, or was it the room? Before she knew it, she had pitched forward, and all went dark.

* * *

When she awoke, the first thing she saw was the constable’s ruddy face staring at her. “Canst thou stand, Miss?”

Eliza grimaced and rose to her elbows.

“Easy,” the constable said.

She let the constable help her to her feet.

“I’ll bring thee some water,” he offered.

Eliza nodded, her head aching from the fall. She ran her fingers along her forehead and discovered a growing bump. The constable brought a cup, and she gingerly took a couple of sips.

“Where art thou staying?”

Eliza looked at him in surprise. She hadn’t expected such a consideration from the constable. “I don’t know.”

“Ruth has been ill and hasn’t been seen in town much, but Goodwife Temple has a room she lets out,” he said.

“That sounds fine,” Eliza said.

“She lives above the bakery. Wouldst thou like me to walk with thee?”

Eliza shook her head and handed back the cup. “I think I’ll be all right. I’ve hired a buckboard.” She rose to go. “Thank you all the same.”

As she rode along Main Street, Eliza marveled at how everything looked as it had the year before—yet different, too. The people hurried along the boardwalk, their clothing ever conservative, their gazes respectfully lowered. She stopped in front of the bakery and entered the warm shop. Shelves were lined with freshly baked goods. The smell reminded her of Aunt Maeve’s home.

A stooped man stood behind the counter, dressed in a clean white apron. His watery gray eyes surveyed her with surprising steadiness.

“I’m looking for Goodwife Temple,” she told him.

The man nodded and rang a bell. Soon a woman appeared from the back room, looking as aged as the man behind the counter. “Yes?”

“My name is Eliza Robinson. The constable said I could find a room for the night here.”

Goodwife Temple appraised her then nodded. “I’ll show thee the way.”

Eliza followed the woman’s slow step up the back stairs. Two rooms were at the top of the landing, one occupied with personal belongings, the other bare except for a washbasin and bed.

The goodwife motioned her to follow. “This will be thy room. Master Temple and I are next door if thou needest anything.”

Eliza crossed to the window and looked out across the street. “Have you lived above the bakery long?”

“Many years now. After Mistress Talbot passed, we bought the place and turned the downstairs into a bakery.”

Eliza spun around and stared at the elderly lady. “Mistress Talbot?” So this was where Helena grew up. This might be her bedroom.

“Aye.” The woman looked at her with curiosity. “We didn’t need all of the room and didn’t want any space to fall into idleness.”

Eliza sank onto the bed, lost in thought. Downstairs was where Helena had probably first noticed Jonathan Senior watching her. The walls looked recently whitewashed and the floor polished. She traced the quilt beneath her and wondered if this was the same bed Helena had grieved for her lost lover. Goodwife Temple left the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

Chapter Thirty

The absolute silence woke her.

Stillness surrounded her like the soft quilts Aunt Maeve used to stitch. Eliza closed her eyes and tried to imagine Maeve’s home. The sturdy clapboards formed a square, and the second story sat upon the first like a well-designed birthday cake. Then the walls changed and stretched upward, narrowing toward the top.

The lighthouse.

Eliza sat up in bed. Helena is in the lighthouse. Eliza thought back to the last conversation she’d had with Gus. What had he said about where they hid the body? He hadn’t said.

If Helena’s body was somewhere in the lighthouse, then it hadn’t been buried.

“Now I understand,” she whispered into the gray light of dawn. “You want your body to be properly buried.”

The sun had yet to rise, but Eliza couldn’t waste another moment. She rose and dressed quietly, trying not to disturb her slumbering hosts in the next room.

Once outside, she saddled the hired horse Master Temple had tied behind the bakery for her. The mount stepped cautiously along Main Street, as if he knew it was prudent to be quiet. When they reached the end of the buildings on the road, Eliza urged the horse faster. Soon they were galloping along the way leading to Maeve’s property.

Only when the lighthouse came into view did Eliza rein the horse in. She panted as hard as the animal. Heart beating wildly, she climbed down and tied the horse to a nearby tree then she let herself into the lighthouse.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness inside. She wished for a candle. She took a deep breath. “I’m here, Helena. What do I do now?”

