Can the heart be telling us something we can't quite hear?

Landscape artist Miranda Jones thought she was on track. Yet something feels off kilter. The subjects of her work all live in nature, yet she herself lives in the city. Her rep and her family emphasize money as the benchmark of success, yet her own goals have to do with the professional challenges of excellence, adventure, and authenticity. She plans a brief trip to join plein air artists in the Carrizo Plain to paint this year's extraordinary super bloom. Yet what she experiences is a journey that opens a chapter into a new life. At least it will, if she considers what might happen . . . when the heart listens.

Read the novella of protagonist Miranda before the saga begins Though the book stands alone, it also extends the Milford-Haven Novels, the critically acclaimed, best-selling series, a multi-generational saga. Based on Purl's BBC Radio drama Milford-Haven U.S.A.

About the Author
Purl, Mara: - Mara Purl, author of the national best-selling, critically acclaimed and multiple-award-winning Milford-Haven Novels, Novellas, and Novelettes, pioneered small-town fiction for women. Mara was named Fiction Author of the Year by The Authors Show, and her series has won more than 40 book awards. Mara's beloved fictitious town has been delighting audiences since 1992, when it first appeared as Milford-Haven, U.S.A.(c)-the first American radio drama ever licensed and broadcast by the BBC. The show reached an audience of 4.5 million listeners throughout the U.K. and won the Finalist Award at the 1994 New York Festivals World's Best Radio Programs. What the Heart Knows (Book one) reached #5 on Amazon's best-seller list. Where the Heart Lives (Book Two) reached #22 on Barnes & Noble's best-seller list, #7 on Amazon's Women's Fiction list and was ranked in Kobo's top-100. Mara's novellas When Hummers Dream and When Whales Watch also each also became best-sellers. Mara's novels and stories have collectively earned more than 30 literary awards. Mara is a guest-blogger for USA Today's Happy Ever After Book Blog, National Association of Baby Boomer Women, Romance Junkies, The Lady Killers, Boomer Brief, Plaid for Women, Women Speakers Association, and has co-founded two women's speaking organizations. As an actress, Mara was Darla Cook on Days Of Our Lives, and has won awards for her theatrical appearances in Mary Shelley: In Her Own Words, as well as critical acclaim for her performances in Becoming Julia Morgan and Sea Marks. She was named one of twelve Women of the Year by the Los Angeles County Commission for Women. Mara is married to Dr. Larry Norfleet and lives in Los Angeles, and in Colorado Springs. Visit Mara's website at www.MaraPurl.com. She welcomes e-mail from her readers at MaraPurl@MaraPurl.com.

“Every time I read a Tess Thompson novel I think, it cannot get better, and yet this novel could possibly be her best work...Absolutely worth five glorious stars.” —Cecly Ann Mitchell, author of Three Rings

She's afraid to take risks. He's an incurable daredevil. When tragedy throws them together, will it spark a lasting devotion?

Crystal Whalen isn't sure why she should go on. Two years after her husband's death on a ski trip, she's devastated when a fire destroys her quiet Colorado mountain home. And when she can't keep her hands off the gorgeous divorcé who's become her new temporary housemate, it only feeds her grief and growing guilt.

Garth Welte won't be burned again. After his ex-wife took most of his money, the downhill-skiing Olympic medalist is determined to keep things casual with the sexy woman he can't resist. But the more time they spend with each other, the harder it is to deny his burgeoning feelings.

As Crystal's longing for the rugged man's embrace grows, she worries that his dangerous lifestyle will steal him away. And although Garth believes she's his perfect girl, the specter of betrayal keeps a tight grip on his heart.

Will the thrill-seeker and the wary woman succumb to the power of love?

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Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical romantic women’s fiction with nearly forty published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on “Hometowns and Heartstrings.”

 

Book Excerpt:

Prologue

I was eight years old the summer I found home. I’d come to Emerson Pass, Colorado, sickly and pale from the Seattle mist and nagging gray to the land of indigo skies, deep rivers, and the sound of tall grasses rustling in morning air that smelled of wild roses and sunshine.

At the beginning of that summer, on a sunny day in June, Nan and I had already eaten our lunch, thickly sliced ham layered between pieces of homemade peasant bread slathered in butter. We’d washed them down with lemonade so cold it had made my throat ache. After we’d had our rest in the shade, Nan suggested we bring home a bouquet of wildflowers to decorate the kitchen table. My grandmother wasn’t one for lounging around. If the sun was up, so was she. A rule I’d learned after only a week in Colorado.

Nan and I walked along the bank of the river collecting brightly colored flowers that I had no name for in her worn wicker basket. I didn’t have a name for any of the trees or plants I saw. The trees seemed to come in many varieties here. There were some like the ones we had at home with green needles that smelled of the Christmas tree lot around the corner from our apartment during December. Here, my favorites of all the trees had leaves shaped like hearts. Breezes whispered through the leaves and made a sound like tiny hands clapping. They clapped for me.

Narrow as a board and strong as an ox, Nan wore a blue cotton dress that flapped around her long legs. A straw hat covered her silver hair, which she wore in a blunt bob cut just below her ears.

The river flowed gently and was a color of green I’d never seen before. “Why is the river so green?” I asked.

“Because the waters run deep. Like you.”

“Deep like me.” I didn’t know yet what that meant or how true it was. I hadn’t yet learned of metaphors or analogies. All I knew was that Nan talked that way sometimes and I loved it. I loved her.

Her arm, tanned to a golden beige from her summer work in her garden and alongside Pop in the horse barn, rippled with muscle as she dipped to clip a daisy for our bouquet. I looked at my own arm. Next to her, I was pale and sallow of skin. All winter and spring, I’d suffered from head colds and a recurring eye infection. I could not escape the chill no matter how much money my mother spent on the electrical bill in an attempt to warm our drafty Seattle apartment. Finally, blaming the cloudy, misty weather for my poor health, she’d packed me up and shipped me off to my Nan and Pop. I was to spend the entire summer on their small horse farm. Soaking up sun and my Nan’s hearty cooking, I’d come home transformed, Mom felt sure.

For the first few days I missed my mother. But Nan loved me fiercely and made me feel safe and known in her warm, sun-drenched kitchen. “We’ll dry you out and fatten you up before we send you back to your mother,” she’d said to me that first morning.

“Nan, what’s the reason Mom didn’t come here with me?” I asked now as I plucked a purple flower from the ground.

“This place makes her sad.”

“Why?”

“She loved a boy very much and when he broke her heart, she had to run away to the city to try to forget all about him.”

The idea of my mother loving a boy was impossible to picture. She raised me alone with no mention of why I didn’t have a father like most of the others in my second-grade class. “Did she forget all about him?”

“I don’t think so.” Nan set down the basket and squinted her eyes, looking at something across the river.

I followed her gaze. I couldn’t see anything other than the sparkle of the sun on the gentle ripples of the river.

“Did you know him?” I asked.

“Not as well as I thought I did.”

Another riddle. Later, I’d understand. At least I figured I would. Mom often said I was too young to ask some of the questions I asked her. Maybe I was also too young to understand everything Nan told me.

I observed her strong, broad hands as she adjusted her hat. My mother’s hands were the same, only they were always stained with clay because she made pottery in her wheel. She sold her pieces at summer art fairs, but most of our money came from her job at the department store downtown that smelled of rich ladies.

“Nan, will I ever grow strong like you?”

“Oh, yes. You’re a sunflower. Do you know about sunflowers?”

“Not really.”

“They start out from a small seed. But once they break through the ground, they tilt their face upward, and the sun makes them taller and taller until they explode with a glorious yellow flower as big as my hat brim. Then, after they’re all grown, they make hundreds of seeds. In that way, they make sure the next generation will also be able to grow toward the sun. Always tilt your face toward the light, my love, and you’ll be fine all your life.”

“Have you been fine all your life?”

“I’ve had the most glorious life of all. Do you know why?”

“Because of tilting your face up at the sun?”

“That, yes. But also because of your Pop. We’ve loved each other very well for forty-five years. That’s the most important thing, Crystal. The love of your partner. You must choose wisely. When he comes, the idea of love might scare you, but you must do it anyway.”

“Was my mom a sunflower?”

“The most beautiful one I ever saw. Like you will be someday.”

“Will you still be here then?” I asked. “When I’m beautiful?”

“I hope so. I’m already old. Did you know I was forty when I had your mother? We didn’t think the good Lord would bless us with a child. We’d been married twenty years by then. I couldn’t believe it when the doctor told me.”

“Is that old to have a baby?” I didn’t know anything about babies. All I knew was that my mom had only been nineteen when she had me. I’d overheard her tell someone that once.

“It’s pretty old but not impossible. I had a friend who had a baby at forty-four. We thought we should have a club for geriatric mothers of babies.”

“You won’t die soon, will you?” I didn’t even want to think about my world without Nan.

“I will eventually but not any time soon, God willing. Watching you grow makes me want to stay here as long as I can. I sure would love to live long enough to see you all the way grown. But whether or not you can see me here on earth, I’m always right there.” She tapped my chest. “In your heart. Whenever you need me, just call out and I’ll answer.”

A shadow passed overhead, covering the sun for a moment. Nan put her dry, warm hand on my arm. “Look up, Crystal. That’s a bald eagle.”

A bird with wings as wide as I was tall seemed to ride the wind. Mesmerized by her graceful flapping, I watched as she swooped low over the grasses that swayed in the breeze and made the music of the meadow.

“I’ve never seen one this close,” Nan whispered as she took my hand.

The powerful creature dived into the grass and came up with a small field mouse in its her beak. We squeezed each other’s hands as she soared up and into the blue.

“Isn’t she something?” Nan asked.

“Yes,” I breathed. The strength and power of the eagle reverberated inside my own body. I grew robust as I stood there in the aftermath. She was there inside me just as the deep river and wild roses were. From then on, they lived inside my body and soul. They were me and I them.

On the way home, the warmth in the car made me drowsy. Nan didn’t believe in naps. She said they kept a person from sleeping properly at night. I fluttered my eyelids to stay awake. “Nan, what’s it like here at Christmastime?”

“Magical. They put lights up in all the trees and the storefronts. And it’s all white with snow. The skiers come, of course, which we like because they bring money to the good folks who live here.”

I peered out the window at the northern mountain. The wire and posts of the chairlifts seemed lonely hanging over the snowless brown ski runs. I turned back to look at the quaint, orderly main street of town. Hanging baskets with purple and yellow flowers hung from the brick buildings. People roamed the sidewalks as if they had no place to be other than exactly where they were.

“Did you know that no two snowflakes are alike?”

“How do you know?” They were so small, how could anyone see the differences?

“They put them under microscopes. I think, anyway.”

A little girl with a golden braid sat on a bench outside an ice cream shop. Her cone had a scoop of pink ice cream. Next to her, a blond man ate one with chocolate. My favorite. I sighed, wishing I could taste that sweetness on my tongue.

Nan must have noticed my covetous gaze. “Should we stop for a scoop?”

“Really?”

“Sure. We’ll bring a bowl back for Pop, though, or he’ll be sad. He loves ice cream.”

“Who doesn’t?” I asked.

Nan parked on the street, and we hustled over to the shop and each ordered a cone. She got a weird kind called rum and raisin, but I went with chocolate. She asked the clerk to set aside a scoop of maple nut for Pop. “It’ll melt if we bring it out with us.”

I nodded, then licked my cone. My eyes widened at the creamy, rich flavor. “This is the best ice cream ever.”

“Everything in Emerson Pass is better,” Nan said.

We walked outside. The little girl and her father were still seated on the bench. The man called out to Nan. Everyone knew her here. “Joy, how are you?”

“Jack Vargas. I haven’t seen you in months.”

“I’ve been working in Denver during the week. The company has an apartment there.”

“Brandi, you’re getting so big,” Nan said to the girl.

The little girl ducked her head. Shy, like me.

“This here is my granddaughter, Crystal. She’s here all summer, Brandi, if you’d like to come over to the farm to play.”

Brandi raised her gaze to inspect me. “Where do you live normally?” Her voice was as creamy and sweet as the ice cream. She had round eyes like a doll. Her skin was tanned and her yellow hair had white streaks in it as though she spent a lot of time outside. A pair of jean shorts and a peach-colored tank top were probably a lot more fashionable than the overalls Nan had pulled out of a box of my mother’s old things. Brandi was pretty. Too pretty to be my friend.

“Seattle,” I answered between nervous licks of my cone.

“That’s far away,” Brandi said.

“I had to come on the airplane.”

“All by yourself?” Brandi asked.

“Yes, but they made me stay with a lady the whole time. She was kind of mean. She gave me a pin, like a pilot has on his uniform.”

“Really? I’d like one of those. I’ve never been on a plane.”

My earlier envy of her beauty lessened. I was a city girl who had been on a plane. That gave me a little something anyway, even if I was skinny and pale as a ghost. “You can come over and see it if you want.”

Brandi looked up at her dad. “Can I?”

“I’d have to check with your mother, but I don’t see why not.” Jack Vargas looked a lot like his daughter, tanned and blond. His hair was cut as if he’d be on TV delivering the news. Actually, now that I looked at him more closely, he kind of looked like a Ken doll. Even his tan shorts and blue T-shirt seemed like something I would dress my Ken doll in.

He turned to Nan. “She looks like Jennifer at that age. I think I remember those overalls.”

“You know my mom?” I asked, so surprised I almost dropped my cone.

“They were friends when they were little,” Nan said. Why did she have the “Don’t ask for another glass of water and it’s bedtime” voice?

“Sure, right.” Jack tossed the rest of his ice cream cone into the trash can next to the bench. “How’s your mom? Is she here?”

“No, she just sent me. Nan says this place broke her heart.” Is that what she said? I had a feeling I hadn’t quoted it quite right.

Jack Vargas looked down at the ground, as if there might be something on his shoe.

“All right, then. We have to go.” Nan motioned toward the car with her chin. “I’ll get Pop’s ice cream.”

I gave Brandi a shy smile. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

“Not if I see you first.” Brandi giggled. “My dad always says that.”

I walked away, still smiling. Maybe I’d made a new friend?

I’d had no idea then that Brandi would become my very best friend in the world. That first summer turned into many more with my Nan and Pop. They were killed in a car accident the year I turned twenty, just shy of their eightieth birthdays. Everyone in town said they went out together, just as they always had for most of their lives.

Four years after their death, the richest man in Seattle came into the restaurant where I worked and asked me out; I said yes. I’d said yes again when he asked me to marry him. Even when the trolls of the internet tried to take me down, I stayed tall and sure like a sunflower. I knew I had not married him for his money. He’d been my heart. My true companion. My soul mate.

Then he died. Then I lost our baby.

A part of me died with them.

I could no longer breathe in the city of grays and mists. So I went home. Home to Emerson Pass and its indigo sky and snowflakes and Brandi. If someone had told me what awaited me there, I wouldn’t have believed them. The secrets of the past rose from the ashes to change my life. 

Chapter 1: Crystal

What is it the Buddhists say? To live is to suffer? I don’t know if they’re right, but by the time I turned thirty, I knew three truths on which to base my life. To love greatly was a risk that could and often did lead to pain. There wasn’t enough money in the world that could cure a broken heart. The only antidote to a soul split wide open was service to others.

On a morning in November, I padded to the window of Brandi’s guest room and drew back the curtain. A frost covered the ground. Fallen leaves glistened under the late-autumn sun. I hugged myself, shivering from cold.

The sound of the garage opening was followed by Trapper’s truck backing out of the driveway. He and Brandi had a doctor’s appointment with their ob-gyn in Louisville. Twenty weeks. They’d learn the gender of their baby. She would be fine, I told myself. The baby too. Soon I would have a little baby who would be like a niece or nephew. Brandi had already asked me to be his or her godmother.

From behind me, the creaking of the bed drew my attention. I turned to see that Garth had wakened. His long legs tangled up in the sheets, he lifted up on one elbow and gave me one of his lazy smiles. His wavy dark hair had flattened on one side during the night. In combination with an imprint of the sheet on his cheek, he looked like a little boy. But this was no child. This was a man. A good man. Good folks, Nan would have said.

“Morning,” Garth said with that sexy drawl of his. He’d spent time in a lot of places in the country, but his accent came from being raised by a Texan. “City Mouse, you all right?”

He called me City Mouse because he’d watched me try to cut wood into kindling one day. Until the fire came roaring through the southern mountain and took both our homes, he’d been able to see my house and yard from his deck. The flames would have taken me, too, if not for Garth. My devastatingly handsome dark-haired neighbor swooped in like that bald eagle had snatched the mouse and gotten me out of there alive.

Garth Welte. My eagle.

He’d saved me, and I’d given myself to him. My body, anyway. In the dark, I came alive under his touch. I was free of memories of Patrick then. In the mornings, though, I returned to the shadows, ashamed and guilty. This was the last time, I’d assure myself. But then another night would come.

“Are you cold?” Garth asked. “You want me to get you a sweater?”

That was Garth—always asking how I was doing or feeling. The laid-back drawl and low timbre of his voice soothed me like a favorite song.

I sat on the side of the bed, careful not to touch him. If I did, we’d be right back doing what we did together all too well. “I’m fine.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Garth said. “That last night was our last time. I’m moving out, and we need to get on with our lives. Separate from whatever it is we’ve been doing.”

“We’re a broken record.” I peeked up at him from under my lashes. “I don’t know why we can’t seem to stop.”

“Could it be because we don’t want to?” He sat up, positioning a pillow behind his back.

“But you know the longer we do this, the harder it will be to stop.” I smoothed my hand over the cotton blanket.

“And neither of us wants to get involved emotionally,” Garth said.

“That was a statement, not a question, right?” Had he changed his mind? Was he starting to fall for me? I had no idea what went on in that brain of his. As concerned as he always seemed for my wellbeing, he kept his own feelings to himself.

“I know what you want me to say.” Garth ran a hand through his hair.

“You do?” I asked.

“I do, and I can’t say it anymore.”

“Garth.” What was he doing? The rules had been clear. Sex. Friendship. That’s where it stopped. There would be no talk of anything long term. No feelings allowed.

“I know. I know I’m changing the rules. Or I want to.”

I sprang up from the bed and wrapped myself around the bedpost. “No, you don’t just up and change the rules.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t lie to you. I’m not made that way. Every time we end up in bed my feelings deepen for you.”

“Deepen?” I disentangled from the post and stepped backward toward the windows. Deepen was a verb, a changing thing. The deep green of the river. Like me. Isn’t that what my Nan had said on that day so long ago?

“I didn’t want to.” His eyes, the color of the apple-cinnamon tea my mother was so fond of, glittered at me from across the bed.

“I’ll never love anyone but Patrick. You know that.”

“That’s what you say,” he said softly. “And if that’s true, then you’re right. We have to stop doing this.” He stared at his hands. A muscle flexed in his cheek. He was gritting his teeth. Sometimes in the middle of the night I heard him gnashing them. He needed a mouth guard. But that’s the kind of thing a wife suggests, not a woman participating in a casual fling.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said.

“I know that.”

“If you’ve decided you’re ready for more, I’m holding you back from meeting the right person.” If anyone should have all the family trimmings of life, it was Garth. He was kind and patient and so very good. I’d watched him with the children at the shelter where we’d set up a place where the families who’d lost everything in the fire could stay until their new homes were built. He had a gentleness about him that drew the children to him.

The money for the shelter had come from me, but Garth was the heart of the effort. Especially when it came to the kids.

“I didn’t think I wanted something bigger than this,” Garth said. “I came here to live without complications. My divorce was enough heartbreak for a lifetime.”

I nodded. Garth rarely mentioned his ex-wife. However, it didn’t take a genius to understand how hard it had been on him. His parents had divorced after his brother’s death, and he’d vowed to himself that he would never be part of a failed marriage.

I should never have let this get started. I hadn't planned on sleeping with him. But after the evacuation we’d ended up at the same campsite. We’d been emotional and in need of comfort and had fallen into bed. Or in this case, a sleeping bag. I’d had too many swigs of whiskey. When he invited me into his tent, my fear and loneliness betrayed my better judgment. To my mortification, the whole thing had been a disaster. Afterward, I’d cried in his arms. I’d have thought that would be the end of it, but when we both ended up homeless, Brandi and Trapper had invited us to stay with them. Our bedrooms were way too close. The very first night, I slipped into his room. From that night on, we’d tried to resist each other, but somehow our chemistry kept bringing us back to the same place.

“Clearly the Welte men aren’t lucky in love,” Garth said with a wry smile. “But that doesn’t stop my dad.”

His father had been married four times to progressively younger women.

“I’m very fond of you,” I said. “You’ve been a great friend. I’d hate to lose that.” The thought of walking out that door crushed me. Thinking of being here without him left me chilled to the core. Still, I had to let him go.

"You’re right,” he said, sounding so defeated that I inwardly cringed. I’d done this to him. “We can't go on like this. I'm not the smartest man in the world like Patrick was. But I know people. I know what it feels like when a woman loves me. I can feel it in my hands every time I touch you. So go ahead, Crystal, deny it to yourself. I know better. But until you’re ready to let yourself live again, there’s no hope for us.”

I started shaking. Garth had never spoken to me this way. The raw emotion and anger in his voice scared me. Not as smart as Patrick? Did he think I found him lacking because of who I’d been married to?

“This has nothing to do with you missing anything,” I said. “This is about me.”

He cursed under his breath. “You’ve got that right.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Stop saying that.” He plucked his boxer shorts from the end of the bed and threw back the sheet before standing.

I averted my eyes to keep myself from gazing at his spectacular form. He’d been a winning Olympic skier when he was young. Even in his midthirties, skiing and working out had kept his body in great shape.

Skiing.

A ski trip had killed Patrick when the private helicopter they’d rented had crashed. No survivors. That’s what they’d said to me. Not, your husband was killed. There were no survivors.

Even now, three years after his death, anger sparked in my chest. Why had he chosen that trip? I knew the answer. He lived for adrenaline. Garth was the same. He tore down the slopes with that same reckless quality that killed my husband. He’d been all about risk and living large with no thought to how his behavior might have heartbreaking consequences for the woman who loved him. There was no way I would ever go through that again.

“It’s not because of anything you’re lacking,” I said. “You’re a skier. A daredevil. Which means I cannot possibly fall in love with you, even if I wanted to.”

He turned slowly to look at me. “What do you mean?”

“As you know, Patrick died on a ski trip.” I said this flatly and without emotion, even though my stomach churned. “Do I have to spell it out?”

“I’m a skier? And you think that’s dangerous?”

I let go of the bedpost and backed up toward the windows. “Yes. I know how fast you ski down the slopes. You set the world record, for heaven’s sake.”

“A dozen years ago.”

“You could die.”

“But I’m not going to.”

“You don’t know that.” Supposedly that ski trip was perfectly safe too. Just last year a man died on the Emerson Pass slopes when he lost control and hit a tree. “There was that guy last season,” I said out loud.

“He was an amateur on a slope he had no business being on.” Garth spoke quietly and calmly, as if I were an animal about to charge at him. “That was completely different from anything I do.”

“You share too many qualities with my late husband. And I won’t be left alone again.”

“I’m not sure what we have in common. He was a brilliant billionaire tech guy. I’m a mediocre attorney and former Olympian.”

“It’s a quality. I can’t explain it. A recklessness.”

Garth grimaced as he grabbed the T-shirt hanging from one of the bedposts and pulled it over his head. “I’m not reckless. I’ve spent my whole life trying to find stability. Skiing is not reckless, it’s just something I love.” He sat on the edge of the ottoman. “My entire life was defined by my little brother’s death. I’ve had this feeling that I had to live for both of us. Every day I ski is with that in mind. I’m still here when he didn’t get to be. Racing down a mountain makes me feel alive.”

“I know. Which is why I would never ask you to give it up.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Not for me.”

He rubbed his chin. “We have a connection, even if you think it’s only physical. A closeness that doesn’t come along every day.”

“We have chemistry in the bedroom,” I said, defensive. I didn’t enjoy being the bad guy. “But we’ve both known this wasn’t a long-term thing.”

“You’ll be rid of me.” Garth took his jeans from the arm of the chair, but instead of putting them on, folded them over his lap. “My house is done.”

I looked away, unable to stand the look of hurt in his eyes and in the tone of his voice. “We’re friends. That won’t change.”

“Sure. That’s good.” The finality in his tone told me he’d had enough. I’d managed to successfully push him away.

As he tugged his jeans on, I slipped into my robe, suddenly aware of how thin my pajamas were. If I wanted us to stay apart, then I shouldn’t be running around half naked.

“I’ll see you later?” I asked.

“Probably not. I’ll stay at my house tonight.”

He sounded so grim I almost reached out to him but knew that wasn’t fair. If we were to stay apart, I had to be strong.

When he reached the doorway, he turned back to me. “Did you have the kind of chemistry we have with your husband?”

I blinked, surprised by the question. How could I answer truthfully and not give him hope?

“Tell me,” he said.

“He and I loved each other very much.” Despite what others claimed, I’d married him because I loved him, not because of his money. The press had gone for my jugular when we’d gotten married. Forty-four to my twenty-four, rendering me a gold digger according to Twitter. “We enjoyed all aspects of a good marriage.”

“Was it as good as us? Because I find that hard to believe.” His eyes glittered with intensity as he stared me down.

“The things we’ve experienced together—I’ve never had that with anyone else, no. Not even Patrick.”

He smiled again, this time a little triumphantly. “Yet you claim there’s nothing here worth exploring?”

“Sex isn’t everything.” I sound ridiculous, I thought. Like a child. No one had ever given me as much physical pleasure as Garth. Still, I couldn’t grant him my heart.

“True enough,” he said. “But you said yourself we’re friends too. What’s better than being friends with the person you go to bed with every night?”

The air seemed to leave the room. “I’m not there. I’m sorry.”

“Fair enough. At least now we know where we stand.”

He didn’t give me a chance to say anything else as he opened the door and disappeared into the hallway.

Discombobulated, I sat on the side of the bed. Why did I feel strange and shaky? I do not care about him, I told myself. He’s just really good in bed. That’s all this is.

Anyway, this is how it happened. Love had sucked me in once and convinced me that all the broken, missing parts were fixed, and then he died on me.

Had I worried about my husband’s ski trip? Not at all. Back then I was still so stupidly sure everything would work out. I’d found the love of my life. For three lovely years we were happy.

After I’d moved to Emerson Pass and bought a home from an elderly gentleman perched on the southern mountain, I’d contemplated opening a restaurant. I could afford it, after all. The amount of money I’d inherited from Patrick was more than a hundred reasonable people could ever spend in a lifetime, unless one was interested in buying small islands and that kind of thing. However, I was conservative by nature. Nan and my mother had taught me that simplicity was best. My needs were simple. I wanted a quiet, unassuming life in the place where I’d been the happiest as a child. Garth had not been in the plan.

I went back to my maiden name. Other than a few friends, no one knew I was the widow of a famous tech billionaire. I’d opened a kitchen shop as a distraction from my grief. Perhaps because I’d been raised by a potter, I particularly loved curating beautiful pieces from small artisans and businesses around the world. In addition, I’d started giving cooking lessons once or twice a month in the kitchen. They’d become popular with the tourists especially. So much so that I’d hired a young chef, Mindy, in need of work to take over some of the classes. She’d been such a delight that I’d ended up hiring her full-time as my manager. Recently, she’d asked if she could buy me out, and we’d worked out a deal between us. As much as I’d thought it was a good idea to have a passion project, it felt right to transition it to someone who needed and wanted the work more than I did. By the end of the month, the paperwork would be completed.

However, as I heard the shower start in Garth’s room, I had to admit I was not doing a particularly good job of understanding my feelings. I sat back on the bed, unsure of what to do or think.

I wished I could talk to Nan. I needed her clear-eyed vision to tell me what to do. I touched my fingers to the spot on my chest she’d tapped that day by the river. Nan, what am I doing?

 
Shop the Emerson Pass Contemporaries series

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“This is a romance that is unique, funny and beautifully romantic. Be prepared to laugh and swoon and get mad…Trey, Autumn and the Wolfpack are going to have you laughing and falling in love at the same time. A perfect balance of angst and swoon, making for the perfect summer read!” —The BookFairy Reviews

For Autumn Hickman, online dating has been an exercise in nothing more than coffee and failure. There simply isn’t a man on the planet who can compare to her best friend, Trey Wattson. And while Trey is everything Autumn has ever wanted in a partner, she knows the man who loves life’s most beautiful things could never cherish anything as scarred and mangled as her.

Trey Wattson is in love with his best friend, but he can't seem to reach her. She’s guarded, and for good reason, but Trey doesn’t care. He knows Autumn’s soul, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Desperate to claim Autumn’s heart for his own, Trey conspires with The Wolves to create a fake profile on the dating site Autumn frequents. But the more Autumn trusts Trey’s online persona, the more it becomes clear that Trey is gambling with the very thing he wants most of all.

Return to Tess Thompson's beloved Cliffside Bay and discover for yourself why true love is built on honesty and trust, and why best friends often make the very best life partners, in this anonymous online romance set in your favorite charming small town.

Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical Romantic Women’s Fiction with nearly 40 published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on, Hometowns and Heartstrings.

Shop the Cliffside Bay series

“Once again Tess Thompson brings an amazing story to life and I'm already excited for the next book…” —Book Nerd Anonymous

Stone Hickman is the last of a dying breed. The former Marine believes in integrity, service to his country, a hard day's work, and taking care of his loved ones. When he meets the clever Pepper Griffin, their obvious attraction has him ready to count the stunning beauty among the people that he cares for. But Pepper doesn't share the instant connection. In fact, she wants nothing to do with him. And for honest, straightforward Stone, not knowing why only makes the rejection worse.

Pepper Griffin is the epitome of scrappy. For years she's struggled to make acting her career without any help at all from her famous father. While she's still accepting meager roles with little screen time, her best friend has steadily risen to the height of fame. To make matters worse, that very same friend is happily in love, newly engaged, and wants poor Pepper, whose love life is as sad and pathetic as her last film role, to serve as her maid-of-honor while Pepper's enemy, Stone Hickman, is sure to be the groom's best man.

Though Pepper despises the best man, she loves the bride-to-be more. To keep the peace, Pepper willingly includes Stone in the wedding planning process. When the unlikely pair find themselves stranded in a snowstorm while searching for the perfect venue, they'll have to work together to survive the chill even if that means thawing Pepper's heart.

Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical Romantic Women’s Fiction with nearly 40 published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on, Hometowns and Heartstrings.

 

Shop the Cliffside Bay series

 

“…I have read this whole series, and each book gets better. Missed was my favorite one yet. Overall, I can sum this book up in one word... AMAZING!” —Boundless Book Reviews

Return to the beloved beach town of Cliffside Bay, where USA Today bestseller Tess Thompson spins another emotional, intriguing tale about overcoming adversity and finding strength in love in this standalone story about Lisa and Rafael.

After years of struggling as a starving actor, Lisa Perry's dreams are finally coming true. Splitting her time between Los Angeles and Cliffside Bay, the young beauty has a successful television miniseries, her first movie role, and quality time with her best friends Maggie and Pepper. Everything is coming up roses until a single tragic moment changes Lisa forever.

Haunted by unshakable memories and near-crippling anxiety, Lisa must face a publicity tour full of crowds and interviews in order to move her budding career forward. And with the help of Rafael Soto, the head of security for Brody and Kara Mullen, she finally begins to relax. Though the pair are as different as night and day, something about her temporary bodyguard soothes the young actress, and soon their relationship turns from professional to passionate.

But what neither anticipates is that despite the obvious threats to a beautiful ingenue, it's actually her protector who stands in harm's way. Will Lisa and Rafael be able to face the danger awaiting him together, or are they destined to accept yet another tragedy they can't stop?

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Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical Romantic Women’s Fiction with nearly 40 published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on, Hometowns and Heartstrings.

Book Excerpt:

Chapter 1: Rafael

Rafael Soto had too many demanding women in his life. None of whom greeted him with a kiss after a long shift or wrapped their arms around him after one of his nightmares. The women in his life were married to rich dudes with enormous houses and fast cars. Like the America he’d served for three tours overseas, they needed him for protection, but not for love. All the hassle and none of the pleasure.

These were his thoughts as he opened the door of his old truck after a long day’s work and saw the blonde hurricane in high-heeled sandals bolt out of the Mullens’ front door. Honor Sullivan strode across the driveway toward him. He braced himself, as one should when face-to-face with a human tropical storm.

Flushed and out of breath, she stopped a few feet from him. Her giant diamond wedding ring flashed in the late-afternoon sunlight and nearly blinded him. “Hey, Rafael, you have a quick second?” She gripped a pencil. White knuckles.

He steadied himself with one hand wrapped around the door’s frame and looked into the brown eye of a hurricane. Technically, two eyes of the same hurricane. His free hand twitched at his side. Darned if hadn’t almost lifted it in a salute to his superior. Old habits died hard.

“Afternoon, Ms. Sullivan. What can I do for you?” Although they both worked for Kara and Brody Mullen, Rafael knew his place. He ran security. Honor Sullivan ran the career of former AFL quarterback Brody Mullen. Big difference.

“I won’t beat around the bush,” she said.

“I’d hope not, ma’am.” It occurred to him that Honor’s husband, Zane Shaw, was either the luckiest guy in town or the unluckiest, depending on what side of the storm he found himself.

“Kara told me the construction on the building is complete,” Honor said.

The building. Those two little words had possessed his every thought for months. His building. Six sweet apartments in a Victorian mansion that had drained every dime of his savings. The “renovation” that had chained him to the suits at the bank.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m headed there now to meet Stone and Trey,” Rafael said. “They finished the last details today.”

“Great. Here’s the thing.” Honor swept her long blond hair behind one shoulder. “Lavonne’s been living with us during the remodel.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lavonne, former neighbor, was now one of his tenants.

“He’s not, you know, like other people.” Honor pushed the eraser end of the pencil with her thumb three times, like she was sending a message in Morse code. “And he really needs that apartment.”

“I understand,” he said.

Her eyes glittered, scrutinizing him. “Do you? Because he doesn’t have anywhere to go, and he can’t afford a big increase in rent.” The woman had missed her calling. He could’ve used her for interrogation purposes during one of his missions in Iraq.

“He won’t have one. Lavonne knows that.”

“He told me you asked him to move to the middle floor because you changed the first floor into two larger apartments instead of three.”

“That’s correct,” he said.

“He can’t afford a two-bedroom. The studio was all he could manage. I don’t appreciate you screwing him over.” She moved closer to him. “That’s not how we do things in Cliffside Bay.”

He bit the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing. No taller than five feet and a few inches, she was like a jelly bean snake can. The minute you twisted off the lid, a plastic snake jumped out and hit you in the eye.

“Ms. Sullivan, I’m not sure where you got your information. I told Lavonne he could have the two-bedroom on the second floor for the same rent he paid for the studio.”

“He told me that’s what you said, but I couldn’t believe it. Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m not in the business of kicking tenants out on the street. Especially Lavonne, whom I consider a friend. That’s not how I do things, regardless of where I live.”

“How will you pay for all the renovations if you don’t raise the rent?” She pointed the pencil at him. For a moment he was back in Sister Rosemary’s seventh-grade English class. “That’s not smart business.”

“I’m not a smart guy.”

She flushed a deeper pink and lifted her chin slightly. “I didn’t say that.”

“No offense taken. I’m not a business guy,” Rafael said. “I didn’t buy the building to make money or even as an investment. I bought the building so my mother and her friend Ria and Lavonne and I could have a safe and beautiful place to live.”

“I don’t understand. Buying an apartment building without the intention of making money is ridiculous.” She stuck the pencil behind one ear.

“Maybe to you. But I’m a soldier. I protect my own. Lavonne’s my friend. I didn’t want him living in that damp, awful studio one minute longer. I aim to get my mother out of a neighborhood infested with gang activity. I’m knee-deep in debt because of it. But what’re you going to do? That’s as good as a guy like me can expect.”

She played with the diamond tennis bracelet around her wrist. “I didn’t believe Lavonne. He told me you guys were friends and that you would never let him down. I thought he was confused. I couldn’t imagine you saying that.”

He winced. What did that mean? “Why?”

“Because of the way you look. Okay, that sounds terrible, but you’re all Navy SEAL-ish and cop-like—you have eyes like scanning devices. And I’ve never seen your teeth.”

“My teeth?”

“You never smile.”

“I smile.” More now that he had veneers. Thanks to his job with the Mullens he’d been able to afford them. For years he’d perfected a tight-lipped smile to hide his gray teeth, damaged from the acne medicine he’d taken as a teenager.

“No, you don’t. You’re this dead-serious, stealthy guy in the background, like a black panther. I couldn’t imagine you having the patience for Lavonne.”

“Patience? Why would I need patience?”

“He’s like a child. Simple. You two couldn’t be more different. You’re a hero and stuff. Lavonne’s my nanny, although sometimes I think Jubie takes care of him and not the other way around.”

“We may seem different, but I’m an outsider. Like him.”

“He doesn’t always understand things, so I thought maybe he was confused.” She continued to look at him as though he was a criminal. Talk about eyes that scanned everything. Took one to know one.

“I understand why you would be concerned,” Rafael said. Lavonne did think slower than some. Sure, he wasn’t going to win any academic contests anytime soon. Exploitative assholes would take advantage of him if they could. However, Lavonne was more emotionally intelligent than most men, Rafael included. “Lavonne gets things on a different level than some guys. He’s all intuition. He knows when someone’s his friend. He says you taught him that.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. He told me about the time you were both living with the same foster family and how you looked after him. He told me what you did for Jubie. Taking her in, I mean.” Honor and Zane had adopted Jubie when she was six years old.

“She’s our daughter as much as our baby boy,” Honor said. “From the beginning, we knew she belonged with us.” “She’s an awesome kid. Before we had to move out for the renovations, Jubie and Lavonne came up to hang out quite often.”

Her expression was a mixture of curiosity and disbelief. “You’ve spent time with Lavonne and Jubie? Like real friends? Just like he said?”

“Jubie likes to look at my military medals.”

“That sounds like her,” Honor said.

“You don’t have to worry about Lavonne as long as he’s living in my building.” Rafael shoved his hands in the pockets of his khakis. “We’re friends.”

“Friends?”

Still with the suspicion.

“Yeah. Friends. We watch sports or hang out. We’re both new to town. It’s hard to meet people here. Everyone already has friends and doesn’t seem interested in more.”

“Are you talking about my husband and his friends?” Honor asked. “Are they unfriendly?”

“I’m the hired help, Ms. Sullivan. I don’t expect an invite to one of their poker games.”

“The Mullens don’t think of you as hired help.” Honor tilted her head to the side. “As far as the poker games go, he and the Dogs go way back. You know how men are.”

“Men can only handle so many friends,” he said.

“Something like that.”

“Anyway, you can rest easy about Lavonne. I’ve got his back.”

“You don’t give him beer, do you? He shouldn’t drink. It would be like giving alcohol to a child.” She played with the necklace around her neck.

“I’m not his babysitter. I’m his friend. That said, he’s never asked for a beer. I keep the fridge stocked with root beer just for him.”

She sighed and took a step back, her brown eyes calm after the storm. “Fine, then. I was wrong. I thought he was confused. I’m sorry if I insulted you. Sometimes I’m bossy and bullheaded. My husband’s quick to point it out.”

“It’s no problem. I understand looking out for the people you love.”

“I’m glad you’re Lavonne’s friend. I didn’t realize…the kind of guy you are.” She gazed up at the clear sky for a moment before looking back at him. “Your mother’s moving here?”

“That’s the plan. If I can talk her into it. She’s stubborn and independent, so it’ll be a fight.”

“Sounds like me.”

He nodded as he got into his truck. “Not a thing wrong with either one of you. Have a nice night, Ms. Sullivan.”

“It’s Mrs. Shaw now.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you took his name.” She didn’t seem the type. Maybe he had her pegged wrong, too.

“I’m still getting used to it myself.” Honor took the pencil from behind her ear and grinned. “Mrs. Shaw, wife and mother.”

“Good night, Mrs. Shaw.”

“Good night.” She turned in her high-heeled sandals and strode across the driveway and into the Mullens’ house.

“Hurricane,” he said under his breath as he turned on the engine. If I’d wanted to mess with Lavonne, I certainly wouldn’t now.

Not that he would have. He didn’t have much to claim as his own, but he had his integrity and his loyalty. Without those qualities, what kind of man would he be? Not the one his mama raised.

He was about to take off when Kara came running across the driveway.

Rafael rolled down the window. “Everything all right?”

Dressed in shorts, tank, and tennis shoes, she squinted into the light. “Yes, yes, everything’s fine. Brody’s plane’s been delayed. I didn’t want Michael to worry when he didn’t show up later.” In stark contrast to Honor, Kara Mullen was tall with an Italian complexion. As nurturing and even-tempered as anyone he’d ever known, it was not much of a stretch to imagine why she’d become a nurse.

“I’ll let him know on my way out,” he said.

“Thanks. Are you headed to the apartments?”

“Yes. The guys are waiting for me. We’re celebrating.”

“I can remember like it was yesterday the first night I stayed in that place,” Kara said with a shiver. “It was so cold and damp. I’d never felt more alone in my life. Now no one will ever have to suffer through another cold night in that place.”

“Stone and Trey have done a phenomenal job.” Between Stone’s contractor work and Trey’s interior design, the place had transformed from depressing to airy, beachy rooms filled with light.

“I’m so happy for you,” Kara said.

“I can’t thank you enough for letting me stay at Flora and Dax’s place these last few months.” Flora, the Mullens’ longtime housekeeper and her husband, Dax, lived in Oregon for part of the year, leaving their home empty. He’d been thrilled to stay there during the renovations.

“They were happy to do it for you. You’ve done so much for our family.”

He ducked his head, embarrassed. “Just doing my job.”

“You know it’s more than that to us,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“When I was over at Kyle and Violet’s the other day, Stone mentioned the renovations cost a lot more than you thought they would.”

He scratched his neck. “Yeah, I’m now beholden to the suits for the rest of my life.”

“I know you wanted a place for your mother.”

“Yes, ma’am. Worth every penny,” he said.

She flushed and shuffled her feet, then looked down at her hands. “Discussing money is so awkward. We want to give you a bonus. You’ve been beyond good to me. Trust me, having good security is life-and-death to me.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out an envelope. “This should help with the renovations. It’s a small token of our appreciation.”

He stared at the envelope. “This isn’t necessary.”

“It is to me. Open it later.” She patted the window frame and backed up a few feet. “You go have fun. Say hi to the guys for me.”

He watched her sprint across the driveway and disappear into her house. Unsure how to react, he tossed the envelope onto the seat. He’d look later and decide whether it was a bonus or  charity.

He drove out of the driveway, the Mullens’ palatial house in his rearview mirror.

***

Minutes later, Rafael arrived at his albatross. Located on the main street of town, the run-down Victorian mansion had long ago been turned into apartments. Now it finally fit in with the rest of the quaint, scenic town. With Stone’s help, he’d chosen a soft shade of gray for the exterior, and white for the trim and wraparound porch. He loved that stupid porch more than he should. There was just something about a porch that screamed family and friends. He’d already imagined his mother, Ria, Stone, Trey, and Lavonne gathered on a warm summer day for a barbecue. Against his better judgment, he’d sprung for a nice grill that was now tucked into the corner of the porch waiting for a few steaks.

Rafael Soto from Oakland owned a Victorian. Go figure. Life was nothing if not full of surprises.

The property was big enough for a small parking lot behind the house. Rafael took the spot between Stone’s truck and Trey’s vintage sports car. The vehicles were like the men themselves. Stone was a massive workhorse of a man, whereas Trey was compact and fast, both in mind and body.

He found them inside one of the first-floor apartments, leaning against the kitchen counter with beers in their hands.

“Hey, man,” Stone said as he reached into a small cooler and pulled out one of the IPAs from Zane Shaw’s local brewery. “We’re celebrating.” He tossed the bottle to Rafael, who caught it with one hand.

“It’s official. Operation Save Mama is complete.” Trey’s aqua-blue eyes seemed to dance as his mouth lifted in a slight smile.

“It’s surreal, I’ve got to admit.” Rafael screwed the top off his beer, then took a long swig. “God, I love the smell in here.” The scent of mildew had been replaced by the aroma of fresh paint and stained wood.

Rafael stomped his feet. Solid. Floors no longer creaked. Stairs were now sturdy.

“What do you think? Will this do for your mama?” Stone’s chiseled, almost hard features could scare anyone with a pointed look in their direction. Until he opened his mouth and it became obvious that he was a giant man with a giant heart.

“Do you think she’ll love it as much as we do?” Trey asked.

“Dude, you guys killed it. She’s going to love every inch,” Rafael said. They’d gone high-end with the cabinets and countertops in all the apartments. To give it a beachy feel, Trey had chosen white cabinets and light granite countertops, but dark floors. Light green paint on the walls looked anywhere between beige and white, depending on the time of day.

Two years ago, when he moved to Cliffside Bay for the job with the Mullens, Rafael figured his chances of finding anything to buy unlikely. Real estate in the sleepy seaside community rarely came on the market. The few available properties were way out of his price range. He’d given up his dream of owning his own home and moved into the damp and cold apartment on the top floor of the old Victorian.

When Old Man Cooper, as he was known in the community, had announced he’d like to sell the building, Rafael had gone to him with an offer. To his surprise, Cooper had a soft spot for veterans. With twenty percent down, he’d taken a loan for the rest, and the building was his. After inspection.

During inspection, they found as many problems as the Victorian was years old—rotting floorboards, plumbing problems, and electrical issues. The building was deemed unsafe for tenants without a major rebuild. Everything would have to be gutted and replaced. Knowing that additional financial debt was inevitable, and he’d have to live frugally, he’d gone forward with the deal. The debt didn’t matter. Now he had a place for Mama and Ria. Finally, he would get them out of the old neighborhood.

Stone took his baseball cap off and ran his fingers through his thick brown hair, then put it back on again. “We want the other third-floor apartment.”

“You two?” Rafael asked. “Sure.” The apartments on the second and third floors were two bedrooms. One of the second-story places was slotted for Lavonne. Rafael had the top-floor apartment with the ocean view, but the other one was still available. “That just leaves one empty on the second floor.”

“We decided we could afford it if we rented it together,” Trey said.

“I can’t live in that RV for another winter,” Stone said.

“And neither of us can afford a house right now,” Trey said.

“Plus, we need a place to entertain the ladies,” Stone said.

“What ladies?” Trey laughed. “It’s not like college. That was like shooting fish in a barrel.” He took off his glasses and cleaned the lenses with a cloth from his pocket. Although often in slacks and a jacket when he met with his fancy clients, Trey was dressed casually today in trendy jeans, a perfectly cut button-down shirt the same color as his eyes, and tan loafers Rafael wouldn’t be caught wearing, dead or alive.

“Rafael and I didn’t go to college. We were too busy defending our country,” Stone said as he tossed a bottle cap at him.

“Sorry,” Trey mumbled.

“I’m just messing with you,” Stone said. “My ego is plenty big enough without having gone to college.”

“Huge,” Rafael said.

“But let’s face it. We’re on some serious loser streaks when it comes to women,” Stone said.

“It’s because we’re broke,” Trey said.

“True,” Rafael said.

“Girls like dudes with money,” Stone said. “If you’re ugly, then you better be rich.”

“Which means you’re screwed,” Trey said.

Stone put everything he made back into his business and lived in an RV on his brother Kyle’s property. Despite his sophisticated, arty vibe, which women seemed to love, Trey didn’t stand a chance. An interior designer who had lost most of his money to his ex-wife and lived in the basement of an old lady’s house wasn’t exactly marriage material.

And what about him? He had a scar from a bullet in his shoulder and a scar on his soul from the moment in Iraq that he could never take back. No amount of wishing could make either of them disappear.

“I forgot to tell you. Lisa Perry asked about you the other day,” Stone said to Rafael.

“What? When?” Rafael asked.

“I was over at Maggie’s, installing a new shelf in the baby’s room, and Lisa happened by,” Stone said. “She was like, ‘Hey, how’s Rafael? I haven’t seen him around all summer.’” His voice went up in a terrible attempt at imitating beautiful, sweet Lisa Perry.

“You’re lying to me,” Rafael said.

“Swear on my life,” Stone said.