After waiting several moments in silence, Eliza felt foolish. Here she was, just before dawn, standing alone in a lighthouse, talking to herself. Not to mention she was still wearing her nightdress. Eliza turned and reached for the door. Then a shuffling sound above made her stop cold in her tracks.

She groped for the door handle in the dark then she saw the knob, suddenly illuminated in an orange glow. A deep shiver ran through her entire body as she realized with horror that a candle had been lit behind her.

“Thou hast returned,” a guttural voice said.

Eliza turned, terror filling her. Two large eyes peered from the shadows, grotesquely illuminated by the flickering flame of the candle Gus held in front of him. She covered her mouth, stifling a scream.

“Don’t be afraid, my dear,” a woman’s voice spoke behind him. “We’ve been expecting thee.”

Eliza stared as a slight figure stepped from behind Gus.

“Ruth?” Eliza managed to whisper. She was confused. “What are you doing here?”

Chuckling, Ruth took the candle from Gus. Her thin gray hair hung in strands about her wrinkled face, and the nightgown she wore was crumpled and soiled. “We might ask the same question of thee.”

Something cold and dark seeped into Eliza’s heart. Had Ruth been hiding Gus? Is that why no one had seen him in town?

“I heard thou was in Maybrook. I knew it was only a matter of time before Helena led thee here.” Ruth moved closer, eyes glinting in the candlelight. “She speaks to me, too,” Ruth said, linking her arm through Gus’s.

Eliza felt a sense of relief flood through her. Ruth wanted the same answers she did. But why would Ruth care for Gus now? Why would she harbor a criminal? “Then you know Helena wants a proper burial.”

A laugh erupted from Ruth’s small frame. As the pitch rose, Gus joined in.

Eliza looked from one to the other. “Am I mistaken, then?”

When Ruth’s body stopped shaking, she said, “No, my dear. Thou are correct—almost. Helena doesn’t plead with me as she must you. She threatens me.”

Cold shuddered through Eliza. “What about?”

A smile spread on Ruth’s wrinkled face, looking grotesque in the candlelight. “She wants her revenge. She’s an angry spirit, but I think I know what will silence her.”

Eliza’s breath caught, and she took a step back until her back touched the wall. Had Ruth already found the body and buried it? “She wants a proper burial,” she said again.

Ruth barked out a laugh and shuffled forward, holding the candle higher and casting her face into a deeper shadow. “Helena doesn’t deserve a proper burial. She was evil. She tried to hurt my brother—”

“My father,” Gus interrupted. “She tried to leave him and bring disgrace to his name.”

Eliza stared at Ruth. “Gus Senior was your brother?” she whispered.

The smile returned to Ruth’s face, and Eliza shuddered. Her mind spun as she remembered the words in the journal. Ruth wouldn’t have been happy if Helena had abandoned her brother.

“A sister will do anything to protect her brother and nephew from being abandoned.” Ruth took a step forward.

Of course… Dread filled Eliza’s stomach. “What did you do to Helena?”

Ruth chuckled. The sound turned into an eerie high pitch. “We gave her what she deserved—it wasn’t right that she leave my brother. So I helped him get rid of her, as we will now do with thee.”

Eliza gulped, and her hands automatically flew to her throat. She glanced wildly about the floor and along the walls for some kind of weapon, but there was nothing.

“Helena will never have a proper burial, but I’m sure she’ll enjoy thy company. She’ll see that she can’t haunt us anymore, for she’ll know it will only bring more death.” Ruth’s eyes narrowed as she held the candle high in the air.

Gus tapped the floorboards with his foot. “Under here is where thou’ll rest thy pretty head.” He sank to his knees and pressed his cheek to the floorboards. “It’s a secret,” he said, stroking the wooden planks beneath him. “I won’t tell…”

“She’s under the floor?” Eliza asked, her voice thin.

Gus raised his head, eyes smoldering. “Never tell—I said never tell.” He stood and began to move towards Eliza again.

“No,” she said. “I’ll never tell.”

Ruth held a pistol aimed at Eliza. “Revenge is always sweet, my dear.”