“Lisa’s the blonde one, right?” Trey asked as he put his glasses back on.

“The blonde one?” Rafael asked. “That’s how you describe her? She’s like an angel inhabiting the earth. Seriously, she’s the most beautiful woman ever born, not to mention sweet and kind.” He’d been walking past the church in town when she’d come out with Maggie and Jackson. At the sight of her, he’d stumbled on the sidewalk like a total dork. “Have you seen that show she’s in? Indigo Road?”

“Yeah, Violet made me watch it with her,” Stone said. “I did not cry at that one part, no matter who tells you differently.”

“How come you haven’t asked her out?” Trey asked. “I mean, given that she’s the most beautiful woman in the world and everything?”

“Lisa Perry doesn’t go for a guy like me,” Rafael said. “She belongs with a guy like Mullen.”

Stone tipped his hat. “True enough. Or rich guys like my brother and the rest of his friends.”

“What do they call themselves again?” Trey asked.

“The Dogs.” Stone rolled his eyes. “My brother thought of it. Which is embarrassing.”

“The Dogs. Rich, good-looking, successful. Gorgeous, smart wives,” Trey said with a mournful sigh. “Those guys have it made. We’re more like the mangy wolves of Cliffside Bay.”

Rafael laughed. “The Mangy Wolves. Perfect.”

“Wolves can be sexy,” Stone said. “We’re bad boys, right?”

“Rafael yes,” Trey said. “You? Not unless teddy bears are bad.”

“I’ll have you know I used to beat the crap out of anyone who even nodded sideways at my brother or Autumn,” Stone said. “And I was a marine, if you haven’t forgotten.”

“Other than your thick neck, it’s hard to imagine.” Trey gave him a good-natured shove.

“God’s honest truth, though,” Stone said. “I wish I could get somewhere with that sassy Pepper, but she hates my guts. I have no idea what I did.”

“You probably put your big foot in your mouth,” Trey said.

“In an attempt to be funny,” Rafael added.

“You two are going to make me cry.” Stone stuck his lip out and pretended to wipe his eyes.

“We may be total losers when it comes to women, and we’re dead broke—and you two are ugly—but we did good when it comes to this building.” Rafael turned to look around the apartment once more, admiring the gleaming chrome appliances. “Joking aside, I can’t thank you enough for making this place world-class.”

Stone grinned and hopped down from the counter. “Come on, we’ve got a surprise for you up in your apartment.”

“I don’t like surprises.” Rafael grimaced. Knowing Trey, he’d taken it upon himself to install some antique bathtub he’d had shipped from Italy.

“You’ll like this one,” Stone said as he grabbed the cooler of beer.

“I wish I had a little money left over to decorate,” Rafael said as he followed the guys out of the apartment. “My old crappy furniture is going to look even older and crappier now.”

“Yeah, but this is yours, man,” Stone said.

“No one can take that away from you,” Trey said. “Unless you get married and your wife takes everything you own.”

“Dude, we’ve got to get you laid,” Stone said. “Your bitterness is starting to stink up the place.”

They walked up the wide stairway that led to the third floor. When they arrived at Rafael’s new apartment, Trey opened the door and stood aside. “Go on in.”

Rafael gasped and froze in the entryway. “What the hell?” The main room was fully decorated. “It’s incredible.” Black and gray furniture with splashes of cobalt blue in pillows and lamps gave it a masculine feel but not overly so. “But how? I mean, all this stuff must have cost so much money. I don’t get it.”

“Kara Mullen,” Trey said. “She called me last month and said she wanted to pay for the entire apartment to be decorated.”

“But how did you know what I liked?” Rafael asked.

“I had to take some guesses from the photos you’d pinned on your Pinterest board,” Trey said.

Rafael went hot. “You know I have a Pinterest board?”

“It took a little digging, but I found it, Latinlover83,” Trey said with a laugh.

“Latinlover83? No way.” Stone doubled over with laughter.

“Okay now, calm down,” Rafael said. “I was collecting photos for when I could afford to decorate.”

“How’d I do?” Trey asked. “It was rough doing it without input.”

“You did great, man. Seriously.” The dark gray accent wall and white trim had been in one of the photos on his board. Abstract prints in soothing blues and greens that reminded Rafael of the landscape of Cliffside Bay hung on the walls. His medals were now in a glass display case on a bookshelf behind the couch.

Rafael walked over to the black stone gas fireplace. A framed photograph of his mama and him as well as an arrangement of seashells decorated the mantel.

“Your mom sent the photo,” Trey said. “She said you might like it for your mantel, so I got it framed.”

Rafael ran his finger over the bumpy pattern etched in the wooden frame. Mama smiled back at him, her narrow shoulders thrown back like she was the queen of everything. She was the queen. To him, anyway. He set the photo back on the mantel and turned to his friends.

“Check out the view,” Stone said.

“That’s the only part I expected,” Rafael said.

Trey pointed to the off-white waffle shades that hung from the windows. “I chose something simple. When these are down, you’ll still get some light, but they’ll keep out the harsh afternoon sun.”

In a daze, Rafael ambled over to the bay windows that faced out to the sea. They’d had to comply with height restrictions, but the view from this floor skirted above town and looked out to the long stretch of public beach at the end of Main Street. Today, umbrellas in every color populated the beach from one end to the other. Kids played in the sand; surfers rode waves; a long line of tourists waited in front of a food truck parked in the dirt lot above the beach. He sighed with pleasure.

“Come see the kitchen,” Trey said.

He followed his friend. The cabinets and granite were the same as the other apartments, but Trey had added a teal sea-glass backsplash. Vases and bowls in the same soft color adorned a shelf in the corner. “I’m going to have to learn to cook.”

He placed both hands on the distressed wood of the dark-chocolate-colored rectangular table. Like an upscale picnic table, long benches took the place of chairs. Three large pendant lights in the same sea-glass shade hung over the table.

“In case you ever have people over for dinner,” Trey said. “Kara’s idea.”

“We can have dinner parties like grown-ups,” Stone said.

“The three of us sitting around this table is just sad,” Rafael said with a laugh.

They went to the bedroom next. Trey had chosen soothing blues and distressed mahogany furniture. There was a partial view of the ocean from the west-facing wall. The other window looked out to the houses that crawled up the hillside. Directly below, tourists dressed in shorts and tanks strolled by with ice cream cones in their hands.

“This is really mine?” Rafael asked as he turned to look at his friends.

“It’s yours, man.” Stone raised one of his monster arms, biceps bulging, and tipped his beer bottle toward Rafael. “Hell of a lot better than our cots in the military, huh?”

Rafael raised his bottle. “Thanks for this. It’s more than I expected. More than I deserve.”

“Come on, let’s get another beer and enjoy your living room,” Trey said.

When they all had new beverages, Stone set his beer on the coffee table and plopped onto the couch with his arms folded over his massive chest. “I have something I want to run by you guys. Have a seat.”

Rafael and Trey sat in the armchairs across from Stone. “What’s up?” Trey asked. “You look serious.”

“What do you guys think about going into business together?” Stone asked.

“How do you mean?” Rafael asked.

“Do what we did with this one. Buy a building or house, clean it up, and either rent it out or flip it,” Stone said.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Rafael said. “For you two. You’re the ones with the talent. Plus, every dime I had I put into this place.”

“We could take out loans. Veteran loans,” Stone said. “My brother said he’d lend me some money if we wanted to get started. And he’s here if we need advice.”

Kyle was a commercial real estate developer. If anyone could help, it would be him.

“As far as what your part would be, you’re the most anal, organized, money-tracking bastard I’ve ever met,” Stone said to Rafael. “You could run the business and find us places to buy and flip.”

“My best friend from college is a landscape architect.” Trey’s eyes lit up as the idea seemed to take hold of him. “Nico might be interested in joining us. He’s working for a jerk down in San Diego right now. He’s coming up in a few weeks. We could talk to him about it then.”

“A fourth partner would be good. Less risk,” Stone said.

“Less reward, but I get what you’re saying,” Rafael said. “I’d have to keep my day job, though. At least until we started making a profit.”

“Would we need an architect?” Trey asked.

“We can hire that out if we need one,” Stone said.

“I’ll think about it,” Rafael said. He reached into his pocket for the envelope Kara had given him. Now that he saw what she’d done, he felt even less like cashing it. However, if he used it more like a loan for the business, he could possibly pay them back.

“Like seriously think or like blowing me off because you don’t want to hurt my feelings?” Stone asked.

“The first one,” Rafael said.

“We could be Wolf Construction,” Trey said.

“Wolf Enterprises. That sounds fancier,” Stone said.

“It has a nice ring to it,” Rafael said.

Stone raised his beer. “To the future.”

“To the future,” Rafael and Trey repeated.

A knock on the door drew their attention away from their toast. Who could that be?

“You expecting someone?” Stone asked as he crossed the room in three long strides and opened the door.

Lisa Perry and Pepper Griffin stood in the doorway.

Rafael’s stomach did a somersault as he rose to his feet. Even dressed in cutoff jeans and a tank top that hugged her slender waist, Lisa was otherworldly beautiful with her alabaster skin, white-blond hair, and ice-blue eyes.

“Um, yeah, come on in,” Rafael said, finally.

“Hello, boys.” Pepper Griffin was petite and skinny with white skin and black hair cut to chin level. He wouldn’t describe her as classically pretty, more striking, with dark eyes that seemed to take up too much of her face.

“What’re you girls up to?” Stone took his hat off and held it in front of him like a kid, obviously flustered in the presence of Pepper. The poor sap had it bad.

“We were at the bookstore and saw Stone’s truck.” Lisa crossed over and gave him a quick hug. They were on hugging terms? When had that happened? Stone lived on his brother’s property, which was next door to Jackson and Maggie’s place. Maybe they’d spent time together over the summer. He knew Lisa had been staying there for a few weeks at least.

“Come in. Have a seat,” Rafael said.

Lisa sat on the couch, but Pepper moved about the room, seeming to inspect every square foot. Stone watched her as he leaned against the mantel and drank his beer.

“We’re sorry to come by uninvited,” Lisa said. “This apartment is gorgeous.”

“Kara Mullen surprised me and hired Trey to decorate it,” Rafael said.

Lisa’s dainty hands clasped together. “Really? That’s so sweet.”

“Supersweet,” Pepper said. “Trey, it looks amazing.”

“Appreciate it,” Trey said.

“The Mullens must love you,” Lisa said to Rafael.

“They’re mega rich,” Pepper said. “This is nothing to them. That’s how rich people exploit the working man. They do something like this and their employee stays with them forever, even if you pay them like crap.”

“Pepper, how gauche.” Lisa shot Rafael a sheepish smile. “I can’t take her anywhere.”

“They’re very good to me,” Rafael said. Pepper was like her name. A little bit went a long way. “Trey decorated the entire apartment without any input from me. He totally nailed it.”

“He had Rafael’s Pinterest board for a reference point,” Stone said.

Note to self: Kill Stone in his sleep.

“I love Pinterest.” Lisa smiled at him, and his heart grew. “I’ll follow you.” The whole world fell away for a moment as they stared at each other.

“Maybe you two can exchange recipes,” Stone said.

“Or I could just cook something for you,” Lisa said to Rafael.

“I have a lot of favorite recipes.”

Cook something for you.

Lisa turned her attention to Trey. “Someday I’m going to have a house and I want you to decorate it. You did such a good job with Maggie’s home.” A hint of wistfulness touched her voice. “I’m in love with every room.”

“And Maggie’s baby.” Pepper perched on the edge of the ottoman.

Lisa colored. “I have baby lust, it’s true.”

Baby lust. Could she be any more adorable?

“I built everything in here with my sweat, blood, and tears.” Stone held up his giant hands. “With my bare hands.”

Lisa smiled at Stone. “You big baby. You’re wonderful, too.”

“Thank you. I feel better now,” Stone said, grinning. “Calluses are sexy, right, Pepper?”

Pepper lifted a haughty chin and shot darts from her eyes aimed right at Stone’s chest. “If you like dead skin, sure.”

Stone laughed and winked at her. Pepper turned away, focusing her attention on the bowl of seashells on the table.

Lisa pointed at the cooler. “Are you having a party and didn’t invite us?”

“Worker bee party,” Stone said.

“We finished the renovations and got this place decorated. We’re celebrating,” Trey said.

“Would you ladies like anything? We only have beer,” Rafael asked, remembering his manners.

Lisa nodded. “We’d love one.”

“We’re never one to turn down adult beverages,” Pepper said.

“And we’re celebrating too,” Lisa said. “Pepper’s been offered a movie role.”

“That’s great,” Trey said.

Pepper shrugged her narrow shoulders and tossed her black curls. “It’s a horror film. I’m dead by the end of the first act.”

“Her character just has to look in that closet.” Lisa’s eyes danced as she took a beer from Stone.

“I’ll get my own,” Pepper said when Stone reached back into the cooler.

He grabbed a beer and held it out to Pepper with a saucy grin. “No. You’re our guest. I insist.”

Pepper smirked and took it from him. “Yes, sir.”

Okay now. He wasn’t sure what was going on there, other than five thousand sexual sparks and a major attitude from Miss Pepper.

Stone settled back into the couch, returning the smirk.

“What brings you by, anyway?” Rafael asked.

“We’ve come about an apartment,” Lisa said. “Is there one available?”

Rafael almost choked on his beer. Lisa Perry, living in his building? “Just one. It’s a two-bedroom on the second floor.”

Lisa’s face lit up. “That’s perfect. We want a place to share.”

“We’ll be in and out because of our work,” Pepper said. “But we want an apartment in Cliffside Bay to be by Maggie.”

“I hate living alone,” Lisa said. “So Pepper’s agreed to put up with me.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Hardly. Until this movie role I was so broke she took pity on me and offered to pay for a place.”

“Stop it. That’s not true,” Lisa said, with a shy duck of her chin.

“Lisa Perry is about to become a huge star,” Pepper said.

“Did you hear about Raven yet?”

“Um, yeah. Sure.” Rafael knew everything about Lisa Perry that was possible to know without having said more than a half dozen words to her. Unlike some, information about Lisa was easy to find. She was an actress with a recent hit series as the main character on a period piece called Indigo Road that aired on HBO. He’d watched every episode. Twice. Next week, her first feature film came out. According to what he read on the internet, she was about to become the next big thing.

“Pepper’s going to jinx me,” Lisa said. “She tells everyone we meet.”

“It couldn’t happen to a sweeter girl,” Stone said. “I’m happy for you.”

“She’s not a girl,” Pepper said. “Why do guys like you always call women girls?”

Stone raised his eyebrows. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend.”

“Well, you should think before you talk,” Pepper said.

“Yes ma’am.” Stone saluted her. “A guy like me will take that under advisement.”

Pepper’s eyes flew open even wider.

“Why do girls like you always call us guys?” Stone asked.

“It’s very offensive. We’re grown men.”

“Oh my God, you’re such a jackass,” Pepper said.

“A guy like me or a jackass? Which is it?” Stone asked.

“You know what—” Pepper said, before Lisa interrupted her.

“Pepper, give it a rest.” Lisa put her hand on her arm. “Maybe we could see the apartment now?”

“Sure, yeah,” Rafael said. The thought of Lisa Perry living downstairs from him made him light-headed. Not like it would give him more of a chance with her. Frankly, it was probably the perfect recipe for misery. She’d have men over and he’d see every one of the bastards leave from his building having spent the night with an angel.

He left the guys with their beers and took the ladies down the stairs to the second floor. The two apartments were mirror images of each other. One had a peekaboo view of the ocean. The other faced east and would have beautiful views of the sunrise over the mountains. Since Lavonne had already chosen the ocean view, he opened the door of the other apartment.

Lisa squealed and did this cute bouncy thing on her feet. “Rafael, it’s gorgeous. You guys did an amazing job.”

Pepper was at the window. “We’ll see the sun rise.”

They’d gone with an open-floor concept in the first- and second-floor apartments, with the kitchen and great room one big room. Trey had assured him that it would be the best use of space and light. He’d agreed, knowing nothing about either.

The ladies loved the bedrooms and complimented the bathroom for being spacious.

“Pepper’s a total slob,” Lisa said.

“I am not.” Pepper smacked her playfully on the shoulder.

“Who’s living directly above us?” Lisa asked. “Are they noisy?”

Neither of the other guys had said a word about the other apartment belonging to them. Instinct told him to keep quiet for now.

“Not that I know of,” he said.

“When can we move in?” Lisa asked.

“Don’t you want to know the rent?” he asked.

Lisa smacked her forehead. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I forgot to ask.”

He kept his voice steady, embarrassed by the amount. “Two thousand. Includes utilities.”

“Great,” Lisa said. “We’ll take it.”

“Come on. I’ll get your set of keys.”

Chapter 2: Lisa

Lisa woke the next morning in the guest room at Maggie’s house and reached for her phone. Using the bank app, she pulled up her savings account. She stared at the beautiful seven-figure sum and grinned. Soon, she would invest most of it, but for now she liked to remember how far she’d come.

Her manager, Sasha, had negotiated a good deal for a relatively unknown actress. The director had wanted her after seeing Indigo Road. If she was smart and invested conservatively, she could make it stretch over the rest of her life. She might not get another acting job. It was possible. Raven could be a flop. They could change their minds about a second season of Indigo Road. One never knew. For now, she was content knowing she would never have to take another cocktail waitressing job or search for coins in the cushions of the couch.

In a few days, she would leave for weeks of promotional activities, including the premier of Raven. As part of her contract, she was to appear on a variety of talk shows. Her reward would be to come home to a cute apartment where she would have a few months to relax before heading north to film the new season of Indigo Road.

After they left Rafael yesterday evening, she’d texted Trey to see if he could decorate the apartment for them while she was away. He’d agreed to have it ready for them when she returned at the end of August.

She showered and headed downstairs. Maggie and Jackson would have been up for at least an hour. Lily woke early and liked to have her breakfast after a good snuggle with Mommy. Jackson would already be at the office. As the primary doctor of Cliffside Bay, he probably had a slew of patients waiting.

The house smelled of coffee and cinnamon. A freshly baked breakfast cake was cooling on the counter. Lisa took a big sniff but made a piece of dry toast instead. Standing at the sink, she ate her piece of toast and watched the sparrows play in the birdbath. She loved these beautiful creatures, so delicate and graceful, yet strong enough to soar across the yard.

Her thoughts turned to Rafael Soto. During the weeks she’d been at Maggie’s this summer, he hadn’t appeared at any of the parties or nights out at the brewery. She hadn’t asked anyone about him, not wanting to give herself away. Yesterday, she’d thought about taking him aside and asking him to dinner, but she was too shy. She couldn’t tell if he liked her. He was so reserved it was impossible to make a guess either way. Stupidly, she’d asked Stone Hickman about him. The answer was noncommittal. “He’s fine. We’ve been too busy with the renovation to do much but work.”

She followed the sound of Maggie’s music into the living room. Maggie was on the couch with her guitar in hand. Music sheets were spread across the coffee table. Lily played on the floor with blocks. Pepper lounged in the chaise in the corner of the room, reading the book she’d bought yesterday. Neither of the grown-ups did much in the way of greeting, other than a grunt from Pepper and a headshake by Maggie. The little one, however, let out a joyful shriek and flung herself into Lisa’s arms.

“Hello, love.” Lisa sat on the floor with her back against the couch and brought Lily onto her lap. She kissed the top of her head and breathed in the scent of those red curls. She was a beautiful child, with white skin and red hair like her mother. She looked like Maggie, except for her blue eyes. Those were all Jackson.

“Sasaw,” Lily said as she snuggled into her chest. This was her nickname. Lisa turned to Sasaw.

Pepper sneezed. “I think I’m getting sick.” She didn’t seem to require a response, as she didn’t even look up from her book.

The three of them knew one another so well, there was really no need for talking. It could have been their apartment in New York except for the luxurious furnishings, the enormous house, and the most beautiful blue-eyed one-year-old on the planet.

Although she and Pepper adored staying at the house, it wasn’t fair to Jackson that they were always here. He never said anything, other than how much he loved Lisa’s cooking and appreciated Pepper’s insistence on doing the dishes. However, Lisa knew they needed to be alone in their nest without Pepper and Lisa mooching around. She’d been thrilled when Kara mentioned Rafael’s apartment building. The fact that Rafael owned it had nothing to do with why she wanted to rent the place. Right? Wrong. Fine. He was icing on an otherwise delicious cake. Who was she kidding? Rafael Soto was the best icing on the best cake ever made.

The plan was to live part-time here and part-time in Los Angeles, as needed. She and Pepper didn’t have a place in LA, but they’d agreed to discuss that after Pepper returned from British Columbia, where she was shooting the horror film.

She stretched and smiled as she gazed at the copper head against her chest. Morning sun softened the room. Outside the French doors, red flowers climbed a trellis. On the other side of the stone patio, the swimming pool was a deep blue. Life was different here in the land of sea and sunshine. The moment Lisa and Pepper arrived in California, their lives had fallen into place. At long last, it seemed their dues had been paid, and the lives they’d dreamed of were unfolding before them.

Maggie had reconnected with her childhood sweetheart, and now they had a beautiful home and a precious daughter. After a hit debut folk/rock album, Maggie was going on a short concert tour.

Life was good and about to get better.

Pepper sneezed again. “I’m definitely getting sick.”

“Don’t give it to the baby,” Maggie said.

“We have the concert tomorrow,” Lisa said. “You can’t get sick.” She and Pepper were heading north to a country music festival before they had to ship off to their destinations.

She startled when the doorbell rang. Maggie didn’t look up from her guitar, nor Pepper from her book. “Come on, Lily, let’s go see who it is.” With the baby on her hip, she traipsed down the hall to the front door. She tried to open it, but realized the lock was latched. Jackson always locked the door after he left in the morning.

She unlocked the door and yanked it open.

Rafael Soto.

Goodness, the man was hot in a T-shirt. He also wore cargo shorts and those sports sandals that were so popular out here. A manila envelope dangled from his right hand. Her name was written in even handwriting across the top. She was always impressed by how tidy he appeared: closely cropped hair, trimmed and clean fingernails, freshly shaven. A precise man. One who wasted no energy on false moves. She wondered if he’d take those same skills into the bedroom.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Hi,” Lily said, loud and clear, then waved. They joked that Lily waved like a pageant girl.

“Is this Lily?” Rafael asked. “She’s gotten so big.”

“She just had her first birthday, and she’s walking.”

“Is that early?” he asked.

“Um. No, not early. Right on time.”

“I’m sorry to bother you but I forgot to give you the paperwork to fill out.” He held up the envelope. “It’s a few legal documents to fill out.”

The morning sun was causing her to squint. “Come in, please.”

He grimaced and scratched behind his ear. “No, I can just give them to you and be on my way. You can drop them by later, or I can come back out to get them.”

“Please, come in. Lily and I are just hanging out. I have coffee cake.”

His dark brown eyes darted to his truck as if he wanted to escape. “I do like coffee cake.”

She moved aside so he could step past her.

“It smells good in here,” he said.

“This house always smells good. It’s because a family lives here.”

She avoided the living room and went straight into the kitchen. “Sit. Would you care for coffee?”

“Only if it’s already made.” He placed the envelope on the island and sat on one of the stools.

“You want cake too, Lily?”

Lily smiled and nodded her head with more enthusiasm than was necessary. “Yes. Cake.”

“She likes cake as much as I do,” Rafael said.

“She has limited experience of the world, but I’d have to say cake is her very favorite thing.”

“Cake,” Lily said.

Lisa set Lily in her high chair and latched the seat belt. She put the baby’s tray in place, then turned to get a coffee cup.

“You must have a lot of experience with babies,” Rafael said.

“A little. My twin brother has two. My niece is a little older than Lily. My nephew, Oliver, is almost four.” She poured coffee into a mug. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Just a little cream.”

She set a small pitcher in front of him.

“Fancy,” he said.

“Maggie keeps it in the fridge,” Lisa said. This house was all about the coffee.

Lily thumped her tray table and yelled cake three times in a row.

Lisa laughed as she cut a small piece for the baby and set it on the tray. Lily stuffed the entire thing in her mouth.

“She’ll need a bath later,” Lisa said.

“Is Maggie out?” he asked.

“No, she’s in the living room. She’s working on a new song. When she’s like that, I watch the baby so she can work. She gets laser focused.” Lisa cut a large square piece and set it on a plate, then slid it over to him. “Would you like a fork?”

“Yes, please.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “If I was alone, I’d just stuff the whole thing in my mouth like my friend Lily.”

Lisa warmed at the sight of his smile and handed him a fork. “You should smile more. You have a beautiful one.”

He cut into the cake with his fork. “You’re the second person in two days to say that.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Honor Shaw pointed it out yesterday when she was threatening me with a sharp pencil.”

Lisa laughed. “Honor is like Hermia. ‘And though she be but little, she is fierce.’”

He looked at her blankly. “Hermia?”

“Shakespeare. Midsummer Night’s Dream. Never mind. Theater geek joke.”

“I don’t know much about Shakespeare.”

She flushed. Why had she said that? It had obviously made him feel bad. So thoughtless. No wonder she could never find a good man.

“I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say,” she said. “Most people wouldn’t recognize that quote. I probably sounded pretentious.”

He looked up from his cake. As he held his fork in midair, his brown eyes looked straight into hers. “Why are you apologizing? You should never say you’re sorry for knowing something others don’t. Just because I’m an uneducated slob doesn’t mean you should apologize for sharing your expertise. Men love to make women feel shamed when their fragile egos are threatened, so women have learned to pretend they know less than they do. Real men know smart women are sexy.” He went back to his cake.

She had no idea what to say. For one thing, she’d never heard him say that many words in a row. Secondly, he sounded about as opposite of an “uneducated slob” as one could get.

“That’s very enlightened of you,” she said, finally.

He looked up, amusement in his eyes. “If you met my mama, everything about me would be perfectly clear.”

“Given your experiences, I’d bet money you know a heck of a lot more than most.” She topped off his coffee.

He touched the napkin to his mouth. “The stuff I know—I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”

“Oh dear.”

The corners of his mouth lifted in one of his quarter smiles.

“It’s okay. I took the gig. The military got me out of poverty. I live with the consequences.”

“You’re a hero, though. That must mean something to you.”

“It’s validating when people thank me for my service. But what happens in war is never as black and white as civilians like to think. Whether or not I was heroic is something only God can decide.”

“I suppose that’s true for all of us.”

He picked up his plate and mug. “Thank you for the coffee and the cake. You made my day off even better.” He came around the island and set the dishes by the sink. Rafael Soto moved like a stealthy panther, without making a sound and with dexterous ease. When he passed by her, she caught the scent of him—fresh soap and a spicy deodorant. No cologne. He wasn’t the type.

He knelt by Lily’s high chair. The muscles in his shoulders and back rippled under his thin shirt.

“How’s your cake?” he asked the baby.

She held up a sticky hand in response and smiled.

Rafael straightened and put his hand over his chest. “She’s a heartbreaker.” He touched the top of her head. “This hair.”

“I know. I hate to leave her, but I have work stuff coming up.” Three weeks without Lily and the sea breeze.

“When will you be back?”

“At the end of August. I’ll have some time off before we film the second season of Indigo Road.”

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. “Second season’s taking forever to come out.”

What? He’d seen the show? “You watch?”

“Yeah.” His gaze flickered to above her head.

“You’re full of surprises, Mr. Soto.”

“It’s not my usual type of show, but since I kind of know you, I had to tune in. It’s not every day a guy like me knows a beautiful movie star.”

“I’m not really a star.”

“You’re extremely talented. I can’t take my eyes off you.” He cleared his throat. “Onscreen, I mean.”

“Really?”

“It’s hard to imagine how anyone could.”

“I can. Trust me. I hate watching myself. And my voice. I’m always, like, ‘Do I really sound like that?’”

“Everything about you is beautiful. Including your voice.” He nodded toward the door. “I should go.” He crossed the kitchen without making a sound.

Everything about you is beautiful. Had he just said that, or had she heard him wrong?

Do it. Just do it now before he leaves and you lose your chance.

“Would you ever want to go out sometime? Like for dinner or something?” she asked his backside.

Almost to the door, he whipped around to look at her. “You want to go out with me?”

“Yes. I mean, if you want to.” Why had she asked him? He didn’t want to go out with her. If he did, he would have asked her already.

“I can’t afford much, as far as dinner goes.” His hands were back in his pockets. “Everything I’ve got is sunk into the building.”

“I’ll cook for you then. In my new apartment.”

He looked at the floor and tugged on his collar. “I’m not boyfriend material. Not for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” What did that mean? She wasn’t good enough for him? Too many ex-boyfriends for a good Catholic boy? Too New York jaded?

“Hollywood. Old-school glamour.” He glanced behind him, like he was expecting someone to walk through the door. “You didn’t ask how much the rent was.”

She looked down at the counter and placed her sweating hands flat against the cool granite. Stupid girl for thinking he might like you. “All right. Enough said. Forget I asked.”

She waited for him to leave, wishing the floor would open and whisk her away.

“Lisa.”

She looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“Trust me when I say, it’s not you but me.”

“Yeah. No problem. I get it.” She didn’t get it. What did money have to do with anything? Up until recently she’d had less than Rafael.

“I’ve hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Really. I misread the signals.” Just leave, please.

“You can fill the paperwork out and bring it by whenever you can.”

“Will do.”

He turned to go, but then stopped and returned his gaze to her. “The reason I don’t smile is because my teeth used to be gray.” He tapped his mouth. “I got these Hollywood teeth put on a year ago. I’m still learning how to smile.”

She nodded. There was a time she needed to learn how to smile, too. During those dark days she wasn’t sure she ever would again. “I understand perfectly.”

“See you around.”

And with that he was gone.

***

Lisa stood shoulder to shoulder with strangers under the unforgiving August sun. Mist from the sprinklers strategically placed around the fairground’s concert arena was the only relief from the heat. Dust covered her feet and ankles. The air smelled of beer, popcorn, and sweaty bodies.

They were waiting for the last act of the day—headliner Wyatt Black.

Lisa smiled at the woman next to her.

“Popcorn?” she asked.

“I’m good. I’ve got my beer,” Lisa said.

“I’m Cheryl. Seeing Wyatt was on my bucket list,” she said.

“My husband got these tickets for my fiftieth birthday. He was supposed to come, but he got called into work.”

“I’m sorry. My best friend was supposed to come but she’s sick.”

“Well, we can be each other’s dates then,” Cheryl said.

“Done.” They exchanged another smile.

She wished Pepper could be here. Sadly, those initial sneezes were indeed the beginning of a cold. This morning she hadn’t been able to get out of bed. Lisa had borrowed Maggie’s car and driven by herself. It was fine, she’d told herself during the hour it took to get to the festival from Cliffside Bay. Being alone was good for her. She needed to do more things alone. Twins were never alone. Then she’d become a triplet with Maggie and Pepper. She had to learn to be comfortable doing things solo.

As Wyatt Black took the stage, the crowd roared its welcome. Wyatt Black was the hottest thing in country music. Classically good-looking but with a bad-boy aura, he crooned a love song like no one else.

After the audience applause lessened, he sang the opening notes of his current hit. She and Cheryl locked arms, strangers united by their love of music. Lisa noted Cheryl’s sandals, a little ragged and faded. Her husband had probably saved for months to afford these tickets.

The crowd sang along with Wyatt. They all knew the lyrics, as though they’d helped write them. His was the voice of the people in this audience. Hardworking Americans felt a kinship with this man. He was them. Wyatt had grown up in a trailer in the woods with his single mother. The odds to break out of the cycle of poverty were stacked against him. Yet he had. By writing songs that gave a voice to the poor, the working class, the disenfranchised. His lyrics were about real struggles: money problems, heartbreak, family, love. They were deceptively simple, in Lisa’s opinion. The words and music combined with Wyatt’s soulful voice touched a chord in people, made them feel less alone in a terrifying world. Women swooned for him. Men felt as if he were their brother.

Her thoughts drifted to Rafael. He’d misjudged her. She understood the people in this audience far better than she did the people she’d met in Hollywood. These were her people. If he weren’t so prideful, Rafael might have taken the time to see beyond outside appearances. He had no idea of the dark places she’d been. Now he never would. Whatever. He was just another jerk, like all the guys she liked.

A popping sound interrupted the music. Was there something wrong with the sound system? Wyatt continued to sing for a moment, then stopped, looking confused. Crew rushed onto the stage and pulled Wyatt and the band off arena. The popping sound continued, like the loudest popcorn maker ever made.

Someone shouted, “There’s a shooter.”

That was the popping noise. Bullets. A shooter.

Bullets rained from the sky.

She and Cheryl looked in each other’s eyes. “We have to get out of here,” Lisa said as her beer fell to the ground.

Lisa grabbed Cheryl’s hand. The crowd surged, this way, then that, both the individual and the collective searching for shelter. Bullets, one after the other, with no space between, pelted the crowd. Someone pushed her from behind and she stumbled. Cheryl jerked and fell. Lisa knelt beside her. A hole the size of two fists had ripped open her chest. Blood soaked into the dry earth.

A man shouted at her. “You have to run.”

She looked up to see a gray mustache and eyes the color of a muddy river. A cowboy hat shaded his face.

“But she’s hurt. I have to take her with me.”

“I’m sorry, sister, but she’s gone. C’mon now.” He lifted her to her feet, the strength of him like an electric shock that shook her awake. “Hold tight to my hand.” She gripped his fingers and tried to run, but in truth, he dragged her. She fixed her gaze on the back of his brown boots. Don’t lose sight of his boots. Don’t let go of his hand. Around them people passed. The awful cracking sound continued, louder than the screams.

Someone tumbled into her. She fell face-first. Blood covered the grass like morning dew. She sobbed and tried to rise to her feet. The man lifted her into his arms. He ran with her clinging to his neck. “I’ll get you out of here. I promise you. Just hang tight.”

They ran with the surging crowd.

 

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“Riveting and consuming—I loved it and anxiously look forward to the next book in the series!” —Goodreads

After her third broken engagement, Gianna Campbell comes home to help with the family business and to heal her heart, only to realize that she has become the town joke—dubbed the runaway fiancé. If that wasn't bad enough, who should show up in town but her former crush Zach Barrington, a man who has other reasons to hate her.

Zach returns to Whisper Lake not only for a job opportunity but also for a chance at personal redemption. The last person he wants to see is Gianna, who once got him kicked out of the only place that made him feel whole. But when an accident sends her into the lake, their first face-to-face meeting in years leaves them both breathless.

And suddenly the past feels a lot closer...

Zach and Gianna back away as fast as they come together, both wary of more danger to their damaged hearts. But their search for a truth leads them to surprising secrets, life-changing revelations, heartbreaking emotion, and the chance for a love more powerful than they ever imagined. Can they trust each other the second time around?

 

Author Bio:

Barbara Freethy is a #1 New York Times bestselling author of 41 novels ranging from contemporary romance to romantic suspense and women's fiction. Traditionally published for many years, Barbara opened her own publishing company in 2011 and has since sold over 4.8 million copies of her books. Nineteen of her titles have appeared on the New York Times and USA Today Bestseller Lists. In July of 2014, Barbara was named the Amazon KDP bestselling author of ALL TIME! She was also the first indie author to sell over 1 million copies at both Barnes and Noble and Amazon. An author known for writing emotional stories about ordinary people caught up in extraordinary situations, Barbara has received starred reviews from Publishers' Weekly and Library Journal and has also received six nominations for the RITA for Best Single Title Contemporary Romance from Romance Writers of America. She has won the honor twice for her novels Daniel's Gift and The Way Back Home. 

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"Ms. Freethy’s has a writing style that pulls the reader in from her wonderful plot that entertains the reader to the suspense and mystery that hooks the reader. I am so looking forward to the rest of the series." —Page By Page Inside-Out Reviews

“Such a good romantic suspense book.” —Terry’s Thoughts Book Blog

From #1 New York Times bestselling author Barbara Freethy comes the first book in a new romantic suspense trilogy: Lightning Strikes. In these connected novels, lightning leads to love, danger, and the unraveling of long-buried secrets that will change not only the past but also the future…

When her father's plane mysteriously disappeared in the middle of an electrical storm, Alicia Monroe became obsessed with lightning. Now a news photographer in Miami, Alicia covers local stories by day and chases storms at night. In a flash of lightning, she sees what appears to be a murder, but when she gets to the scene, there is no body, only a military tag belonging to Liliana Valdez, a woman who has been missing for two months.  

While the police use the tag to jump-start their stalled investigation, Alicia sets off on her own to find the missing woman. Her search takes her into the heart of Miami's Cuban-American community, where she meets the attractive but brooding Michael Cordero, who has his own demons to vanquish.

Soon Alicia and Michael are not just trying to save Liliana's life but also their own, as someone will do anything to protect a dark secret… 

Author Bio:
Barbara Freethy is a #1 New York Times bestselling author of 41 novels ranging from contemporary romance to romantic suspense and women's fiction. Traditionally published for many years, Barbara opened her own publishing company in 2011 and has since sold over 4.8 million copies of her books. Nineteen of her titles have appeared on the New York Times and USA Today Bestseller Lists. In July of 2014, Barbara was named the Amazon KDP bestselling author of ALL TIME! She was also the first indie author to sell over 1 million copies at both Barnes and Noble and Amazon. An author known for writing emotional stories about ordinary people caught up in extraordinary situations, Barbara has received starred reviews from Publishers' Weekly and Library Journal and has also received six nominations for the RITA for Best Single Title Contemporary Romance from Romance Writers of America. She has won the honor twice for her novels Daniel's Gift and The Way Back Home. 

Shop the Lightning Strikes series

Shop all Barbara Freethy books

“I devoured this book in one setting! The story was captivating!” —Booklovers Anonymous

Hannah Stark takes care of everyone else, from the patients she nurses back to health, to her family, who can never seem to get it together. She'd love to find someone she can trust, someone she can lean on, someone she can love, but that someone will not be Jake McKenna. The ruggedly attractive owner of Adventure Sports might still make her palms sweat, but Jake broke her teenage heart years ago.

In the twelve plus years since they were a couple, Jake has given up on forgiveness from Hannah. He'd really like the chance to set the record straight, but that would mean revealing secrets he has sworn to protect. So, they dance around each other, never getting close enough to the lingering sparks to start another fire.
A stormy Christmas eve at the lake changes everything. A woman in trouble and a death-defying rescue gives them a chance to start over as they are now-if they can find the courage to trust each other. Will these two enemies turn into lovers, or will they reject the fate that has once again thrown them together?

Don't miss this heartwarming, irresistibly romantic holiday Christmas romance by #1 New York Times Bestselling Author Barbara Freethy.

 

Author Bio:

Barbara Freethy is a #1 New York Times bestselling author of 41 novels ranging from contemporary romance to romantic suspense and women's fiction. Traditionally published for many years, Barbara opened her own publishing company in 2011 and has since sold over 4.8 million copies of her books. Nineteen of her titles have appeared on the New York Times and USA Today Bestseller Lists. In July of 2014, Barbara was named the Amazon KDP bestselling author of ALL TIME! She was also the first indie author to sell over 1 million copies at both Barnes and Noble and Amazon. An author known for writing emotional stories about ordinary people caught up in extraordinary situations, Barbara has received starred reviews from Publishers' Weekly and Library Journal and has also received six nominations for the RITA for Best Single Title Contemporary Romance from Romance Writers of America. She has won the honor twice for her novels Daniel's Gift and The Way Back Home. 

Shop the Whisper Lake Series

Shop all Barbara Freethy books

“This book was amazing…This story showed that through all the pain, guilt, and mistakes people could grow and become what they never thought possible. This entire series has been heartwarming with hints of romance, pain, and family.” —Boundless Book Reviews

A playboy with a painful past finds help he never expected to need, in the most unlikely of places, in this standalone, opposites-attract romance from USA Today bestseller Tess Thompson.

Real estate developer Kyle Hicks only has time for three things: his latest project, his very best friends, and his next no-strings-attached tryst. Struggling single mother Violet Ellis is just as busy. Between her son, her failing business, and her historical preservation work, there’s never any time to catch her breath.

While Kyle’s bringing progress to Cliffside Bay, Violet’s fighting to protect the small town’s increasingly rare charm. But for once they’ll find themselves on the very same team when a brand new project that neither of them anticipated arrives.

As this unlikely pair quickly learns, working together will require trust and respect. And there just might be something else simmering under the surface of their once-acrimonious relationship—something special that both of these former rivals are willing to fight for.

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Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical Romantic Women’s Fiction with nearly 40 published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on, Hometowns and Heartstrings.

Book Excerpt:

Chapter 1: Kyle

Kyle Hicks hadn’t had an episode for two years. Until now. He stood under the shower with the water as hot as he could stand it and scoured his body with a rough kitchen sponge. Steam as thick as morning fog obscured his vision. His skin stung. He would not stop. Not until the stench was gone.

The child outside of the food bank with the ravenous eyes. That’s what did it. The memories like a riptide snatched him from the present and swallowed him whole. Sucked him into the vortex of memory. He couldn’t fight them off. They just kept coming.

Pig. Pig stinks.

The taunts and jeers of his childhood rose around him, ghostlike in the steam.

Please, just leave me alone.

Recollections of fists and steel-toed boots blotted out the past twelve years with an invading darkness like black ink spilled on his expensive stationary. The memories devoured his accomplishments. They crushed his friendships. The stunning properties he’d created tumbled under their weight.

He crossed over to that other time when he was a scrawny, hungry, shell of a boy. The bullying and poverty and shame. The stench of it all.

The children called him Pig.

The telephone rang from the other room. A lifeline to the present.

I am Kyle Hicks. I helped build this resort. I’m a partial owner. I am no longer afraid. No one can hurt me.

He tore out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Steam followed him as he stumbled to the phone. “This is Kyle Hicks.” His voice was normal. I am the boss.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Hicks. This is Robert from the front desk. There’s a lady in the lobby asking for you.”

“Does this lady have a name?”

“No, sir. I mean, yes, I’m sure she does, but she wouldn’t give it to me. She has a baby with her. She says it’s your baby.”

“My baby?”

“That’s what she said.”

“I’m sorry? Could you repeat that one more time?”

“Yes, sir. She said you’re the father of the baby. She wants you to come downstairs, so she can give it to you.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“Please hurry, sir. She’s creating quite a scene.”

“The woman?”

“No, the baby.”

He knew what this was—one of the Dogs playing a trick on him. Of his four best friends, which of them would do this? Probably Lance. He had a wicked sense of humor and had recently been chiding him for his lack of support regarding Zane and Honor’s adoption of a six-year-old orphan named Jubie. This was the type of joke Lance would find hilarious. A joke wrapped up in a morality lesson.

He would have his revenge. This was not funny. They should know better than to mess with him in front of the staff. But still, he had to give it to them. This was good. They knew he was not a family man. If they knew why, they would have more sympathy. But he would never tell his secrets. Not even to the Dogs.

He went to the window, breathing deeply, purging the darkness. The child outside of the food bank had looked like him. That’s all this was. It had been years since he’d had an episode. He examined his arms. They were pink but not bleeding. He was fine.

His reflection in the window stared back at him. His muscular frame, expensive haircut, and capped teeth told the story of the new Kyle. When he dressed it would be in the finest clothes money could buy.

Outside the windows, rain fell in dogged stripes. This October was particularly dreary, even in quaint Cliffside Bay. That’s right. He lived here. The Dogs were his family. He had everything. Wealth, cars, land. Most of all, friends. The Dogs had his back. He didn’t have to be afraid ever again.

Minutes later, he exited the elevator into the lobby. The sound of a screaming infant reverberated against the marble floors and cathedral ceiling. Even the crystal chandelier seemed to shake. Kyle looked in the direction of the racket. A young woman with a stroller stood by the glass windows. He quickened his pace. His staff shot him worried glances as he passed by the desk. Several patrons wrinkled their foreheads in irritation, clearly annoyed their peaceful afternoons sipping cucumber water had been interrupted by reality.

The Dogs had gone to a lot of trouble. How had they convinced a woman and a baby to go along with the act? This was the work of Zane and Lance. Jackson and Brody were too mature to think of something like this. Plus, as the town doctor, Jackson had sick people to care for. Brody was currently halfway through the football season. The highest paid quarterback in the AFL did not have time for pranks.

Having arrived at the source of the racket, he peered into the stroller. He took inventory: pink blanket, and a baby no bigger than the span of his two hands. A girl baby, probably a week or two old. He vaguely recalled holding his baby sister when she first arrived. This baby clenched her fists and kicked at her blanket, her complexion a disconcerting shade of purple. Perhaps she was hungry? Or needed a diaper change? He had no idea. Kyle knew nothing of babies.

He did, however, know about angry females, and this was one of them, albeit a tiny one. He looked away from the baby to study her companion. Dingy blond hair in need of washing hung in her eyes. Her right tennis shoe had a hole near the big toe area, and her leggings were thin from wear. She smelled of grease and the inside of city bus. Who was she? No one he knew. He never forgot a face or a name. Real Estate development was about people. The secret to people was to be generally interested in them. He could tell you a person’s life story after one afternoon of golf.

“May I help you?” he asked.

“You can say that again.” She glared at him with hostility mixed with triumph. Her features were flat and her complexion gray, like a rock honed by years of rushing water. She reached into the stroller and picked up the baby, who immediately stopped the terrible howling. Why hadn’t she done this earlier? This was a mystery he couldn’t explore now because the woman’s next words eviscerated all coherent thought. “This is Mollie Blue Hicks. Your baby. I have the paperwork to prove it.”

The gazes of every person in the lobby bored a hole into the back of his head. “Perhaps we could talk in the office?”

“Whatever.” She thrust the baby toward him. “Take her.”

He couldn’t think of what else to do but accept the parcel. Kyle Hicks took Mollie Blue into his arms, cradling her close to his chest, then indicated for the sullen young woman to follow him with a nod toward the office. The manager was out this afternoon, so it would be free.

Zane and Lance were going to pay for this.

He shut the door of the office with his foot. Still holding the surprisingly warm baby in his arms, he asked the woman if she’d like to sit.

She plopped into a chair and rolled her eyes like she was disgusted by his suggestion that she sit.

“Good joke. How did the Dogs convince you to go along with it?” Man, this girl could act. Contempt practically dripped from her.

“Who are the Dogs?” she asked.

“My best friends. Apparently, they think they’re comedians.”

“I’ll cut to the chase. My name’s Paulina Shore. Do you remember Katy Theisen? You had a one-night stand with her about nine months ago.”

Any moisture in his mouth evaporated. “Sure, yeah. I mean, of course I remember her.” Katy Theisen was a bartender in the town up north where he had spent several months working on a shopping mall deal. About nine months ago.

“Katy was my best friend. She died last week from complications of childbirth.” For the first time, Pauline’s expression wavered from livid to that of extreme sadness. Her body seemed to sag under the weight of grief as she sank into the armchair.

“Died? From childbirth?” Kyle perched on the edge of his desk. Mollie Blue shuddered.

“Yep. That’s what happens when you’re poor.”

“In America?” He knew poverty. It ran through his veins, like the blood of his family, unseen but there, waiting to remind him of the past he’d escaped from. Generations of poverty was his family legacy. Still, no one he knew had ever died from having a baby.

“Impoverished women are more likely to die in childbirth. It’s on the rise in rural areas. Look it up. I did when Katy died.”

He gazed at the baby in his arms. She’d fallen asleep. She’s sweet when she’s not howling. “I’m sorry to hear about Katy, but this isn’t my baby.”

“Katy wasn’t the type to sleep around. She knew Mollie was yours. Broken condom, dude.” She reached into the stroller and pulled out an envelope. “It’s all in here. The DNA test proves it.”

“But how?” How would she have had his DNA?

Pauline answered his silent question with a roll of her eyes. “Think about it. Stained sheets.”

“Don’t you need permission for that kind of thing?” he asked.

“Not when they sell DNA tests at Walmart.”

“Jesus, they do?”

“A guy like you should probably buy them in bulk,” she said. “Or maybe double up on condoms.”

The broken condom. He was always careful. Condoms were his friend. Until, like the night with Katy, one of the damn things broke. Water. He needed a glass of water.

A DNA test was undeniable.

This was his baby. His daughter.

He put Mollie back into the stroller. His arms felt light without her.

Paulina crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t you dare judge Katy. You’re the one who couldn’t keep it in your pants.”