Eliza shrank against the door, grasping for the latch. She turned and pulled with all her strength.

“Move out of the way, Gus!” Ruth shouted.

Eliza felt his greedy arms encircle her and squeeze. She gasped for air, and it was as if her lungs couldn’t get enough. Just as she felt she would faint, the door crashed open.

A cloaked figure yanked Gus away by his hair. A shot from the pistol rang out, and Eliza screamed. Gus howled in pain and wriggled free from the figure, then staggered out of the lighthouse.

The stranger turned to Ruth, who switched her aim from Eliza to his head. With one swift lunge, the man had the pistol wrested away from her. Ruth screamed and sank to the floor, sobbing.

The stranger ran out of the lighthouse, in pursuit of Gus.

Ruth was crying in hysterics on the floor. “My gun!” she called out. She struggled to her feet, desperate eyes focused on Eliza. “Thou hast ruined everything!”

Eliza braced herself as Ruth dove against her. She fought off the old woman’s clawing hands and kicking feet. Then Eliza was able to deliver a strong blow to Ruth’s torso, which sent her sprawling backwards.

For a moment, Ruth looked dazed, and then she crawled to the door. Grabbing onto the handle, she pulled herself to a standing position. “I must save Gus,” she hissed. She stumbled out the door and ran in the direction of the ocean.

Eliza wrapped her arms around her quivering body. Several minutes passed before she felt steady enough to leave the lighthouse. Against the brightening horizon, she saw a lone figure returning. Panic caught in her throat. Was it Gus? She ran to her horse then started to untie it with shaking fingers.

“Wait!”

Eliza froze. She knew that voice. “Jon?” she whispered in disbelief, letting the reins drop from her hands.

Then she was in his arms.

The trembling came first, then the sobs. He only held her tighter and stroked her hair, murmuring, “It’s over.”

When she couldn’t cry any more, she raised her face and gazed at him. “Are you really here?”

Jon touched her cheek, wiping tears from them. “I thought I was too late… when I saw the horse and the light inside… I could only hope you were all right.”

“But how did you know?” Eliza asked.

“Your father came to me for help when he found your note. Said you’d come to Maybrook, that you hadn’t been well… We came as soon as we could; your father went to alert the constable.” He paused, gazing at her long and hard. “And my mother told me you were in the lighthouse.”

Tears filled Eliza’s eyes again. “Her body is beneath the floorboards.”

Jon released his hold and took her hands, hanging his head for a moment. When he raised his eyes, they were moist. “We’ll have her properly buried so that she can rest in peace at last.”

Eliza nodded numbly. Jon led her to a tree and spread his cloak on the ground, but Eliza pulled back.

“They’ll return soon,” Eliza said, fear rising in her voice.

“No… Gus jumped.”

Eliza stared at him. “What?”

“Gus ran straight for the cliff. Didn’t even slow down,” Jon said quietly. “Ruth is out calling for him. I can’t believe the woman who cared for me all those years could do such a thing…” He sank onto the cloak, staring in the distance.

Eliza settled next to him. “I don’t think any woman with half a heart could turn away an innocent little boy.” She did wonder why Ruth raised little Jon, but perhaps the woman had compassion buried deep inside. Perhaps she couldn’t reject a little boy who had already been rejected by the town, even though she was angry at his mother.

They sat together as the sun began its ascent in the east. Its rays sparkled against the blue-green sea, and it was difficult for Eliza to comprehend the beauty of the morning after the horror of what had happened. Several moments passed before Jon spoke again. “Eliza,” he said then stopped, looking away. “I cannot abide what you must think of me… I was a coward to send that letter. I should have told you in person.”

She swallowed over the lump in her throat, not knowing what to say.

“I should have come to see you, but I was afraid,” he said. “Afraid of what I had revealed in the letter.” He looked at her expectantly.

For a moment, she remained silent. “Was it true?”

“At the time it was. I was confused, thinking you would be marrying Nathaniel,” he said, looking away.

Shaking her head, she whispered, “Oh, Jon, I told you—”

“I know. But I couldn’t believe it then, not after the way he looked at you.”