He flinched. “I wasn’t. I’m just in shock here. You could give me a chance to catch up.”

“Sorry.”

“What happened—I mean during the birth?”

“An infection they should’ve caught.” Paulina’s voice wavered again. “Look, it’s obvious you’re rich, so there’s no reason you can’t take care of your kid unless you’re a jerk. If that’s the case, then I suggest we put her into the system, so a nice couple can have her.” She scowled and blew her dirty bangs out of her eyes. “But I know Katy, and she would’ve preferred you take her. There’s nothing like flesh and blood.”

He laced his hands together behind his back. Sweat rolled down his spinal column. What was he supposed to do with a daughter? He could barely take care of himself. Should he give her up? Let someone else raise her? Surely anyone in the world would be better than him. He wasn’t father material. All anyone had to do was look at his past to see that truth.

He sucked in a deep breath. The air thinned like he’d reached a mountain peak. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, breathing hard.

An image of his mother pierced his consciousness. Skinny with those dull eyes, she stood by the front door with the tattered blue suitcase in her hand. I’m leaving. You look after your brother and sister.

His heart pounded harder. He staggered over to the desk and perched on the edge. The room tilted. Black dots danced before his eyes. His recently scrubbed skin burned. I can’t do it. Not this. Anything but this.

The day his mother left roared to life and played out in front of him.

Where are you going? Are you coming back?

He ran after her. The trailer door slammed behind him. Rain dumped from a stormy Oregon sky. Wait. Don’t go. Please, Mama. She pulled the hood of her faded raincoat over her head. A man stood waiting by the car. He grabbed her suitcase and tossed it into the back seat. Kyle slipped in the mud and fell. By the time he rose to his feet, they were gone, tire tracks on the muddy driveway their only legacy.

Now, he rubbed his eyes and looked over at Paulina. “I have money, but nothing else to offer her.” I’m a single, selfish womanizer with secret panic attacks.

“That’s better than most.”

Was it? Money would hire staff to help raise her. Yet, a daughter needed an emotionally healthy father, one who knew how to give and receive love. Not him. Anyone but him.

“I’m sorry about Katy. Truly. She was a sweet girl.”

“She was.” Paulina picked at the skin around a fingernail. Her nails were short—not trimmed neatly with clippers, but ragged and uneven, like those of a nail biter.

“Does Katy have any family?” he asked.

“No one. And I can’t keep her if that’s what you want to know.”

He didn’t say anything. No one would expect her to. She was young and probably broke. A baby was the last thing she needed, especially one that wasn’t hers.

“It hurts too much to look at her,” she said as if he’d asked a follow up question.

“Why?”

“Katy was my best friend. I thought this baby would ruin her life. I had no idea how right I was. I’ll just leave it at that.”

I can’t be like my mother. I must do the right thing. This is my child.

Kyle crossed back to the stroller and stared down at the sleeping infant. She was so small and helpless. He was her only family. It had to be him. He picked her up and cradled her close, catching a whiff of her head. “Her head smells good.”

“Yeah.”

With the baby in his arms, he went around the desk to sit in the chair before his legs collapsed under him.

“I know Katy wasn’t the type to go home with some loser she met at the bar,” he said.

“But she did.”

“I was having a rough night. She took pity on me.” He stroked the peach fuzz on Mollie’s head. Should she be wearing a hat? He touched the tips of her ears. They were cold. Should they be?

“That sounds like her.”

“It wasn’t my finest hour,” he said.

Paulina stood. “I’d love to stay for a gabfest, but I’ve got to go. There’s some formula and a few diapers in the stroller. You’ll need more. Get ready for some sticker shock.” This last part was muttered under her breath.

“I don’t know anything about how to take care of a baby.”

“There’s this thing called the internet,” she said.

Mollie squirmed in his arms and opened her eyes and looked directly into his. A strange feeling spread through his stomach, like warm soup sliding down the back of his throat and into his stomach on a cold day. He gritted his teeth, almost willing himself to remain distant. Mollie was having none of that. She pursed her mouth and blew a bubble before closing her eyes again.

At the door, Paulina turned back to him. “Good luck.”

“Wait, before you leave. Why didn’t she have an abortion?” Paulina shrugged. “She wasn’t the type—not a brain in her head when it came to that stuff. She thought it was meant to be—that God wanted her to have this baby. I guess she was wrong.”

“One more thing.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out several hundred dollars from a money clip. “Take this.”

Her eyebrows lifted. She stared at him like a feral animal, evaluating whether he wanted something in exchange.

“Please, take it,” he said. “Diapers and formula and everything probably set you back.”

“It did.” She took the money from the desk. “Katy said you were a good guy. Sad but nice. You’ll do fine with Mollie.” With that, Paulina disappeared.

***

Dazed, Kyle pushed the stroller out of the elevator and into the hallway, then used his keycard to enter the penthouse suite. Mollie woke with a whimper that within seconds turned into a howl. Hunger perhaps? Or a wet diaper? He recalled these ailments from movies. There might be a bottle of formula somewhere in the contraption, which now that he took a closer look, seemed like it had been rescued from the town dump. A stroller shouldn’t have rusted parts. He didn’t know much, but that seemed obvious.

What was the plan? Should he call one of his staff to come up and help him? Surely one of them would know what to do to make the baby stop crying. But no, he had to do this himself. If he let one of the staff see him this out of control, they’d lose all respect for him. He’d have to reason through this without help. The most important thing was to stop this poor mite from hurting herself with all this shrieking and flailing of limbs. He rolled the stroller inside and closed the door.

Seriously, how can something this little make such a commotion?

He lifted the squirming, screaming baby into his arms. She arched her back and kicked her arms and legs with surprising ferocity. The blanket fell to the floor. She wore an outfit that looked like a t-shirt with buttons. What was that heinous scent? The offensive odor came from the red-faced Mollie’s bottom. He almost gagged.

No question. First things first. He would change her diaper. Sure, no problem. He bought and developed real estate up and down the state of California. He could surely change one diaper.

He held her at arm’s length and made a shushing sound. She howled even louder. Great, he’d made her angrier. He carried her over to the sofa. Should he place her on there or would she fall off? What, with all the kicking and fussing, she might launch herself onto the floor.

The rug was safer. When he had her settled there, he sprinted back to the stroller. A bag hung from the back. He hadn’t noticed that until now. A diaper bag? Has to be. He unzipped it and found diapers and, hallelujah, a full bottle of what must be formula. There was also a box of cleaning wipes. No doubt these were for wiping the offensive bottom. Sweating, he brought all three items back to the baby.

You can do this. The little bug can’t sit around in a dirty diaper.

His hands shook as he unbuttoned the romper. Romper? Where had that word come from? He had no idea what a romper was, let alone if this was one. Whatever it was called, the outfit was cute, with little ducks scattered across the soft material. Mollie’s legs parted like they were attached to springs. Three snaps were in the center of the crotch area. Crotch area? Was that what it was called when referring to a baby? That didn’t seem right, especially for a baby girl. Never mind that. I must focus on the task.

He tugged at the snaps. Voilà. They loosened with no problem. This was genius, now that he looked at it more carefully. One could change the diaper without taking the entire outfit…or romper…off the baby. He lifted it up and over the diaper, despite her flaying limbs, then gasped. There was a horrific stump where her belly button should be. Pink and painful looking and covered with dried blood, it stared up at him like the head of a snake. “Does it hurt Mollie Blue?”

She kicked her legs in response.

He’d take that as a no.

Next, he lifted the sticky flaps that held the diaper on the baby. The smell was bad. He held his breath as he lifted her legs to slide the diaper from her puckered bottom. That’s when he saw it. A gooey substance the color of burned butternut squash soup stuck to every crevice of the little one’s private area.

The wipes? Surely this is what they were for. They’d better be superpowered if he was going to coax the goo from this bottom. Breathe through my mouth. He went in, holding her legs in one hand and swiping with the other. This was totally fine. He could do this.

A few swipes later, she looked clean. Should he use one more to make sure? Yes, he would. He’d heard of diaper rash. Given that goo, it would make sense that a rash could develop if not cleaned properly.

He reached behind him for another wipe. When he returned, a yellow puddle had stained the brand-new rug of his brand-new penthouse suite. He cursed under his breath and reached frantically for another diaper. His hands shook so badly and were so slick with sweat that it took several attempts to open the stupid plastic potential rug-saver. By the time he’d accomplished that task, Mollie was done urinating all over his rug. For heaven’s sake, what now?

But wait? What was this? Silence. She’d stopped howling. It must feel better to have the disgusting diaper away from her skin. And, taking a leak when one really had to go was always a happy relief.

He lifted her from the soaked area of the carpet to a fresh spot. This time he put the unfolded diaper under her bottom before he wiped her. “I’m a quick learner. Always put a diaper under you before turning away. And you’re much more pleasant when you’re not screaming.”

How many of these wipes would a parent use in one day? He’d already used a dozen. Sticker shock indeed.

Assured he had her nice and clean now, he fastened the diaper. Was that right? It looked a little crooked. One side had more of a gap—from which nasty fluids could leak. He repositioned the diaper and fastened it tighter and straighter. That should do it.

She whimpered. Was she cold? Maybe she needed a romper with legs. Was there such a thing? Never mind, he would feed her the bottle first. Then, he would call for backup.

He grabbed the bottle and settled with her on the couch. The moment he placed the bottle in her mouth, Mollie sucked with ravenous intent. Was there anything in her face that looked like him? She was a particularly pretty baby with dimples on either side of her mouth and ears close to her head. Not his ears, thankfully. He’d had ears that stuck out when he was a kid. Finally, around fifteen, his ugly mug grew into them.

Katy Theisen. He knew at the time it was wrong to sleep with her. She was an innocent, sweet and guileless. No match for his wicked charm. He knew it then and he knew it now. Like the broken condom, she was out of his normal mode of operation. His women, and yes, there were a lot of them, were female versions of himself. Sex was a game of fun. Physical connection only. No emotional intimacy allowed behind closed doors or anywhere else. Occasionally he made a mistake and misread a woman’s capacity for casual sex. Those were the times he got himself into trouble.

But that wasn’t the situation with Katy. It was the damn anniversary of the car accident that had made him vulnerable.

The day came around once a year, like a dark holiday. He anticipated the date for weeks beforehand, dreading his inevitable collapse into despair. Over thirteen years had passed since that day, but the memories were as easily refreshed as a drink in Zane’s bar. That night, nine months ago, they’d been brisk and relentless. To escape them, he’d taken a long run. Not even exercise or loud country music through his headphones could chase them from his mind. After his run, instead of collapsing into bed like he usually did after a day of work and punishing exercise, he got into the shower and scrubbed his skin raw. No relief. Without a plan other than to find a numbing mechanism, he wandered out of the hotel and into a little rundown, depressing bar that matched his mood and his memories.

Katy had been behind the bar. He hadn’t noticed her, too troubled to engage in his usual flirtatious antics with any attractive woman within the vicinity. She’d poured him a tumbler of the best scotch she had. After a few drinks, she’d started asking him questions. What was he doing in town? Why was he out alone? He’d started answering. Somehow, he couldn’t say precisely how, Katy had gotten him to talk about his sister. With lovely blue eyes and a sympathetic mouth and a way of cocking her head to the side when she listened, she dragged the past out of him like a magician pulled a never-ending scarf from his sleeve. Each time she tugged, a new aspect of the story slipped out of him.

He’d told her the whole sordid tale. That had surprised him most of all. Not even the Dogs knew the story of the one event that molded every single aspect of his adult personality. No one in his current life even knew he had siblings.

No one knew the story of Pig and the Miller Brothers either. He’d never shared it with another human being after he drove away from the little Oregon town where it had all unfolded. Until Katy. He cringed now, remembering how he’d cried. Too many drinks and a sympathetic woman had unhinged him. And guilt. Don’t forget guilt.

Katy had reminded him of Sheri from back home. Sheri Swanson with her kind heart and beautiful face. Gone too soon. That had been the title of the newspaper article when she’d died at fifteen. If he’d written the article he would have described her kindness, her utter intolerance to cruelty of any kind. Even to Pig. She’d been the only one who had been kind to him. Everyone hated Pig. They tortured him and taunted him. Not Sheri.

Katy didn’t know that Kyle. She had seen him as he was now—muscular, charming, rich. She’d seen him around town, she’d said. There’s something about a man in a suit.

They’d had sex. No doubt about that. Even as drunk as he’d been, he remembered her little apartment and the water stain on the ceiling above her bed. She’d told him this wasn’t the type of thing she did—bringing home a man she didn’t know. He would have liked to have said the same, but he didn’t lie to women. Yes, he slept with a lot of them, but he never lied, and he never promised anything he couldn’t deliver.

The sex had been sweet. Shy and inexperienced, she’d evoked a strangely protective feeling in him. When he realized the condom had broken, he’d hoped like hell she was on the pill. She fell asleep afterward, curled up like a child. He’d slipped out, hungover and ashamed. He’d taken advantage of a nice girl who was way too young for him and way too accommodating.

What the hell was he going to do now? He needed one of the women in his circle to come over and help him figure out what to do. Three of the Dogs were in steady relationships with women. His first thought was Brody’s wife, Kara. She was a nurse. No question she’d know what to do with a baby. That said, he wasn’t sure how he felt about sharing all this with her just yet. He didn’t know her well and she would probably be horrified that he had a baby from a one-night stand. It couldn’t be Maggie, Jackson’s wife, even though she was more compassionate than anyone in the world. She was on her way home from the city after an interview on a local television station. That left Zane’s fiancée, Honor. She was clearly the best choice. He needed someone who could help him sort out what to do and no one could figure a way out of a pickle better than Honor. Plus, she wouldn’t judge him. Or would she? It didn’t matter, really, because eventually he was going to have to tell everyone that instant fatherhood had been thrust upon him.

How did one use the phone while feeding a baby? He was stuck on the couch with baby pee soaking deeper into the carpet. There was nothing to do but let her finish and then he’d call Honor. No, first he’d call someone to clean up the pee and get rid of that heinous smelling diaper.

When Mollie Blue was done, she stared up at him with glazed blue eyes. Was he supposed to burp her? How was that done exactly? He’d seen women do it before. He lifted the baby up to his shoulder and patted her back. Not long after the fourth tap, a large burp erupted from her tiny body. Afterward, she snuggled into his shoulder and stopped squirming. She’d fallen asleep. Thank the good lord. He breathed in the scent of her head and closed his eyes. He’d never smelled anything better in his entire life.

Smells. The bane of his existence.

Pig. The taunts of his childhood echoed through his mind.

Take care of Mollie. Don’t think of the past. Not now.

He gingerly positioned her back in the stroller, figuring that was the closest thing he had to a crib. His hands shook when he punched in Honor’s number. She answered on the second ring.

“Hey dummy. What’s up?”

“I have a little situation.”

“What you’d do, get someone pregnant?”

His mouth dropped open.

“Kyle? Are you there?”

“Yes. I’m here. I need you to come over to the resort. I’m staying in the penthouse this week.” He cleared his throat. “It’s urgent.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’ll explain when you get here.”

“I’m at Brody’s finishing up some work, but I can be there in ten minutes.” Honor was Brody’s manager and often worked from the office at his home. Brody was away in San Francisco for the football season and only came home occasionally.

After they hung up, he moved over to the bank of windows that looked out to the small town of Cliffside Bay. By design, the top floor of his resort looked out to the ocean. Today it reflected the ash-colored sky. Fall had come suddenly at the end of September. Now, just days into October, shades of gray replaced nuanced hues of blue. The landscape here reminded him of an independent woman. An expensive view was of no consequence to her. She approached and retreated as she wished, regardless of where you ranked in the human order of things. Rich or poor, young or old—no title or status were of any use to her. If she wanted to hide beneath a sheath of fog, she would. If she wanted to drown you in the powerful forces of her riptides, there was nothing to be done but succumb.

The main street of town was quiet today. Tourist season ended after Labor Day, leaving the sleepy town to doze. His new resort had opened several weeks ago. So far, the weekends were full, but during the week most rooms remained vacant. He wasn’t worried. The winter would be sluggish, but by spring every room would be booked. For the first time in the history of Cliffside Bay, there would be a place for tourists to stay. Someday he would build a house on the piece of property outside of town that he shared with Jackson. For now, he’d been content to make hotels or his friends’ homes his home. No need to commit to one place given his travel schedule. Up until now, that is. A baby changed everything.

What was he supposed to do with Mollie? He had multiple projects going, including a new shopping mall in a suburb up north. His calendar was packed with travel and meetings. A baby. He wasn’t a family guy. Nothing about him, neither his past nor his present, would give him a chance in hell of being a good father.

A knock on the door startled him. It was one of the housekeepers to clean the soiled rug. After he pointed it out, she dropped to the floor with a spray and a rag without comment. The staff knew better than to ask what in the name of God a baby was doing in his room. The boss was the boss.

No sooner had the maid left than Honor arrived. He put his finger to his lips before he allowed her inside the room. “I have a little situation.”

“So you said. What’s up?”

He gestured toward the stroller. “This.”

Her eyes widened as she covered her mouth with her hands. “What the what?” she asked through her fingers.

As quickly as he could, he told her of Mollie’s arrival. Then, he handed her the DNA test and the birth certificate. “So, there’s no question she’s mine.”

“Holy crap, this is a situation. A major situation.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

She placed her hands together under her chin. “Tell me what you’ve done so far.”

“I changed her diaper and fed her. By the way, no one should have to see what I just saw. She sucked down the only bottle of formula and I don’t know what to feed her if she wakes up.”

“Formula. You have to get more formula.”

“Okay. Where does one get that?”

“The store will have it. It comes in a powder. You just mix it up with water.”

“How do you know that?”

“Everyone knows that.”

“I most definitely do not know that,” he said.

“It’s fine. That’s not the problem here.”

“No kidding.”

“How did this happen?” she asked.

“The condom broke.”

“Oh, Kyle. This is bad. Very bad.”

“I know.” He covered his face with his hands and sank onto the couch. “Jesus, what am I going to do?”

Honor sat across from him on the coffee table and placed her hands in the long strands of her blond hair. He’d never known what the term intelligent eyes had meant until he met Honor. “We need a plan.”

“Yes, a plan. A plan’s always good,” he said.

“First things first. We’ll send one of your staff out for supplies to get us through the next few days, but bottom line—you have to hire a nanny.”

“A nanny. Right. And where do we find one of those?” Not the same place as the formula. He knew that much.

“We’ll ask Nora to help us.”

“Great idea,” he said. Nora ran a small placement agency out of her home. She had the resumes of most residents of Cliffside Bay in her database. In fact, she’d helped his manager staff the entire resort. “Yes, Nora will know someone.”

“Until then, we need to get Violet over here,” Honor said.

“Violet Ellis?” His mouth twisted like it did when he bit into grapefruit. “I hate that woman.”

“I know. However, you’re going to have to put that aside for now. She’s the only one who knows how to take care of a baby.”

Violet Ellis was his arch enemy. With her chocolate brown eyes and silky caramel skin and her rock-hard yoga body, she looked like an angel. However, she worked like the devil to make his life miserable, including picketing the building of this very resort during its construction. He hated to admit it, but Honor was right. Violet would know how to take care of a baby because she was a single mother to three-year-old Dakota.

“She’s not going to help me. Violet despises me.” Just saying her name made him want to spit.

“She won’t be able to say no to a baby.” Honor moved to the stroller and peered down at Mollie. “What a doll.” The tremor in Honor’s voice betrayed her. A full hysterectomy at eighteen meant she would never have a baby of her own. Although she and Zane had adopted six-year-old Jubie, he suspected she wanted a baby of her own. Shame and self-hatred coursed through him. Why should he get a baby when poor Honor and Zane pined for one? I suck. Pig.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Honor said, looking over at him. “Don’t feel bad. I’ve accepted that I can’t have one of my own. We’ll figure out a way to have a baby. You don’t have to apologize for having one.”

“But I don’t deserve her and we both know I’m not qualified to take care of her.”

“Do you want to put her up for adoption?”

A tunnel of blackness blighted his vision. Images floated through the tunnel of his own lonely childhood. His father passed out on the couch with his arm slung over his eyes. The red dress his mother wore the day she left them. His sister’s mangled body on the highway. “I can’t. I won’t. I’m keeping her. When I look at her I get this feeling in my stomach.”

“It feels like nothing you’ve ever felt before, right?” Honor asked.

“Something warm and soothing but that stings at the same time.”

“That’s parental love. I felt it with Jubie right away, even though she was six when she came to us. Once you feel that, it’s all over.”

“I had such a bad childhood.” He paused, swallowing the tremor that had crept into his voice. “What if I can’t do this?”

“You can do it,” Honor said. “It’ll be the hardest and easiest thing you’ve ever done. Trust me.”

He sighed, resigned to his fate. Violet Ellis would have to come to his temporary home and help him with his very permanent daughter. “Call Violet.”

“I’ll call Violet.”

“Just until Nora can find someone else,” he said.

“It’s good timing, actually. Violet’s parents are coming back from South America and want their house back. She doesn’t have a new place, so she’d planned to stay with Kara and Brody. She could stay here with you instead.”

“Why can’t she stay with her parents until she finds a house?”

“Her dad didn’t know she and Dakota were living there.

Apparently, he doesn’t approve of her having a baby out of wedlock.”

“Does he think it’s 1952?”

“I guess so.” She dismissed the topic with a jerk of her hand. “Anyway, she’ll have to bring Dakota with her.”

“That’s fine.”

“I’ll make the call.”

 

Chapter 2: Violet

Violet Ellis’s Blouse stuck to her hot, damp skin. She couldn’t find her car keys. Her son’s church preschool closed in exactly four minutes. The teachers chastised parents if they were even thirty seconds late. For Christians, they were not especially forgiving of human failures. Last time she was late, the elderly Mrs. Knight had shaken her knobby finger right in Violet’s face and given a terse lecture about teaching children responsibility through one’s own example.

She never used to be late for anything. Her life used to be in perfect order: five minutes early to appointments, bills paid on time, house neat and orderly, clothes folded into perfect squares. She was a yoga teacher, for heaven’s sake. Sweating on a cool autumn day while madly searching for lost keys did not suit her. But the past few months of failure and humiliation had ripped through the fabric of her very existence. Her calm demeanor had eroded into a hot mess.

She yanked open drawers. This was an exercise in futility if there ever was one. The keys couldn’t have magically jumped into one of them. Even in her current state of dishevelment, she wouldn’t put keys into a drawer in which they didn’t belong. Then, where were they? She dumped the contents of her purse onto the counter. A pack of gum, hairbrush, cell phone, wallet, hair tie, and lipstick tumbled onto the bare counter. Nothing unusual, other than the fact her keys were not in there.

Fighting tears of frustration, she circled the kitchen. A shiny object glistened on the windowsill by the breakfast nook. The keys. How in the name of God had they gotten there? There were no pets to blame and Dakota had been at preschool all morning. She grabbed the keys and ran out the door. Exactly two minutes to get down the hill and to the church by five o’clock. It was a physical impossibility.

Violet’s hands dampened the steering wheel as she turned out of her parents’ driveway and onto the narrow road that headed down the hill. A drop of sweat dribbled between her breasts. She hated this quality about herself—this apologetic and nervous attitude when confronted with authority figures. Who cared if cranky Mrs. Knight was annoyed at her? Violet certainly did enough volunteer work for the preschool and the church to be given a late pass occasionally.

This character flaw explained every single bad decision she’d ever made. When given a choice, she always succumbed to authority. Her father’s hypercritical parenting had made her desperate to please. Not that it mattered. Whatever she did wasn’t good enough for him.

The parking lot of the church was empty. Fantastic, that meant she was the only late parent. How were the other mothers so perfect?

A drizzle dampened her overheated face as she sprinted into the building. Mrs. Knight and Dakota sat outside the classroom on the naughty bench. The children were sent there to think about how to make better choices. Violet thought that was such a stupid expression. Choices. They were preschoolers, not taxpaying adults.

“Hi, Mama.” Dakota grinned and scooted from the bench to run toward her. “I’m in trouble because you’re late.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Knight. I couldn’t find my keys,” Violet said.

Dakota wrapped his arms around her legs and looked up at her.