Eliza hung her head. He’d said he was confused. He probably hadn’t meant the words in his letter.

“You took my heart with you when you went to France,” Jon said. “I tried to make the relationship with Apryl work anyway. When she broke it off, I was angry because of the sacrifices I had made. I knew I was falling in love with you, but I was still willing to marry Apryl. I didn’t want to be like my father, abandoning my commitments. It wasn’t until you left that I realized exactly what I’d lost.”

Eliza raised her eyes, not daring to believe his words.

“My mother knew that I loved you before I did. She trusted you with the truth, and for that you paid a heavy price,” he said.

Biting her lip, Eliza felt tears begin to form.

“This belongs to you,” Jon said, removing a well-worn handkerchief from his waistcoat. The initials E.M.R. were embroidered in the corner. “I found it in your aunt’s house last year, and I’ve kept it all this time.”

She took the handkerchief, amazed that he’d held onto it.

Jon continued. “Until I met you, I was a self-serving man who cared little for anyone else. My only happiness was found in ambition. But I have changed.” He reached out and took her hand in his. “Being engaged to Apryl, I sacrificed my love for you, Eliza.” He took her other hand and stood, pulling her up with him. “But that has all altered. You have my heart now, if you want it.”

It was all she could do to blink back the tears. Were Nathaniel and Thomas really gone from her life? Could she believe Jon’s words at last? Her resolve melted; and she could no longer remain silent.

With a trembling hand, she touched his face, something she’d only imagined doing again in her dreams. But the flesh beneath her fingers was real—warm and alive. She touched his hair then let her fingers travel around his ear, down his neck, stopping at his shoulder. With each beat of her heart, she surrendered more.

He kissed her slowly at first, gently, his hands pulling her close. Then his kiss deepened, searching and exploring, and Eliza felt as if she’d melt against him. It was as if he couldn’t stop and never intended to.

When he broke away so they could breathe, Eliza clung to him and buried her face against this neck. His arms cradled her, and she felt safe for the first time in as long as she could remember. She lifted her head, and he gazed down at her, the corners of his mouth lifting and his brown eyes warm in the morning light.

“Will you marry me, Elizabeth May Robinson?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she whispered back.

The galloping of two horses reached her ears; her father and the constable had arrived. Everything would be all right. Everything would be taken care of now. Helena would be put to rest, and Jon… she gazed into his eyes and smiled. Jon would finally be hers.

Chapter Thirty-one

Jon’s hand reached for hers, and Eliza threaded their fingers together. The only sound above her pounding heart was the crashing surf a few dozen paces from the grave marker.

Helena Talbot

1798-1819

Rest in Peace

Eliza’s parents, Mr. Doughty, the constable, and several of the townspeople had left the graveside service, and now only Eliza and Jon remained. The headstone stood tall and elegant, like a buttress against the wind off the ocean and any future storm that might come.

Helena Talbot was at last buried properly. Jon had dug a small plot near the lighthouse, the place where he said his mother used to watch for his father’s return. The wind was cool today, and it stirred the cloak Eliza wore over her white dress and lifted wisps of hair about her face.

Gus’s body had washed out to sea, and Ruth was in jail, awaiting trial. Knowing what was in Helena’s journal about Gus Senior, Eliza understood part of Ruth’s motivation—she wanted to protect her brother, as wrong as it was for him to kill Helena before she could leave him. But still, Eliza didn’t understand why Ruth had decided to raise Jon. The only thing she could guess at was that Ruth suffered guilt, or she didn’t blame Jon for his mother’s actions.

Eliza and Jon had both written and signed statements to be read in court so they wouldn’t have to appear and testify. Their involvement was finally over.

He released Eliza’s hand and stepped behind her, his arms coming around her waist. She leaned back against his solid chest and closed her eyes.

“Thank you for staying with me,” Jon said, his mouth close to her ear.

His warm breath sent a tremor through Eliza’s body, and she smiled. “I don’t want to be anywhere you aren’t.”

His hands tightened about her waist, and his lips tickled her neck.

“Do you think she’s happy now?” Eliza said.

“Yes,” Jon said in a quiet voice. “Maybrook feels different. I believe it’s because my mother is finally at peace.”

“I believe it too. The first time she spoke to me, she told me to jump off the cliff.” Eliza turned in Jon’s arms to face him with a smile. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. Raising her hand, she smoothed the concern from his face. “Don’t worry. She became more friendly once she got to know me.”

Jon’s expression softened, and Eliza could hardly believe this wasn’t all a dream sometimes—standing here, in Jon’s arms, with him looking at her like this. “If she’s watching, would she be pleased about our engagement?”

One side of Jon’s mouth lifted. “How could she not?” He lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers.

The touch of his mouth was divine, and Eliza wrapped her arms around his waist then laid her head against his chest. “What if she protests the wedding?”

Jon’s hands moved up her back, then to her shoulders. His fingers touched her neck. “We’ll find out soon enough.” He started to undo the bun she’d twisted her hair into.

“Jon, what are you doing?” She drew away, until she could see him properly.

He paused, looking into her eyes; Eliza felt the heat of his gaze envelope her body. His gaze still intent on her, he finished undoing her hair. It tumbled nearly to her waist.

“I think that had my mother lived long enough to meet you,” he said, “she would have fully approved of her daughter-in-law.”

Jon’s fingers tangled into her hair, but Eliza was having a hard time focusing on their conversation. “How can you really know?” She never wanted the nightmares to return.

“Because,” he said, dipping his head toward hers, “she came to you for help. She knew she could trust you.”

Eliza reached her hands up and placed them on each side of Jon’s face. It was remarkable to think that during the night they’d spent in jail, she thought he hated her. But now, she understood. The darkness in his eyes had been the pain of losing both of his parents and growing up as a lonely soul.

“You look too serious,” he said, brushing his lips against her neck.

Eliza let a smile escape. “I’m so glad you rescued me that night.”

He lifted his head and looked at her, his brown eyes warm and intense at the same time. “You rescued me too. You are everything to me, Eliza.”

She stared at him for a moment. “I love you,” she whispered. Her hands moved behind his neck, and she lifted up on her toes to meet his lips.

His kiss was warm and patient. She knew he was holding back. It would not be much longer before they’d become husband and wife. Eliza released her hold on him and stepped away, then grasped his hands.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded, tears burning her eyes. She blinked them back and stooped to pick up a basket of cut flowers she’d brought with her to the grave. Jon took several flowers from it then walked to the headstone. He knelt in the newly turned earth and placed the flowers at the base of the stone. He lifted one hand and rested it on top of the stone.

Eliza joined Jon at the headstone. She spread the rest of the flowers at the base of the headstone, then knelt next to him, careful that her cloak covered the white of her dress so it wouldn’t be soiled. The wind stalled, and it seemed for a moment as if nothing moved, that she and Jon were surrounded by the lightest air possible.

“Good-bye, Mother,” Jon whispered. “Rest in peace.” His hand reached for Eliza’s, and together they bowed their heads.

A few moments later, they stood, and Jon led her away from the burial plot, away from the cliffs and the ocean, to the waiting wagon. Jon handed her up to the bench as the wind stirred again, but Eliza welcomed the salty breeze. It lifted her hair from her neck and bathed her face in coolness.

Jon climbed up beside her and flicked the reins. The wagon lurched forward then rumbled toward the road leading into town. Eliza turned for a final look at the gravesite. Three doves had landed among the flowers, settling their snow-white bodies among the petals as if grateful to have found a soft resting place.

Jon turned his head, following Eliza’s gaze. Then he faced forward again, draping one arm around Eliza and pulling her close.

The ride to the Meeting House was quiet. The road seemed to be deserted—everyone must be in their fields or homes. Eliza gazed at each tree and expanse of road with fondness, a lump in her throat at all that had happened—cherished memories as well as things she wanted to forget.

When Jon reined the horse to a stop in front of the Meeting House, he helped Eliza down without a word. His eyes were moist, and Eliza knew that if she said anything, her own eyes would tear up.

Hand in hand, they walked to the open doors. Inside the Meeting House, a hush fell over the gathered assembly. It was a small group, just as Eliza and Jon had wished. Eliza’s parents were there, as were Gina and her parents, Mr. Doughty, and the constable.