“Wasn’t that the excuse last week?” Mrs. Knight folded her arms over her abundant chest and pinched her eyelids into narrow slits. Shame. Well played, Mrs. Knight. She would not cry in front of this mean woman. No one could be expected to remain strong under the disappointing gaze of Mrs. Knight, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t fake it until she got out to the car.

“I’m sorry,” Violet said again. “Between closing my shop and moving, I’ve been scattered.”

“Miss Ellis, life will always present challenges. The important thing is to rise to said challenges.”

“Yes, I know. I’m trying.” Violet inwardly cringed at the conciliatory tone of her voice. Allowing this battle-axe to bully her over being a few minutes late was silly. She was so tired. Her defense mechanisms had evaporated under the pressure of the last few weeks. She bit the inside of her lip, trying not to cry.

Dakota, however, didn’t crumble under the hot beams of Mrs. Knights eyes. His protective instincts seemed to kick in when he heard the tremble in his mother’s voice. He crossed his arms over his chest in a perfect mimic of his teacher. “Mama said sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t always enough,” Mrs. Knight said.

“You say sorry to Mama now,” Dakota said. “You were mean.”

“Young man, you will spend the first five minutes of tomorrow on this very bench,” Mrs. Knight said.

“I don’t care,” Dakota said.

Violet almost laughed despite the tears that stung her eyes. She must keep it together or he’d have ten minutes on the naughty bench before they were out of here. “Dakota, we should always be respectful to adults,” Violet said. “Please apologize to Mrs. Knight.”

He looked up at her like she’d just suggested they join the circus. “I won’t. Not until she says sorry to you.”

“Despite his above average intelligence, this is just the kind of rebellious behavior that will keep him from a good college,” Mrs. Knight said.

College? That was a stretch.

“I’ve seen it a hundred times. Brats in preschool turn to drugs and a life of crime.” Mrs. Knight stood, her impressive girth now only inches from them.

Violet stared at her new nemesis, so stunned she couldn’t think of what to say next.

“Tell me you’re sorry.” Mrs. Knight glowered down at Dakota.

He stepped closer to her and stared right back at her. “I will not.”

“Da-Dakota…” Violet stammered.

“That’s it. You’ll spend all day on this bench tomorrow.” Mrs. Knight’s face had turned the color of a cooked beet. Faint white whiskers on her upper lip glistened with perspiration.

“I don’t care,” Dakota said. “I hate it here anyway.”

“You do?” He did? She thought he loved school. When she picked him up, he smiled and bounced like a brightly colored beach ball.

Dakota stepped closer to his mother and took her hand. “Let’s go, Mama. I’ll cheer you up at home.”

“He apologizes to me or he cannot come back to school,” Mrs. Knight said. “This is what happens when a child doesn’t have a father. Born in sin becomes sin.”

“How dare you,” Violet said. “You don’t know anything about our life.”

“I know you have no husband and a very rude little boy,” Mrs. Knight said.

Dakota tugged on her hand. “Let’s go, Mama.”

“Let me tell you something, Mrs. Knight. I’m doing the best I can to raise a person who is kind and generous, like Jesus asks of us. You are not the kind of example I want for my son. He will not be back. Not tomorrow. Not ever. And you can bet your ass I’m going to tell anyone who will listen how utterly terrible you are with children. I’m not sure why someone like you would become a teacher in the first place.” Violet turned away and let her little son lead them down the hallway of the church basement and up the stairs to the main floor.

Rain fell harder now. She tilted her face to the sky and let the drops cool her overheated skin. Dakota continued to squeeze her hand. At the car, he climbed obediently into his car seat and raised his arms so she could buckle him in.

Once settled into the driver’s seat, she turned on her windshield wipers. This was the first earnest rain of the year and these wipers were no match for it. They barely scraped the water from the glass. Her old car might not make it through the winter. Two hundred thousand miles might be its limit. Old Zelda was as tired as she. The only difference was that Violet was twenty-eight and shouldn’t feel two hundred.

She pulled out of the church parking lot and onto the main street. “Mama, you said ass.”

“Dakota Ellis, that’s a bad word.”

She looked at him in the rearview mirror. He nodded, looking earnest and serious. “I know, Mama. That’s why you shouldn’t say it.”

“Okay, but you don’t say it just because I did. You could have just said that I said a bad word and not said the word itself.”

His big blue eyes blinked as he stared back at her. “Okay, Mama. I’m sorry.”

How complex her little guy was. He could quickly apologize to her but not that old battle-axe.

“Do you really hate school?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you don’t have to go now.” How was she going to get a job if he had no preschool to go to?

She turned the wipers on high speed, which did nothing to influence their competency.

The plan was to live with Kara and Brody Mullen until she could find a place of her own. When you’re the best quarterback in the AFL, houses with several wings come with the territory. Fortunately for her, the Mullens were generous people. Thank God, she could use their home as a temporary residence. There were no places to rent in Cliffside Bay. Not that it mattered if there were any. She didn’t have a job. Plus, there was a mountain of debt from her small business loan. Landlords didn’t rush to rent to people like her.

They passed the empty building where her shop had been. Since she walked into a store back in Boston that sold items made from recyclable or refurbished material, she’d dreamt of opening one of her own. She’d felt sure it would be a hit in Cliffside Bay. She’d been wrong. A purse made from old tires or jewelry twisted from chicken wire—who wouldn’t love that? Apparently, most of the people who walked into her shop. Nothing to do now. It was over, done, finished. Inventory had been returned to vendors. The accounting books were closed. She was officially a failure.

She’d rented her side of the building from the owners of the town’s bookstore. The owners were retiring and had sold the bookstore business and the building to Lance Mullen, Brody’s younger brother. Fortunately, Lance had graciously let her out of her lease with no penalties. Soon, the walls between her shop and the bookstore would be torn down to make way for a bigger space. Lance planned to merge an old-fashioned soda fountain, coffee shop, and bookstore into one space. Mary Hansen, a former librarian, would run the bookstore portion of the business. Lance had offered Violet a job as a clerk when they were ready to open, but that was months away. She needed a job now.

A job for a person with no skills in a small town with few opportunities? It was a tall order. As she often did when thinking about how exactly her life had gone so epically into the dumpster, she blamed her father. If he’d allowed her to attend UC Berkeley instead of demanding she attend a conservative Christian college back east she might have a career in the environmental studies.

You go where I want, or I won’t pay. Off she went with her suitcase and her bible.

Violet was about to turn onto her street when the phone rang. It was Honor. She’d called every morning and afternoon for weeks to check up on her.

“Hey, Honor. I’m fine.”

“Hey girl. So, we have a little situation.”’

“A situation? Is Jubie okay?” Sometimes she asked for parenting advice. Like I know what I’m doing.

“Yeah, she’s great. It’s…Kyle.”

“Kyle? What does that have to do with me?” She despised Kyle Hicks. Loathed. Abhorred. He was nothing but a greedy planetimploder with no respect for the past or the future. His irresponsible resort had opened just as she closed her shop. If that wasn’t a sick irony, she didn’t know what was.

“Well, there’s a baby here. Kyle’s baby. We don’t know how to take care of her.”

“A baby?”

“He didn’t know about her until today. She was kind of left on the doorstep, so to speak.”

“Could the guy be any more of a cliché? What did he do, just get some girl pregnant and take off?”

“Not exactly like that. Yes, on the pregnant part. But he didn’t know she was pregnant. It was more of a one-night type of thing.”

Reckless, careless, immature Kyle Hicks.

“Where’s the baby’s mother?” Violet asked.

“She died from complications of childbirth.”

“That’s awful,” Violet said.

“The baby—Mollie Blue—she’s only a week old and there was only one bottle of formula and she already ate that and now we don’t know what to do. We need you.”

Mollie Blue. What a sweet name. A little girl. In Kyle Hicks’ hands? The poor child didn’t have a chance.

“I’ll come, but only for the baby. Make sure you tell Kyle that it’s not for him.”

“Trust me, he knows that already.”

“Where are you guys?” Violet asked, turning the car in the other direction.

“The penthouse suite at the resort,” Honor said.

“Of course he’s in the penthouse suite.” He disgusts me. “I’ll be right there, but I have Dakota with me.”

“Totally fine. And thanks. I realize he isn’t your first choice of someone to help.”

“He’s not even my last choice,” Violet said.

***

Violet hadn’t stepped inside of the Cliffside Bay Resort and Spa until today. She’d spent plenty of time on the outside while they were building this blight on the land. With a picket sign in her hand. Little good it did. Kyle Hicks just went right on with his plans to clear acres of trees and meadows. For what? To build a resort in what should have remained an isolated and pristine area of the world. His sole purpose was money.

She had to admit the lobby was beautiful. Breathtaking, even. The room seemed like something from the past, a more elegant and sophisticated time where women wore gowns to dinner and men still opened doors. White marble floors, a fountain, and a sweeping stairway that led to a glittering restaurant on the second floor reminded her of something out of The Great Gatsby. She half expected Daisy to come down the stairs with a long cigarette hanging from her mouth.

She instructed Dakota to hold onto her hand. “No running or shouting in here. You got it?”

“Yes, Mama.”

They crossed the lobby. As they passed the fountain, Dakota’s gait slowed. She knew he wanted to put his grubby fingers in the spray. This could not happen. There would not be a second accusation of poor mothering skills today. Once was quite enough.

“Dakota, no touching.”

“I know, Mama.”

She spotted the concierge desk near the glass doors that opened to a terrace. Was that Joan Adams at the desk? It was. What was she doing working for the enemy? Joan Adams had lived in Cliffside Bay all her life and had once worked at the feed store, which was currently being torn down to make way for Zane Shaw’s new brewery. Sadly, no one needed farm and garden supplies. Beer, however, was popular with both tourists and townspeople. Yet another business morphing their secret town into a tourist destination.

Mrs. Adams looked up from her computer screen. “Good afternoon, Miss Ellis. Welcome to Cliffside Bay Resort and Spa.” She slid a keycard across the shiny surface of the desk. “Mr. Hicks is expecting you. You’ll need the keycard to access the top floor.”

“How have you been, Mrs. Adams? I didn’t know you were working here.”

“Yes, Miss Ellis. I was one of the first employees. It’s a pleasure to serve you.” Mrs. Adams sounded like a polite robot. What had Kyle done to her?

“Why are you talking so weird?” Violet whispered.

She lowered her voice. “Our manager likes us to speak formally, even if we know the guests. Stellar customer service begins and ends with precision and attention to detail.”

“You used to sneak me a candy every time my dad took me to the feed store. Formality is a little ridiculous.”

“Please let me know if I can be of further assistance.” Mrs. Adams’ mouth stretched into a smile, but her eyes were pleading with Violet to let it go.

Letting go wasn’t Violet’s strongest attribute.

“How could you sell out like this?” Violet asked.

“Sell out?”

“This place is like the devil moving into town.”

“That’s a bit of an overstatement,” Mrs. Adams said.

“You’ve lived here all your life. How could you agree to work for a business that…that poor excuse for a man Kyle Hicks tore down the forest for?”

“Kyle Hicks is a wonderful man. Smart and fair.” She lowered her voice again. “And he’s quite handsome. If I was a young woman, I wouldn’t hesitate to flirt my way into his heart.”

Violet stared at her, horrified. What was wrong with this world? “He’s a money-grubbing pig.”

There was a brief pause as Mrs. Adams looked at her hands. When she looked up, her voice had dropped to just above a whisper. “This resort—Kyle Hicks—brought over a hundred jobs to this town. I don’t know if you’ve noticed from your parents’ enormous home where you live for free and dabble in your little store, but we need these jobs. I need this job. My husband’s not well enough. I’m an old lady. No one wants to hire me. But Kyle Hicks did. He and Mr. Kauffman, our manager, said no training was necessary. They would teach me everything I needed to know. I won’t hear one bad word out of your mouth about him, young lady.”

Violet flooded with heat, embarrassed and angry all at once. Why did everyone in this town feel it necessary to lecture her today? “I didn’t know Mr. Adams was sick.”

“He has rheumatoid arthritis,” Mrs. Adams said.

“I’m sorry,” Violet said. “My dad has that too.”

“You didn’t know. Still, sometimes you need to think about people over causes.”

“I am thinking about people. I’m thinking about the health of our planet. We only have one, you know. I’d like it to still be here for my son.”

“We all saw you down here with your picket sign, and frankly, it was embarrassing. I thought you had better manners than that.”

“Manners? What is everyone’s obsession with manners? Sometimes manners are exactly opposite of what we need. Nothing ever changes without protest. Women who make a difference in the world are rarely polite.”

“It must be nice to have time and money to think of such high ideals. I’m too busy paying for my husband’s medicines to concern myself with such things.”

“I’ll have you know I closed my store last week. It’s all over. Finished. I have no place to live either now that my parents—who were so dedicated to manners—are coming back to town. I’m pretty worried about feeding my son, so I don’t appreciate the lecture.” Violet stopped. If she started crying in front of Mrs. Adams in the middle of this glossy lobby, she would die right there on the spot.

Dakota tugged on her hand. “Mama, I see Honor.”

Honor. Thank God. A way to escape.

Violet picked up the keycard from Mrs. Adam’s desk and sniffed. “Have a great day, Mrs. Adams.”

“You as well, Miss Ellis.”

Dakota broke from her grip and sprinted across the lobby toward Honor. Violet cringed when he shouted Honor’s name and leapt into her arms. So much for quiet. She glanced at the front desk. Thankfully, busy with guests, Mrs. Adams and the rest of the staff weren’t paying any attention. An older woman sitting on a lounge chair looked up from her magazine to smile at Violet. “What a darling boy.”

Violet thanked her and quickened her pace. Honor and Dakota were by the elevators. Apparently, her son had managed to tell Honor the entire story of their altercation at school.

“So now I can’t go to school,” Dakota said.

“Are you sad about that?” Honor asked.

“No. I don’t like that old battle-axe.”

“Dakota! Where did you hear that word?” Violet asked.

“You said it today.” Dakota wrinkled his forehead as if she were the most perplexing woman on the planet. Maybe she was.

“Never mind that. Honor, what can we do to help with the baby?”

“Baby 101, that’s what,” Honor said as they followed her into the elevator. “We had one of the staff go out and get formula and diapers.” She put a keycard into a slot and punched the top floor button.

The elevator moved. Dakota squealed. “Elevator, Mama.”

Violet’s stomach lurched as they came to a stop. They all exited into a hallway. A plush, sage-green carpet felt wonderful under her feet, like walking on a firm mattress. She would love to take off her shoes and let it soothe her tired feet. The scent of lilies from a vase on a rectangular table tickled her nose. Where did he get lilies this time of year? Probably flown in from some third world country for exorbitant amounts of money. None of which trickled down to the poor farmers who grew them.

“Dakota, this is a very special floor,” Honor said. “Kyle’s a part owner so he stays in the very nicest suite in the whole resort.”

“Wow,” Dakota said.

“He’s not Superman,” Violet said under her breath.

Honor shot her a look. “Be nice. You have the power right now.”

“I’ll try not to let it go to my head,” Violet said.

“Stop being so grumpy,” Honor said. “Wait until you see this baby. She’s precious. Seriously, you’ll want to eat her up.”

“Eat a baby?” Dakota asked.

“Not really,” Honor said. “It just means she’s yummy. I mean, she’s pretty and I just want to kiss her all over.”

“Oh,” Dakota said. “That’s weird.”

“I have a thing for babies,” Honor said. “What can I say?”

Violet flushed with shame. Honor couldn’t have a baby of her own. Seeing a newborn must hurt. And here was cavalier Kyle Hicks with one just dropped into his lap like everything else in the man’s life.

They reached the door of the suite. Honor didn’t bother to knock; she simply pressed the keycard against the door and entered, gesturing for Violet and Dakota to follow.

“Don’t be loud,” Violet said to Dakota. “The baby might be sleeping.”

Dakota mimicked her finger to her lips and made a shushing sound.

When they entered the suite, Violet had to physically restrain herself from gasping out loud. The suite was magnificent. The same white marble floors as the lobby shone under the light of a chandelier made of sparkling glass. Posh, richly hued furniture in greens and purples, fluffy rugs, and glass tabletops with silver trim were arranged in geometric perfection. Paintings of various bright and vibrant flowers decorated the creamy sage walls. The bank of windows looked out on the entire town of Cliffside Bay, surrounding country roads, forests, and meadows. If it weren’t foggy today, you would be able to see the endless waters of the Pacific.

She quickly forgot all of that at the sight of Kyle Hicks with a baby in his arms. A spot of sunshine had broken through the gray sky and washed the room and the man in a warm glow. She drew closer, mesmerized. He cradled the baby against his chest and softly sang “You Are My Sunshine.” Kyle Hicks knew a lullaby. Go figure.

He looked up from the baby and smiled at her. Triumph glittered in his deep blue eyes. “I got her to sleep,” he whispered before his gaze turned back to Mollie. Those thick, black lashes didn’t belong on a man. Whatever. That was of no consequence. Pretty is as pretty does.

She glanced around the room. A dilapidated stroller was parked over by the couch. “It’s like 1972 is looking for its stroller.”

Honor laughed from across the room where she had Dakota on her lap.

“No, seriously,” Violet said. “You must never use that again. It’s not safe.”

An empty bottle and a used diaper sat on the coffee table. Apparently neither Honor nor Kyle knew how to roll a dirty diaper because it was wide open with the baby’s last deposit displayed for all the world to see. Violet rushed to the table and arranged the diaper into a tight ball.

They needed a diaper pail or things were going to get stinky very fast.

“What do we do first?” Honor asked.

“Kyle, put the baby on the ottoman here.” Violet pointed to the large ottoman adjacent to the armchair near a gas fireplace. “She’ll be nice and warm there.” She instructed Dakota to switch on the fire. He leapt from Honor’s lap and gleefully pushed the switch.

“What if she rolls off?” Kyle asked.

“She can’t roll yet,” Violet said. “We’ve got weeks and weeks before she can do anything close to rolling.”

Violet grabbed the pink blanket from the couch. “Before you put her down, we need to swaddle her.”

“Swaddle?” he asked.

“I’ll show you how,” she said.

Surprisingly, Kyle followed her directions and put the baby in the center of the blanket.

“Does she seem healthy?” Kyle pointed to her head. “What’s that dent there?”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Violet said. “All babies have that when they’re first born.” She gently caressed the soft dent in Mollie’s head, remembering when Dakota had been that age. “I didn’t know that when Dakota was born. I freaked out.” The plates of the head had to fully grow together. Her nurse at the hospital had kindly explained it to her. She now explained this to Kyle.

“What about her eyes? Do you think she can see out of them?” Kyle asked.

“You mean because they look kind of glassy?” she asked.

Kyle nodded.

“Totally normal. All white babies are born with blue eyes that look like this. They turn their real color later.”

Kyle nodded again. His eyes looked like a startled animal’s. Arrogant Kyle Hicks, all shook up.

She deposited the blanket on the ottoman and instructed him to put the baby in the middle. “Now you wrap her up like a burrito, as tight as you can get it.”

“Won’t it hurt her?” Kyle asked.

“No. They like it. Mimics the womb,” Violet said, amazed how fast all this came back to her. She hadn’t had the luxury of anyone advising her. Not that she needed anyone. Books had everything a new parent needed to know. If you had a chance to read them before the baby appeared on your doorstep.

“We need a plan.” Honor glanced at her wristwatch. “I’ve got to pick up Jubie in thirty minutes.”

“You need supplies,” Violet said. She explained the need for a crib, pacifier, car seat, stroller, and changing table.

“Can you rent that stuff?” Kyle asked.

Violet shook her head. “No, but you can buy them online and have them rush delivered.”

“Right.” Kyle let out a deep breath. “I’m not thinking clearly.”

Honor patted his arm and drew him over to sit on the couch. “You look a little pasty. I think we need to get some food in you.”

“We can call for room service,” Kyle said. “Whatever you guys want.”

From over by the window where Dakota had decided a knickknack of a seashell was better as a truck, replete with engine noises, he looked up, suddenly interested. “Can I have a cheeseburger?”

“Absolutely. If it’s okay with your mom. Do you let him eat meat?” Kyle asked.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I?” Violet asked. What was it with this guy? Did he have to make a case about everything?

“Can I have a milkshake?” Dakota asked.

“If your mom says yes, then I say yes,” Kyle said. “Your mom’s saving me right now.”

“You can have one for dessert. Burger first,” Violet said.

“Yes, Mama.”

“After we order dinner, let’s get on the internet and order what we need,” Violet said.

“How much is this going to cost me?” Kyle asked.

“Why are you worried about money?” Violet asked.

“I’m not worried. Old habits die hard, that’s all,” Kyle said.

Was he referring to an impoverished childhood? Despite herself, curiosity poked through her annoyance. No one knew much about his past, other than he’d come to USC as an emancipated adult.

“It’s a little late to worry about money now,” she said in a tone sharper than she meant. “You made a baby and now you have to pay to take care of her.”

“I get it. Back off with the judgey tone,” he said.

“I’m not judging you.”

“Yes, you are, but it’s fine,” Kyle said. “I don’t care what you or anyone else think about me. I haven’t for a long time. Regarding furniture, I want the best. Top of the line.”

“Of course, you do,” Violet said.

“Didn’t you just lecture me that I need to take care of my daughter?” Kyle’s eyes darkened when he was annoyed. She’d noticed that before. They darkened every time she was anywhere within his vision.

***

After Honor left, they ordered dinner and went to work. In less than forty-five minutes, they’d ordered furniture and the other supplies. Shopping was speedy when you simply ordered the most expensive item in every category. Violet kept her opinions to herself. Who cared if this guy wanted to waste his money on designer names? It wasn’t her concern.

Mollie Blue woke up and began to cry the moment they all sat down to eat.

“It’s a baby thing,” Violet said. “They have some kind of radar to ensure you never eat an entire meal or get an entire night’s sleep.”

Kyle’s shoulders slumped. “I’m starving.”

Despite her intentions to the contrary, she softened. “You eat. I’ll feed her this time.”

“She probably needs to be changed first,” Kyle said.

She looked over at him, surprised. “You catch on quick.”

“That’s what it was last time anyway,” Kyle said.

While the boys ate, Violet changed Mollie’s diaper and fixed a bottle from the powdered formula, careful to read the directions. She’d breastfed Dakota exclusively.

“Is it supposed to be warm or cold?” Kyle asked.

“Room temperature is fine, but they prefer if it’s the temperature of breast milk.”

“What the heck temperature is that?”

“Body temperature. See here?” Violet sprayed a small amount of formula on her forearm. “If you can’t feel either hot or cold then it’s the exact temperature of a person’s body. Whatever you do, don’t heat a bottle in the microwave. Hot spots.”

“Hot spots? What is that?”

“Hot spots in the water that could burn her. Microwaves don’t heat liquids evenly.”

“Jesus. I had no idea.”

“It’s all right. You know now.”

Violet sat in the armchair and placed the bottle in Mollie’s mouth. The baby sucked with no fussing, which meant she probably had not been breastfed. How sad to think the child would never know her true mother. The poor woman. To leave before they could know each other was incomprehensible and so unfair. She wondered, too often, how God let a tragedy like this happen. What had an innocent little baby ever done to deserve this fate? Her father would say that it was not our place to ask, but Violet had a few questions she planned on asking God when she arrived in heaven. Mollie would be on the top of the list of questions, right after how did a man like Cole Lund thrive despite his hypocrisy?

Cole Lund. America’s Pastor. Dakota’s father. Someone else’s husband. She’d been naive to believe he loved her.

She’d gone to work for him after leaving college. His strategic seduction had taken time. It started with lunches, then dinners out, all under the pretense of a working meal. As one of the administrators to the pastor staff, her job was to take notes while he brainstormed sermon ideas or plans for church growth. After a few months, he started dropping by her apartment in the evenings to ask her opinion on a sermon or a staff decision. Flattered and beguiled, she’d let him kiss her one night after he confessed to his feelings. I can think of nothing but you.

America’s Pastor, as it turned out, could think of other things besides Violet Ellis—his status in the church, his family, his Mercedes where he’d first placed his hand on her knee. When she told him she was pregnant, he dropped her so fast she could almost hear the thump of her head hitting the proverbial curb. That night, a man showed up on her doorstep with a check and a threat. Tell anyone and you won’t live long enough to give birth. Don’t come back to work. Don’t contact him ever again.