The magistrate stood at the head of the room, his expression as austere as his black robes.

Eliza’s father rose from his seat at the front of the room and walked up the aisle. When he reached them, he shook Jon’s hand, then kissed her on her cheek. She slipped her cloak off and set it on the back bench, then linked her arm through her father’s.

Together they waited while Jon walked up the aisle and stood on one side of the magistrate. Then she and her father made their own journey between the pews to the magistrate. Tears burned at the back of her eyes. She heard her mother sniffle somewhere on the side of the aisle, but Eliza only watched Jon as she approached.

His smile was soft, his eyes tender as she neared him. Finally when she stood in front of the magistrate, her father released her and stepped away.

“Jonathan Porter, Jr.” the magistrate said. “Doest thou take Elizabeth May Robinson to be thy wife?”

Her eyes gazed into his.

“Yes, I do,” he said, his voice sure and strong.

Eliza felt the magistrate turn toward her, but she couldn’t look away from Jon.

“Eliza May Robinson, doest thou accept Jonathan Porter Junior as thy husband?” the magistrate said.

She stared into Jon’s eyes, seeing into his soul, knowing this was all she ever wanted and all she ever wanted to be. “Yes, I do,” she whispered.

“By the law of Massachusetts, thou art now husband and wife.”

Jon held his hand out to Eliza, and she placed it in his.

They had married in the very building Jon’s mother would have married his father in, had Mr. Porter come back for Helena. It seemed only fitting that Eliza and Jon marry in Maybrook—in the place they’d met and in the place that Helena was finally given rest.

Eliza didn’t want a high-society wedding, surrounded by the eyes of New York City. Her marriage was to be a private, sacred thing, one only she and Jon, with those they loved most, witnessed.

Jon tugged Eliza toward him, ignoring the solemn gaze of the magistrate. Before anyone could give their congratulations, Jon pulled her into his arms. “I love you,” he whispered into her ear, then kissed her in front of everyone.

When he drew away, her lips practically burned. The magistrate had stepped well out of the way, and Eliza was swept up in congratulations by Gina and her parents. Her mother came forward and embraced her, saying, “It’s not too late to plan a reception in New York. We can keep it as small as you like.”

“Mother, our steamship tickets are already purchased.”

Her mother’s eyes watered as she blinked rapidly, and Eliza drew her into a hug again. “We’ll only be gone through the summer.”

They planned to spend their honeymoon in Europe before returning to New York. They hadn’t decided whether or not they’d settle in the city or purchase an estate in the country, although Jon didn’t want to become too scarce, as he’d recently joined Mr. Robinson in a new business partnership.

Jon moved to her side, and his hand touched the small of her back. He leaned down. “Ready, Mrs. Porter?”

She smiled up at him. “I’m ready.”

“Not before you say good-bye,” her father interrupted.

Eliza laughed and turned to her father, hugging him. Tears budded in her eyes, and when her father released her, she swiped them away. She grasped Jon’s hand, and they retrieved her cloak from the back of the room then walked out of the Meeting House. The clouds had darkened, and the wind had grown stronger.

In the spot where their wagon had been was a sleek black carriage equipped with two horses. A driver climbed down from the seat and opened the carriage door.

“Jon, how did you arrange this?” Eliza asked, as the first raindrops fell from the sky.

He smiled. “It’s one of many surprises you’ll find along the way.”

Eliza wanted to kiss him right there and then, but she turned instead and waved good-bye to everyone. Large drops splashed onto the ground, and Jon ushered her into the carriage.

The ride to Boston Harbor would be long, and an open wagon would have been quite miserable, especially now that it was starting to rain. Besides a closed carriage offered more privacy. The driver shut the door. Instead of sitting on the opposite seat, Jon sat next to her.

It was their first moment alone as husband and wife. Nervousness bubbled inside her. “I can’t believe we’re married,” she said, wondering what it would be like to be with Jon, truly with him.

Jon’s brown eyes were intent on hers. “Thank you for saying yes.” He grasped her hand and turned it over, then brought her palm to his lips then pressed another kiss on her wrist.