A sliver of loneliness crept of her spine. She was alone with her questions, alone with her mistakes.

Violet stroked the peach fuzz on Mollie’s head. “What a pretty one you are,” she said under her breath.

Mollie was a concentrated eater with an occasional appreciative grunt. Although, they should have Jackson or Kara give her an exam right away. She said as much to Kyle.

“Doctors? But she isn’t sick, is she?”

She almost laughed at his worried expression. Welcome to parenthood.

“No, it’s just standard for newborns to have frequent visits for checkups. They weigh and measure them and make sure they’re thriving. They call them ‘well-baby visits’.”

Kyle ran both hands through his hair as he crossed the room and sat on the coffee table across from her. “I don’t know what I’m doing. This is a disaster.”

“You’ll be fine.” She smiled, remembering her first few weeks as a mother. “I thought they were insane when the hospital sent me home with Dakota after less than twenty-four hours. I told the nurses I had no idea what I was doing, and I had no one to help me. They assured me I would be fine and to trust my instincts. I wanted to say, but I have no instincts. I’m too young for this. And my mother wasn’t speaking to me—I didn’t tell them that part, but seriously, I had no one. That said, the nurses were right. It all fell into place. Although, Dakota was an easy baby. For one thing, he was giant. He weighed nine pounds when he was born.”

“How did nine pounds come out of you?” He gestured toward her narrow hips.

“It wasn’t pretty. At all.” He’d ripped her in several places. She wasn’t sure everything was good down there, even now. It would require having sex with someone to find out, which seemed unlikely to happen anytime soon.

“Are bigger babies better?” he asked. “Because she doesn’t seem very big.”

“I’d guess she’s just over six pounds. I’ve heard the smaller they are, the longer it takes them to sleep through the night. They have to eat more frequently than a big fat baby like Dakota.”

“Sleep. How am I going to work and take care of her by myself?” His eyes had darkened to the color of the night sky just after twilight when the first of the stars appear.

“You’ll hire a nanny for during the day and a nanny for the nights. Once she starts to sleep through the night, you’ll be fine with just a day nanny.”

“There’s such a thing as a night nanny?”

“Yes, all rich people have them.”

“They do?” he asked.

“A lot of rich people have them.”

“Did you have one?” he asked.

A bitter taste at the back of her throat prevented her from a sarcastic laugh. “I couldn’t afford one. My parents had disowned me. I was solo. Fortunately, Dakota slept through the night at six weeks.”

“Six weeks? That seems like forever.” The corners of his mouth turned downward. “This cannot really be happening.”

It was almost endearing how bewildered and frightened he was. Almost, but not quite. This was Kyle Hicks. Rich and self-satisfied with little regard for anyone but his smug, attractive self. “It’ll be fine. Looking back, those weeks were just a blip on the radar. Honestly, cherish every moment. Before you know it, she’ll be three.”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this. Truly.”

“Do you have younger siblings?” Violet asked.

He looked away, scratching behind his ear. “Yeah. A brother and a sister.”

“Do you remember helping with them at all?” She couldn’t recall ever hearing that he had siblings. Not that she exactly asked around about Kyle Hicks.

“No. They were two and four years younger than me. I don’t remember anything under the age of six.”

“I was an only child, so I had the same problem. No memories to recall—like my mom did this, so I’ll do this. I couldn’t ask her either, since she wasn’t speaking to me.”

“Were they that uptight for real?”

“My parents are very religious.” She glanced at Dakota. He was dipping a french fry into his vanilla shake without a thought to what the adults were doing or saying. She lowered her voice anyway. “They were mortified I was pregnant without a husband.”

“Kind of antiquated, isn’t it?”

“You don’t know the half of it. My dad’s a real charmer.” She rolled her eyes to hide the pain behind those words.

“I’d choose supporting my daughter over any belief system I’d read in stories written a long time ago.”

Not religious. Duly noted.

“Don’t look like that,” he said, matching her subdued volume. “I’m not a total heathen. All I’m saying is that if I had a daughter like you and a grandson like Dakota, I’d be proud, whether you had a husband or not. The fact that Dakota’s father bailed tells me everything I need to know. Good riddance. Take it from me. No dad is better than one who doesn’t want to be there.”

She stared at him, shocked. A dozen questions floated across her mind. Had he given her a compliment? What was his father like? Instead, she surprised herself by sharing something of her own father.

“My dad hasn’t spoken to me in almost four years. We’ve been staying at their house without his knowledge. My mom kept it from him. Their house burned down in South America, so they have to come home. If it weren’t for Brody and Kara, I’d be majorly screwed right now.”

He ran his hands through his hair once more. “Hey, listen, I’m sorry about your shop. Lance said he offered you a few months free rent, but you turned him down.”

“Yeah.” She shrugged as Mollie took one last suck and then shook the nipple from her mouth. Violet gathered her to her shoulder and patted her back until a nice loud burp erupted. “Good girl.”

“Here, I’ll take her,” Kyle said.

Violet placed her in his arms. He kissed Mollie’s head. “She smells so good,” he said.

“They always do.”

“Why didn’t you take Lance up on it?” Kyle asked.

“Have you ever heard the term ‘bleeding cash’?”

Kyle grimaced as he cradled Mollie closer to his chest. “I’m familiar, yes.”

“It was more than just rent. The whole shop was a failure.” She looked away, embarrassed by the tremor in her voice. “I’m not cut out for business, I guess.”

“A lot of successful people had early failures. Most successful people.”

“It doesn’t matter. I have no place to live and a son without daycare.”

“What happened to daycare?”

“We had an incident today. I was late, and I got into it with Mrs. Knight. He’s no longer welcome.”

“You have a bit of a temper, don’t you?” He raised his eyebrows, teasing her. It wasn’t funny.

“I do not have a temper, but I won’t be pushed around. Not anymore.”

“Anymore?”

“Never mind that. Anyway, I need to focus on paying down my debt and finding a job.” Stop talking. He doesn’t need to know all this. Keep your guard up. This is the enemy.

He narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips into a thin line. “This is going to sound crazy…given our past, but we both need something the other could provide. I need a nanny. You need a place to live and a job where you can bring your son to work. What if you moved in here with us for a while? There are two bedrooms and two bathrooms. You and Dakota could have one and I’ll take the other with Mollie. You can have the day shift, and I’ll pay you twice the going rate for a full-time nanny, plus free room and board. You can get back on track financially, and I can rest easy that Mollie will be taken care of by someone I trust.”

You trust me?

“I’d ask only that you stop picketing my building.” He smiled, but it stung just the same.

“It’s done now. There’s nothing to picket. You’ve already ruined the land and the town.”

“Ruined? Really? Do you actually believe that?”

“You don’t get it and you never will,” Violet said.

He sighed and kissed Mollie’s head again. “That’s probably true. But we can agree to disagree, right? Just say yes. I promise to play nice from now on.”

“What about the night nanny?”

“I don’t want one. If I have you during the day and someone else at night, it means nothing’s left for me. She’s my baby and I should be the one up with her at night. I should be the one who feeds her and comforts her. You did it.”

You say that now.

“I know you don’t believe I can do it,” Kyle said. “For all I know, you might be right. But I should try. I have to try. I can’t bail on my kid like my parents did. I have to be present.”

“So, you’re really doing this?”

“I have to.” He stood and rocked the baby in his arms, gazing down at Mollie. His expression softened. Had he fallen in love with his baby already? “I mean, look at her. She’s perfection. I can’t let her down. I won’t.”

Two sudden thoughts flooded her resolve to remain strong. I wish a man would look at Dakota that way. I wish a man would look at me that way.

The first step was to recover financially. If she had to work for the enemy, then so be it. Plus, she’d get to hold sweet Mollie every day. A job where she could be with her son every day was the best she could do.

“What do you say?” he asked.

“Let’s try it for a month. Trial period only.”

“Fine, that’s reasonable.”

He bent over the baby again. His black hair shone in the lamplight. Was it as silky as it looked? No, no, no. This is the man you hate.

He represented everything in this world she loathed.

Or, did he?

She would never have predicted his reaction to the sudden appearance of a baby. Additionally, there were the references to his childhood. Had he grown up in poverty? Were his parents cold like her own? Were these the reasons he was so driven to succeed? Honor had suggested as much before, but Violet had dismissed it, assuming their friend was overstating to persuade her that he wasn’t so bad.

“Mollie looks like you.”

“Do you really think so?”

The hopeful, vulnerable tone in his voice gave her pause. Kyle Hicks was full of surprises today.

She pointed to Mollie’s mouth. “That’s your mouth. See the fullness of her bottom lip?”

He touched his fingertips to his own bottom lip. “Yeah?”

“She has your dark coloring too,” she said.

“Supposedly we have some Italian in us,” he said.

“I bet she’ll have your eyes too. If she’s lucky.” His were an unusual blue that turned from light to dark like the fickle Pacific. Not that she’d noticed…much.

“Her mother was pretty,” he said. “Blond and tall.”

Violet didn’t say anything for a moment, thinking about how tricky it would be for him, like it was for her, when his child grew old enough to ask about her mother.

“Dakota asks about his dad sometimes,” she said as if they’d already broached the subject. He seemed to follow her line of thinking without having to ask.

“What do you tell him?” Kyle asked.

She glanced over at her son to make sure he wasn’t listening. He was intently removing the seeds from his pickle wedge and singing the words to “The Wheels On the Bus” under his breath. “I tell him not everyone has one, but that I love him enough for two parents.”

“Does he buy it?”

She grimaced. “For now. Later, I’ll have to tell him the truth.”

“What is the truth? Are you in the one-night-stand club with me?”

“Not exactly.”

“Don’t judge me. I can’t take it.” His eyelids drooped as if he were suddenly exhausted.

“I’m not. Truly.” She touched his forearm, wanting to reassure him. “I’m not in much of a position to judge, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. I’ve been judged enough today for both of us.”

He gazed into her eyes for a moment before looking back at the baby. “It was when I was up north working on a project. It was a hard night for me and I drank too much at this dive bar where she worked. We talked. She had this way about her—one of those women who gets you talking about things you wouldn’t normally. Like Kara.”

“Yes, sure. I know exactly.” Kara Mullen was a witch that way. Two minutes into their first a conversation and she had cut through all the pleasantries.

“One thing led to another and I followed her home like an injured dog. She was a sweet girl. Way too young for me.” Kyle sighed. “Believe it or not, I felt bad afterward. I let my own weakness get the better of me. It’s not my thing, despite what you’ve heard, to seduce innocents. My women are usually of the savvy and sassy variety.” He paused and gazed down at the baby in his arms. “I don’t know if I can be enough for two parents. I look at you and I don’t know how you do it. Dakota’s a great kid.”

Her chest swelled with pride. “Not everyone’s a fan of my parenting.”

“That meanie at the day care? Screw her.”

“Everything I do seems to turn to sand in my hands.” Why was his kindness undoing her, making words tumble from her mouth?

“Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re a bad mother. It’s simply not true. As much as you and I disagree over certain things, I’ve always noticed how good you are with Dakota. Why do you think you were the first person we called?”

She flashed him a rueful smile. “I’m the only one of us who has raised an infant.”

He laughed for the first time since she’d arrived. “It’s not just that. And listen, I’m grateful you’re willing to help. I know it’s for Mollie, not me, but I’ll take it.”

“There’s no better reason for calling a truce than a baby.” A motherless baby.

He kissed Mollie’s forehead. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“It’s so sad about her mother.”

“Yeah. Now she’s stuck with me. Katy’s friend told me mortality rates for mothers in poor rural areas is on the rise. In America. There’s a cause in need of Violet Ellis.”

“Are you mocking me?”

He met her gaze. “Not one bit. I’m completely serious. We need to figure out what’s happening and do something about it. Isn’t that what you’re all about?”

“Kind of.” She looked down at her hands. “I don’t seem to have influence on much of anything, despite my efforts.”

“You don’t know if you are or not. These things aren’t measurable. Not all the way, at least. I know you prompted a few of my decisions on this place.”

“I did?”

“Have you noticed how green it is?” He pointed to the ceiling. “Solar panels on the roof? The sustainable kitchen in the restaurants. Ten percent of our profits will go to environmental groups.”

“You’re lying to me.”

“I’m not.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked,” he said.

“Oh.”

Dakota called out from over at the table. “Can I be excused now, Mama?”

“May I be excused,” she said.

“May I be excused, Mama?”

“You may. Come on over here, I have something exciting to tell you.”

Her little boy, her heart, ran from the table on his chubby legs. Why walk when you could run?

She pulled him onto her lap. “How would you like to move in here with Kyle for a little while? Baby Mollie needs our help. I’m going to take care of Mollie while he goes to work.”

His eyes widened. “Live in a hotel?”

“Sure. It’ll be an adventure. And no, you can’t have a milkshake every day.”

“What do you say?” Kyle asked. “I need another guy around here.”

Dakota’s gaze moved from her to Kyle. “My friend Jacob has a mom and dad and sister.”

“He does?” Kyle asked.

Dakota nodded. “But I just have my mom.”

“You’re lucky to have such an awesome mom. And we’re just borrowing her for a bit,” Kyle said. “She’ll still be your mom and your mom only.”

Kyle didn’t understand. Dakota wasn’t expressing angst over sharing his mother. He wanted a family like his friend Jacob had.

Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. All she needed was to break her son’s heart when they had to leave.

No, she had to do this. None of it mattered if she couldn’t provide the essentials. Shelter and food for her son had to be her priority. A job and a place to live had fallen in her lap. Kyle was right. They needed each other. She would just have to hope for the best regarding her own baby. Providing a place to live and food to eat was about as good as she could do now. Later there would be therapy bills, no question. Yet another reason to escape the mountain of debt. For now, however, one grown man, a little boy, and an infant girl needed her to do what she did best—take care of them.

“We have work to do, gentlemen,” she said. “Operation Take Care of Mollie starts now. Can you both accept the mission?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Bring it,” Kyle said.

 

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Try as they might, some people can never be “just friends”, as you’ll discover in this standalone, swoon-worthy, small-town romance from USA Today bestselling author Tess Thompson.
 
Nothing has ever come easy for Zane Shaw, which is exactly why he keeps his guard up at all times. Though he wasn’t raised to cower in the corner and hide from adversity, he’s had more than his fair share of troubles and he’s done being vulnerable to pain.
 
Honor Sullivan’s living her life much the same way her old friend Zane is, though for very different reasons. It’s not that she’s tired of getting hurt so much as she’s got too much to lose. Plus, she’s terrified that all she can do is hurt anyone else.
 
Is it possible that after surviving so much disappointment and pain, Zane’s broken heart is perfect for Honor’s broken soul? When these two finally decide to unpack their baggage together, they just might recognize their imperfectly perfect forever underneath the protective shell that the other wears.

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More Reviews:
“This series has been a great read. Tess Thompson creates characters that everyone is going to love. This book made me seriously swoon.” —Lindsey Kramer, Shakespeare's Wench Book Blog

“…a delightful contemporary romance! The [series] follows a group of longtime friends and the women who make their lives complete also forming friendships of their own and coming together thru their own personal tragedies and struggles! If you are looking for a great summer romance series…this is it!” —Stephanie, Little Book Page

 

Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical Romantic Women’s Fiction with nearly 40 published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on, Hometowns and Heartstrings.

Book Excerpt:

Chapter 1: Zane

Zane Shaw hadn’t planned on becoming a stalker at age thirty. He’d set out to be a hero like his dad, not the bad guy. His life’s intention had been as simple and clear as the constancy of the ocean waves that lulled him to sleep every night. I will be my father’s son. A good man.

Yet, here he stood at his front windows watching Honor Sullivan’s house like the antagonist in a crime novel. He blamed the stupid angle of his building. Who constructed a dwelling in a beach town with a view of the hillside rather than the sea? His front windows looked directly into the hill above the main street of Cliffside Bay. Dense with homes, porch lights peppered the gradual slope, and at the very top, Honor’s house perched like a lighthouse to a lonely sailor. Watch me. Come home to me.

One couldn’t always steer the trajectory of life in the direction of their choice. He hadn’t planned on being left at the altar by Natalie before the wedding that wasn’t a wedding. He hadn’t foreseen his father’s rapid decline into dementia or the need to take over the family bar and grill. He most certainly had not planned on falling in love with Honor Sullivan.

A lamp in her front window told him she was still awake. Honor always turned the lamp off before she went to bed, at least according to the last several weeks of data he’d collected in his new role as stalker extraordinaire.

The clock struck midnight. Downstairs in his bar and grill, The Oar, his sister would be in the office going through receipts.

Honor’s home safe. Now look away. Jackson and Maggie had dropped her home after a night at the bar. There was no reason to bore a hole into the side of her house. He watched out of concern, yes. This was true. Partly true. A little true. Fine. He could admit it to himself. The intense watching of her home was not completely altruistic. He hated himself for it, but he wanted to know she was alone. He needed to know.

Honor Sullivan, I’m so madly in love with you I can’t eat or sleep or think. I want you next to me, now and for the rest of my life.

There was a flash of headlights on the narrow road that led to Honor’s place. A car on her street after midnight? No, don’t turn into her driveway. The car made the hairpin turn. Red taillights mocked him as the car made its way up the steep, paved driveway to her house. Was it a man? A boyfriend? Had she called someone to meet her this late at night?

You know the answer. A man was pulling into her driveway after midnight. That meant only one thing. He clenched his teeth. The muscle in his cheek twitched. Why had he allowed it to come to this? If he could just admit his feelings, it might be him pulling into her driveway.

The car stopped in the parking space in front of her garage. Headlights went out, followed by taillights. Was someone getting out? It didn’t seem so. If only he could see better. He needed binoculars. No, he needed a telescope.

Wait. He had a telescope. It had been a gift from his father the Christmas before the Alzheimer’s diagnosis changed their worlds. Zane had tucked it away for a time when he could study the stars. During the past four years, he’d been too busy working to look at stars. Somehow, though, he’d found time to watch Honor’s house.

He ran across the room, almost slipping on the hardwood floor in his socks, and yanked open the closet door. The telescope was still in its box, neatly stacked on top of a few puzzles. Before he could think better of the decision, he pointed the invasive piece of metal directly at Honor Sullivan’s front door. He pressed his eye to the telescope’s lens. The car was still there, almost impossible to make out in the dark, except for the glow of a cellphone from the driver’s seat that cast light upon the figure behind the wheel. He supposed it was a man, given the bulky, thick shoulders and baseball cap. Why couldn’t it be a beefy woman? Why, why, why?

Why would this jerk just sit in the driveway and not get out of the car? Maybe Zane wasn’t the only one stalking Honor?

Or, maybe the guy was lost? Cliffside Bay was cursed with narrow, steep roads and small driveways. It was possible he turned into the wrong driveway and was now trying to find his way out by looking at the map on his phone.

Zane stared out the window. Should he call Honor and tell her someone was in her driveway? Or should he go up there and check it out himself? Get real. Who would be at her house that late unless it was one of her boyfriends? He was probably sitting in the driveway texting her that he’d arrived for his booty call. His stomach clenched. The thought of another man’s hands on her made him want to smash the telescope through the window.

The clock’s second hand moved in angry, little ticks. The car didn’t budge. That’s it. Zane would text Honor. No, he would call her. Less chance for her to misinterpret his meaning. No. You can’t call her, idiot. She’ll know you’re stalking her.

He called Maggie instead.

“Hello.” She sounded breathless.

“It’s Zane.”

“I know who it is. What do you want? I was in the middle of something.”

Maggie didn’t need to finish the sentence. He knew what that meant. She and Jackson were engaged and madly in love. “I, um, there’s a car in Honor’s driveway and it’s freaking me out.”

“I’m not going to ask how you know this.”

“I have a telescope pointing at her driveway,” he said.

“Zane. Seriously? You need help.”

“I know. But do you think she’s okay? Maybe this guy’s a stalker or something?”

“I think we know who the stalker is here, but if you’re so worried about it, why don’t you call her?”

“She’ll know I’m watching her house.”

There was silence from the other end of the phone for a few seconds before Maggie let out a noisy sigh. “True.” Another sigh.

“Fine, I’ll call and let her know.”

“No, wait. It’s all right. The car’s leaving.” It must have been someone lost. Nothing to worry about. Relief coursed through his body, leaving him depleted of all energy. “Sorry I bothered you.”

“Zane, I’m worried about you. For real,” she said.

“It’s no big deal.”

“It is a big deal. You’re making yourself sick when there’s a perfectly good solution.”

Was there, or was he just setting himself up for more heartbreak? “You’re right. I’m going to do it. Tomorrow,” he said.

“Promise me?”

“Yes.” He sank onto the arm of his sofa. “It’s gotten pretty bad when I have a telescope pointed at her house and feel murderous when I see a car pull into her driveway.”

“You said it, not me,” Maggie said. “We’ve been friends all our lives, right?”

“Yeah.” Here comes the lecture.

“I’ve never seen you like this about a woman.”

Other than about you when we were kids.

“Please, Zane, do yourself a favor and make a move. I guarantee you she feels the same way about you. She’s petrified too, but one of you must break the cycle. You’ve always been such a badass. I’ve never known you to be afraid of anything, until now. I don’t understand what the problem is here. And don’t tell me it’s the wedding that wasn’t a wedding. You had your heart broken. I get it. I know life has kicked you to the curb a few times, but it has everyone. Life’s hard a lot of the time. The key is to find that person who will be there to support you through the rough stuff. Someone who adores you, faults and all.”

“I know.” Like you and Jackson. Like Kara and Brody.

“Do it tomorrow,” Maggie said. “I mean it.”

“I will. Tomorrow I will ask her on a proper date.”

“She’s in love with you too,” Maggie said. “Everyone knows it.”

He heard Jackson’s voice in the background. “Tell him to go to bed.”

“Go to bed,” Maggie said.

“Yes ma’am.”

He tossed his phone onto the couch. Jackson and Maggie were getting married in October. Pretty soon they’d have perfect little babies. Where would Zane be? Still alone. Still the third wheel. Maybe that was part of his obsession with Honor. He loved being miserable. Loved focusing on a woman he couldn’t have.

Back in high school, he kept his feelings for Maggie a secret from everyone. Not that it mattered. She’d loved Jackson Waller since they were six years old and walked to school with their lunch boxes stuffed into backpacks. Lunch boxes. He hadn’t thought of those in a long time. He could still remember what they looked like: a ballerina for Maggie, Superman for Jackson, and the Incredible Hulk for Zane. Maggie’s mother and Jackson’s mother had packed perfect lunches with all the food groups. He’d made his own because his father slept in the mornings. That’s what happened when you owned a bar. Your young son made his own breakfast and lunch. Dinner was in the kitchen of the restaurant with the cooks. He knew more dirty jokes than any boy in town. Not that he shared them with anyone. Jackson’s mother, Lily, would have shut that down fast.

Being secretly in love with Maggie had been a great source of fuel for his ambition. He held onto that anger all through high school. There were times he wanted to tear things apart with his bare hands just to release some of the rage. But it hadn’t really been about Maggie and Jackson. He knew that now. The anger came from this sense that life had wronged him. No mother. A father who worked like the devil to keep a small-town bar and grill afloat but didn’t have enough left over at the end of the month to buy him new tennis shoes. Poor Zane. It embarrassed him to remember what a brat he’d been.

If he could have one more day of those years left, he’d spend it all with his dad. He’d make sure his dad knew how proud he was of him.

The light went out in Honor’s front room. Good, she was going to bed. Alone. Thank you, God.

When they were growing up, he would never have thought he’d end up back in Cliffside Bay. His sole purpose once they graduated from high school was to get a degree that led to a lucrative job, so he could send most of it home to his dad. A big job in a big city would free them from the family curse of near poverty. His dad could sell the restaurant and retire, play golf with Jackson’s father and the other rich cats in town. He could go on the first vacation of his life. Zane had done it too. He’d gotten a business degree from USC. After graduation he’d landed a sales role in a big corporation and quickly became the number one sales person in the company. Unfortunately, every day killed a part of his soul. It was worth it, though, to send those checks home. His father had paid off the loan on this very building with that money. They owned the building and the restaurant free and clear. He’d be doing well if it weren’t for the astronomical costs of the memory care facility where his dad had to live now.