Warmth shivered through her, traveling up her arm, onto her neck and face.

“Are you blushing, Mrs. Porter?” Jon said, his tone definitely amused.

“Perhaps,” Eliza said. “Close your eyes, Mr. Porter.”

His lips turned up, his brown eyes steady. “Now why would I want to do that?”

“So I can do this,” Eliza whispered, touching his cheek with her hand, then pressing her mouth to his. She kissed him, a feeling both familiar and new at the same time. They were now married, and that changed everything.

This time his kisses weren’t patient. While the rain drummed outside of the carriage, soaking everything in sight, inside the carriage was like a blissful cocoon, and Eliza knew she would very much enjoy being Jon Porter’s wife.

Author’s Note

Dear Reader,

If you enjoyed Heart of the Ocean, please consider posting a review of the book on Amazon, Goodreads, or Barnes & Noble. Also, please feel free to email me—I’d love to hear from you: heather@hbmoore.com

Also, You can read Gina’s story in An Ocean Away found in A Timeless Romance Anthology: European Collection

Thank you for reading!

For more romances by Heather B. Moore, visit her Amazon Author page:

http://www.amazon.com/Heather-B.-Moore/e/B007HLYZ6A/

For more historical novels under her pen name, H.B. Moore, visit:

http://www.amazon.com/H.-B.-Moore/e/B001K8942Q/

Other Works by Heather B. Moore

About Heather B. Moore

Heather B. Moore is the author of a dozen historical novels, written under the pen name H.B. Moore. She’s the two-time recipient of the Best in State Award for Literary Arts in Fiction, the two-time Whitney Award winner for Best Historical, and two-time Golden Quill winner for Best Novel (good things come in twos!). Heather is an author of the Newport Ladies Book Club series (2012–2014), the Aliso Creek Novella series, and writes novellas for A Timeless Romance Anthology series.

Heather owns and manages the freelance editing company Precision Editing Group. Heather lives in the shadow of Mt. Timpanogos with her husband, four children, and one pretentious cat. In her spare time, Heather sleeps.

Author website: www.hbmoore.com

Blog: http://mywriterslair.blogspot.com/

Twitter: @HeatherBMoore

Facebook: Fans of H.B. Moore

Acknowledgments

I started this book several years ago, and as I took chapters to my critique group, the story unfolded with their plot and character suggestions. Often I didn’t know what was about to happen next, and when a critique member asked me, I honestly couldn’t say. We had fun brainstorming possibilities, and some of their ideas would show up the next week in a new chapter.

I did know one thing though: Helena Talbot was driving the story, and she wouldn’t rest until the mystery of her death was revealed. It was truly her story from the beginning through the end.

With so many years having passed since the first draft, and having published a dozen other books in the meantime, I had sharpened my writing skills. So it was with a bit of humility that I dove back into this manuscript for revisions, which made me realize how patient my critique group had been with my newbie writing skills.

Many thanks to those in my critique group at the time: Lu Ann Staheli, Jeff Savage, Annette Lyon, Michele Holmes, Lynda Keith, and Stephanni Hicken Myers. Like the ghostly voice of Helena, their voices haunted me as I worked on revisions.

“Heather, where are we?”—Lu Ann

“Why is everyone smiling all the time?”—Jeff

“There needs to be more romantic tension.”—Michele

“I don’t buy this scene.”—Stephanni

“Way too many comma splices.”—Annette

“Smiley faces!”—Lynda

And of course my most favorite quote:

“What do you know about ghosts?”—Mother

As I dusted off the manuscript and plowed back through it over several stages of revisions, I possibly tortured my next round of readers. A thousand thanks goes to Lu Ann Staheli, Jillian Torassa, Mindy Holt, Julianne Clegg, Annette Lyon, and G.G.Vandagriff, who were willing to read through the newer version and offer valuable advice and much-needed editing. Thank you!

Also, a special thank you goes out to my wonderful proofreaders: Kari Pike, Sheri Wallace, Andrea Frisby and Rachel DeVaughn, who answered the call to proof under a tight deadline.