Almost four years ago Zane’s wedding that wasn’t a wedding and his father’s subsequent admittance to a memory care facility made a life in L.A. impossible. Zane had come home to Cliffside Bay, shattered and exhausted. The life he’d thought he’d wanted was no longer an option. He had to help his dad, but in a whole different way than he’d planned. The universe, or God, or however this stuff worked, had made sure of that.

He’d donated his suits to Goodwill, wiped the mildew off his surfboard, and moved home to the apartment above the restaurant. What surprised him was how right it felt to be back in Cliffside Bay and at the helm of The Oar—like he was supposed to be here, like destiny. Seeing his dad deteriorate wrenched his heart. It sucked bad, no two ways about it. However, and it was a big however, running the family bar and grill made him happy, even fulfilled. Dare he say, proud? Yes, proud to carry on with his father’s life work like a Shaw. No one told him what to do or how to do it. He’d changed the menu and added microbrews and updated the décor. He added Taco Tuesdays and live music on the weekends. After the first year, the bar and grill thrived. Locals had kept the place afloat over the years, but now tourists flocked to The Oar, much to the old-time residents’ horror. They hated strangers. Zane loved them, especially those with disposable income and a thirst for a good drink.

He’d renovated the apartment above the business with his own hands. Dark green carpets replaced by light maple wood floors and dingy tan walls painted Comfort Gray and Snowbound, along with new furniture in soft whites and yellows, had transformed his dad’s apartment into his oasis.

His best friends from college, the Dogs, all lived here now. There were days at the beach, garden barbeques, and weddings to look forward to. Soon, there would be babies to call him Uncle Zane.

Other than the fact he was now a stalker, he loved his life. Zane didn’t ask to notice her. He really didn’t want to notice her. Until Honor wriggled her way into his heart, he was an ordinary man. A little jaded, yes, what with the whole wedding that wasn’t a wedding betrayal, but still within the range of normal. One fleeting night with Honor and he was done, ruined. No other woman would do. Her golden hair and glowing skin and those chestnut brown eyes were just part of her charm. The brain that went with her pretty outsides did it for him in a way nothing else could.

Zane was in love with all five feet, two inches of her spirited, gutsy, smart, gorgeous self. He had a new intention for his life. Make Honor Sullivan my wife.

A key in the front door rattled and Sophie bounced into the living room. My little sister. He wasn’t entirely acclimated to the fact he had a sibling, especially a twenty-year-old sweetheart like Sophie. The sister he never knew existed had been the surprise of his life. Well, other than Maggie being alive.

He smiled, imagining explaining all this to a stranger. It would take a novel to tell the details, but the elevator pitch was simple.

My dad and my best friend Maggie’s mom had an affair, thus making Sophie. We didn’t know about her until a few months ago. We all thought Maggie was dead, but her father faked her death.

“What’re you doing awake?” Sophie asked. “You weren’t waiting up to see how things went downstairs were you?”

If only.

“No. I wasn’t tired yet. How did it go tonight?” This was only Sophie’s second shift as the solo manager of The Oar. His sister moving in with him to learn the family business still felt like a dream. A good dream.

“It went awesome, other than a couple of the guys in the back giving me a hard time.”

“What kind of hard time?” He’d beat the living crap out of anyone who laid a hand on his baby sister.

“Just acting like I was a child type of thing.” She took her long blond hair out of a ponytail. “Gosh, that feels good. My head starts to hurt after a long night.”

“I’ll straighten the guys out tomorrow,” Zane said.

“No, don’t. I need to do this on my own. I can’t have my big brother rescuing me.”

“I’m proud of you.”

She ducked her head and flashed him one of her sweet smiles that reminded him so much of his dad. “I’m pretty psyched to be here.”

“I bought you some new towels and sheets for your bed this morning. Pink.”

“Pink?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Don’t girls like pink?” he asked.

“Little ones.”

“You are little.”

She grinned. “I’m almost as tall as you.”

Sophie was a tall girl, but she had a few inches to go before she reached his six-foot stature.

“Do you not like pink? They’re more of a blush,” he said.

“I love that you got them for me. Totally unnecessary.”

“I want this to feel like your home too. We can return them and get whatever you want.”

“I’ll let you know. And I do like having a big brother looking out for me.”

“Even though you don’t need one?”

“That just makes it better.” She yawned. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed now.”

“Good idea.”

She stopped at the windows. “What’s with the telescope?”

Heat rushed through him, until he felt swollen with shame. “That? I just thought it’d be fun to look at the stars. Dad bought it for me years ago.”

She leaned over to look through the lens. “I don’t see any stars, just houses.”

“Must have slid down a bit,” he said.

“Or you have it pointed right at Honor’s house.”

He rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window. “Maybe.”

“It’s sad, you know that?” Sophie asked.

“I know. I do know,” he said.

“She was only there tonight to see you. Only pride’s keeping her from just asking you out.”

“No way.” That wasn’t true. All the Dogs, other than Brody, were there, along with Kara and Maggie. The whole gang, basically. Just a regular Friday night.

“All I know is that the minute you left, so did she.” Sophie stepped away from the window. “I know it’s hard to put yourself out there, but she’s into you. It’s so obvious you guys are in love.” She put her hands on her hips. “You’ve got to seize the day.” So much like Maggie. It was becoming more obvious by the day how similar the two sisters’ personalities were. She looked like Zane and his dad, but she had the same nurturing, fun spirit as her sister.

“You’re magic, you know that?” he asked.

“You’re magic.”

“Go to bed. Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh my gosh, you’re so funny. Now, you go to bed too. You need your beauty sleep if you’re going to ask Honor out tomorrow.”

“I’m doing it. You’ll see.”

She disappeared down the hallway to her bedroom.

He followed his own orders and headed to his room. In the master bathroom, he took inventory of his appearance as he brushed his teeth. Hair bleached to the color of straw. Tanned skin with unusual blue-green eyes. Straight teeth, thanks to his dad’s sacrifices to pay for braces. Surfing kept him in shape. He was okay looking. If only he had money to go with it.

What was Honor doing right now? Getting into bed? Soft pajamas or a nightgown? Did she brush her hair before she slipped under the covers?

He spit his mouth full of toothpaste suds into the sink. Being this possessive and jealous was not cool. He hadn’t been like this with his fiancée, Natalie. Then again, she called off the wedding and ran off with her bridesmaid’s husband, so what did he know? Nothing. That’s what. Not one single thing about women.

The main problem was that Honor was too good for him. Whip smart and sophisticated, she looked like she stepped out of a Vogue magazine. She hung out with jet-setters she met working for his best friend Brody, who happened to be the most famous football player in the country. Every damn week she met actors, Hollywood executives, guys who invented apps for phones and crap like that. Not a bar owner in a small town.

Could he keep a woman like Honor satisfied? She might give her body to him temporarily, but what about her heart? This was exactly what got him into trouble. Too much thinking. Tomorrow he would ask her out. End of story.

He tossed the tube of toothpaste across the bathroom. The white paste spattered all over the glass door of his shower. He didn’t bother to clean it up. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

***

Fog hovered over the beach as the sun rose above the eastern hills. Zane dropped his surfboard into the trunk of his new SUV. His old truck had finally given out and he’d been forced to join the modern age of keyless cars and leather seats. Other than the payments, he hated to admit how much he loved his new shiny car. The surf had been good that morning, even though he’d slept until ten. Usually the best waves were in the early mornings, but he’d vowed to Jackson and Maggie to take better care of himself, which meant getting more sleep. Now that Sophie was helping to run The Oar, he could do that, as well as take a few weekends off like a normal person.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good thing. Before Sophie, he was too busy working to ever think about what Honor was doing. No, not entirely true. She did cross his mind once or twice—okay, maybe four dozen times a night. What was she doing, who was she with? Now that his sister was taking some of the night shifts at the bar, he was home in the evenings with too much time on his hands.

And a telescope.

He wriggled out of his wet suit and donned a sweatshirt, then laid a towel on the seat of his car. No reason to damage the leather with his wet shorts. His dad had taught him to keep his cars neat. Have pride in your possessions, son. You’ll never regret taking care of your things.

A car pulled up beside him. Chris Hollingsworth nodded at him from the driver’s seat. Back in the day, Mr. Hollingsworth owned the feed store. Now in his eighties, he still owned the land but had closed the store at least ten years ago. There was no need for a feed store when most of the farms had been absorbed by towns.

Mr. Hollingsworth got out of his car and hobbled over to him. “Zane, good to see you.” He held out a bony hand and they shook. “Sophie said you were down here this morning.”

“What’s up?”

The old man looked out to the ocean and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. They hung loose, like his skin. “The missus and I are moving into one of those old folks’ homes. She broke her hip last month and our daughters are having fits—want us to be sensible and all. I’ve been against it, but Rachel’s convinced me it’s time. I hate to leave my home, you know.”

“I do.”

“But I remembered how you said you’d be interested in the property should I ever decide to sell.” Mr. Hollingsworth’s voice trembled. Was it from old age or emotion? “I guess I’m ready.”

Zane leaned against his car and crossed his arms over his chest. It was a coveted piece of land, just outside of the main part of town. “I’m still interested, but I don’t know if I could get the money together. My dad’s memory care facility eats up most of my profits.” Back to where they started—broke bar owners.

“Sure. I imagine it does. Such a shame about Hugh. No one I respected more in this town. Raising you like he did.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Truth is, I need the money from the land to buy a cell in this assisted living place.”

Zane’s mind spun with ideas. For several years now, he’d dreamed of opening a brewery. He imagined it with expansive lawns for community activities and picnics—the cornerstone of the community while still making a decent profit.

Could he come up with the money? Maybe. If he found some investors. Not Brody and Kyle. But outsiders who would remain silent partners. God knew he didn’t want a boss.

“Don’t count me out,” Zane said. “I might be able to come up with something.”

“Will do. Let me know in the next day or so. That Kyle Hick’s been sniffing around out there. I know he’d love to get his hands on it. I mean no harm. I know he’s a friend of yours, but he’s not one of us. But that property’s the only thing I ever had that was worth anything. I want it to be part of the community again. I want you to have it.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Communities need small businesses. Broke my heart when I had to close up shop—put fifteen people out of work. I sure like your idea of making it a community gathering place too. Young people need to play outside instead of having their heads in those phones. My grandsons never look up from those godforsaken gadgets. Fresh air. That’s what young people need.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You look at your finances, and we can talk some more,” Mr. Hollingsworth said.

“I’ll get back to you in a few days.”

“Will do.” The older man patted him on the arm. “You say hello to your dad for me.”

“Yes, I will.”

He would, but it wouldn’t matter. Hugh Shaw wouldn’t have any recollection of his old friend. Zane turned away and got into his car, so Mr. Hollingsworth wouldn’t see the tears well in his eyes.

 

Chapter 2: Honor

Honor Sullivan’s phone buzzed at the exact moment a black crow landed on the potted orange tree just outside her kitchen patio doors. She rose from the table and pounded on the window. “Go away.” The crow stared at her with its beady black eye, unmoved. How she loathed crows! First, they had planning skills unnatural for a creature with a brain the size of a walnut. She’d seen them trick a guileless squirrel out of a nut too many times to count. Second, their prehistoric beaks and shiny black feathers reminded her of the grim reaper.

“I’ll be back for you later.” She returned to the table and picked up her phone. After this call, she would squirt the grim reaper with the garden hose. That would teach the nasty creature to stare her down on a warm August morning with its claws in the tender branch of her orange tree.

Who was calling this early? Probably Brody. Who else would call before eight on a Saturday morning? She’d sent him an endorsement contract last night and he probably had questions. Brody Mullen was the most successful professional quarterback in the country, but the man couldn’t read a contract to save his life.

She glanced at the number. Her pulse quickened when she saw the area code: 615. A call from Tennessee. Someone from the past.

Honor cursed under her breath. Don’t panic. She would not let this upset her. It was nothing. Probably a sales call that had no connection whatsoever to her youth.

The phone continued to buzz. How long before it went to voicemail? Should she ignore it and let the caller leave a message? The crow tilted his head and stared at her through the window. His evil black feathers glistened under the August sky. It was as if his sole purpose was to taunt her with his presence. She shivered. Fine. She’d answer it.

“Hello. This is Honor Sullivan.”

“Hi, Honor. It’s Cloe McNeil. Do you remember me?”

“Yes.” Cloe McNeil from the D.A.’s office. A stone of dread dropped into her stomach.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve talked.” McNeil’s Tennessee accent hadn’t lessened any since she was a young attorney.

“I was ten, so yeah,” Honor said.

“I’m sorry to bother you.”

“How did you get my number?” Honor asked.

“You don’t want to know,” McNeil said. Honor detected a sad smile even over the phone. “I called to give you an update on Stanley Gorham.”

Honor’s stomach lurched at the sound of his name.

“They released him last week,” McNeil said.

Released him. How was that possible?

“It’s nothing to worry over,” McNeil said. “I just thought you should know.” Honor recalled her intelligent, sensitive eyes. She’d given Honor a doll to play with and gently coaxed her to tell her what Doctor Gorham had done to her.

Show me where he touched you.

McNeil continued, her voice too casual, too sure. “He has a parole officer, obviously, and he’s not allowed out of the state of Tennessee, so you should be fine. Regardless, be extra alert.”

“I’m always alert,” Honor said.

“I imagine you are.”

“Thanks for letting me know.”

“Truly, it’s nothing to worry about,” McNeil said.

Then why did you call?

“Call me if you need anything.” McNeil said. “This is my cell number.”

“Thanks. I will.”

She hung up and pushed the phone away. Gorham was out. How could they let that monster out?

The taste of metal settled in her mouth. The taste of fear. The taste of her childhood.

No reason to panic. He wouldn’t know how to find her. Anyway, there was a parole officer keeping a close watch over him. The system had failed her many times, but not this time. She was an adult now with money and a beautiful home and friends who were like family—not a child at the mercy of the foster care system.

Her hands shook. Dammit. Such a sign of weakness. She moved to the sink and wrapped her fingers around the white ceramic rim and closed her eyes. You’re safe in this town. This is your home. No one can enter without your permission. Remember that.

Every choice, every labor, for one purpose—safety. I won’t ever be weak again. Money equaled safety. Everyone knew that. Unless you’re sick. Which she wasn’t. Not now. Not ever again.

This was merely another Saturday. No reason to think anything of the past.

She walked back to the kitchen table, fully intent on enjoying a lazy morning with a cup of coffee and a magazine. Another curse word exploded from her mouth. That evil crow was still there. He spotted her looking at him and stuck his long, black beak in the air. It reminded her of an arrogant man’s nose. She yanked open the double doors that led to her patio and headed for the hose. But there was no need. The foul bird took off with a caw that rang out like an accidental minor note in an otherwise pleasant melody. She looked around for something to throw after him to underscore her authority, but her patio was bare, other than her potted orange tree and outdoor furniture.

Instead, she shouted, “Don’t come back.” Like it cared. The bird was a black smudge on the landscape by then.

She leaned against the railing of her patio. Her house sat at the top of the hillside. The westward facing view faced the sea. Today her briny friend was a thin line of blue. She breathed in the scents of the sea and oranges ripening on the tree. Be here in the moment. No day would ever be wasted if she had anything to do with it.

Surviving cancer at eighteen does that to a person.

She moved to the other side of the patio and looked toward town. From this angle, she had a view of the other houses on the opposite hill and a glimpse of the main street of town. She could see the top portion of Zane’s building quite well. Too well. She was turning into a voyeur, always gaping at those windows. Over the past few months, she’d spent too much time staring at that stupid roof and wishing Zane would call her. Willing him with her thoughts to call her. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the magical power of thought control. Sometimes at night she watched from her upstairs bedroom. What did she expect to see? Morse code communicated by blinking lights? How many blinks meant I love you, I want you, Come to me?

At this moment the windows sparkled in the sunlight, like they were calling to her. Zane Shaw. What in the world was she to do about Zane? She adored him, admired him, wished she could wrap her arms around him and never let him go. His essence was like the sunshine and the sea—beauty and power combined. Never in her life had she been in love, but from observing others and reading a lot of romances under the covers at the girls’ home, she felt certain she was in love with Zane Shaw.

She left her perch and snatched an orange from her tree. With no yard to speak of other than her expansive patio, the nursery had advised her to buy a dwarf tree she could keep in a pot. Petite like her, she’d joked. For five years, she babied that tree. During the winter, she paid men to move her inside so the tree would believe it lived in the warmth of Florida, not the chilly, damp winter of Northern California. Oranges had not only appeared but ripened for the first time this summer. It had thrilled her to grow a sapling into an actual fruit-bearing tree.

She picked two more oranges. They were tiny, no bigger than her own small fist, with skin so thin it was nearly impossible to peel. Because of this, they were perfect for juice. Inside, she rolled them on the counter to soften them. Then, she sliced them in halves and stuck them into the electric juicer. The zesty smell filled the kitchen.

The oranges made a small glass of juice. She drank it down in three gulps, like a greedy child. She’d never tasted the likes of it before this summer. Life-giving, that’s what—so sweet and tangy—able to quench the deepest thirst and cure any ailment. Right now, she imagined how it strengthened the blood coursing through her veins. Cancer was no match for this juice. Bad cells could not possibly return if she drank the nectar of this extraordinary fruit. This was false. She knew that. But she let herself have it anyway. Once you’ve had cancer, you’re always afraid of its return, even though they gave her a full hysterectomy at the time. Nothing was left of the cancerous cells, they assured her. Nothing was left to make a family either.

No one in her life knew she’d had ovarian cancer when she was eighteen. She wouldn’t have them looking at her with those eyes, watchful like she might be contagious or like she might get it again and die on them.

And there it was, full circle back to Zane. He didn’t know the truth of her brokenness. There would be no fat babies if he were to choose her. Would he be able to get past that? Could she ever be vulnerable enough to tell him the truth? He would have to know, if they were ever to have a real relationship.

Fueled by her juice, she paced between the table and sink. Made for large gatherings, the farm-style table had benches instead of chairs. After the empty years with an empty stomach, she’d used the first of her money to make this house a sanctuary. Farmhouse chic, she’d told the decorator. Who knew what in her past caused her to favor this style? It wasn’t like she had any fond memories of living on the farm with foster family number three, or anywhere else for that matter. Those days on the farm were gray days filled with housework and sullen looks from her foster mother. The only spots of color were when she was at school. Intelligent, clever and hardworking, the teacher had written on her sixth-grade report card. From then on, she’d carried that around like a tattoo on the back of her hand.

Whatever the reason for her decorating taste, she didn’t care. She did as she pleased.

With names like egret white, passive gray, and silver strand, the paints in her rooms mimicked the Northern California seaside. White and gray furniture with splashes of sea blue calmed her as much as the beach itself. Every part of her house must be beautiful. That’s what she wanted. That’s what she’d always wanted. No one could take it from her, she told herself again, this time in a sterner voice, emphasizing each syllable. No one. Not even the memory of a monster.

Honor turned on the water in the sink and let it run cold over her hands for a good thirty seconds. When her fingers were numb, she splashed water on her face.

She’d been ten years old when she’d taken the witness stand. District Attorney O’Neil, skinny with acne scars and a suit that looked like it belonged to her older sister, had asked Honor to point at him. Point to the man who hurt you.

Him. Doctor Gorham. My foster dad.

She’d prayed someone would kill him in prison. Weren’t child molesters supposed to be targets? To learn he was free was unfair, maddening.

What did she need? What should she do to make this all go away, to chase the wicked thoughts from her mind?

Do normal Saturday stuff. Make coffee.

She made coffee in her French press, laboring over the details: half a cup of whole beans into the grinder for fifteen seconds, then into the press with four cups of hot water for four minutes. She used beans from the same company that Zane used at The Oar. She had to have them specially shipped from the Oregon coast, but it was worth every penny. It wasn’t that she associated the specific nutty aroma with Zane—no, really, that wasn’t it. Not all the way, anyway. The beans were superior to any coffee she’d ever had. Nuances of flavor mattered. Not just in food and beverages, but in everything. If you could afford the best, why not have it?

Gorham. Out of jail. When she tallied up the men from her childhood, she had a ranking system from one to ten. The first foster dad had been a fine. Nothing sexual. He had smacked her bare bottom with a pizza board for any infraction, all in the name of taming her wild ways and making her into a nice young lady. She shuddered, remembering the sound on her bare skin and the subsequent sting. They’d sent her away when they’d adopted a baby.

The Gorhams were next. Doctor Stanley Gorham had been a ten.

Then came her third and final family. The farmer and his sullen wife. She fell back in time, remembering.

Mr. and Mrs. Aker used fosters as workers on their farm. It was a business to them. They received money from the state and free labor. More children equaled more money. As the only girl in the group of six foster children, ranging from ages nine to seventeen, she was assigned housework. The boys were not so lucky. They built fences and fed livestock in the cold winters and bucked hay in the summers. The sticky heat of a Tennessee afternoon punched even the young and hearty. She snuck pitchers of cold water to the barn. They gathered around her smelling of hay and body odor and gasoline. Scratches irritated their skin. Sweat dampened their hair. They gulped ravenously from the mason jars. Most things were out of her control, but not this. She could present this one act of kindness that mattered to another human being. Humans who suffered as she did.

One boy she felt particularly sorry for was named Lavonne Wright—the most ironic of names. He wasn’t completely right in the head and had a slow way of speaking, like language was new to him. Light blue eyes that reminded her of those humid, hazy Tennessee summer skies often stared into space like he wanted to recollect something important but could not quite locate it. When someone moved too suddenly, he flinched. She knew why. He’d been hit too many times. On school days they walked together to the bus stop. She protected him from the older kids by deflecting attention away from him onto herself. She could take it. Even back then, she knew the older boys thought she was pretty, and she used it. She used whatever she could to survive.

Mr. Aker had sent her away when she was fifteen or so. She’d jumped on his back to stop him from pinning Lavonne against the wall of the barn with a pitchfork. So much for that family or that school. The rest of her childhood was spent in a group home for troubled girls. The house was run like a prison, which suited her just fine. As long as she could go to school, the rest didn’t matter.

Then, cancer. A hysterectomy and chemotherapy. Twelve more months of hell.

You’ll never have children, Miss Sullivan. I’m sorry.

At least I’m alive, right doc?

But then came the call about her great-aunt. A house in California. All yours.

Now, she cursed again under her breath. This phone call had her in a bad way. Recalling her past was not something she ever did. She never looked backward, only forward. Until today.

Zane. She wished Zane were here. She wished she could talk to him and tell him everything. The night they’d spent together hadn’t faded, even though it was six months ago already. If only she could will away the images of that night. His tanned body against his crisp, white sheets. His rough hands on her hot skin. The way he’d murmured her name.

Don’t think of him. There was no way she could have him in her life the way she wanted. Not if she told him the secret of her past, the one that could not be undone. Zane Shaw should have someone whole. Someone to give him a family. She couldn’t be that woman. As much as she wanted to be Zane’s everything, she was empty. There would be no real family for her. Not before, not now, not ever.

***

Around eleven, she headed out in her little red sports car. She had shaken herself out of her stupor and called Violet to see if she and her small son, Dakota, wanted to meet for a picnic and swimming down at the beach. Best way to get out of a funk was to spend time with Violet’s little guy. His chubby cheeks and big blue eyes melted all troubles from her mind. Violet was so lucky. No, none of that. Children are for other people. You can’t have everything.

Once she reached the main street of town, she pulled into the grocery store lot. She knew Violet was on a tight budget, so she’d offered to bring the picnic items. Lately her friend had looked thin and pinched. Honor knew what that meant. Money problems. For weeks Honor had tried to figure out a way to help without all out asking her if she needed to borrow some money. Violet was proud. As a single mother and small business owner, the odds were stacked against her.

This was a weird thing, but Honor loved the grocery store. The smell of stinky cheese, produce, even the chill of the frozen aisle, pleased her. She usually found an excuse to shop for some item or the other every day. A fresh loaf of bread, or a special goat cheese, or a ripe peach. She could buy anything she wanted. That fact still made her giddy with delight.

After almost a decade of living here, her breath still caught at the sight of the little town and the beach. When she was nineteen, a great-aunt she never even knew existed had left her a house in Cliffside Bay, California. She’d never been to California or seen the Pacific Ocean. Shortly after she’d arrived, she knew this would be her home. Finally, a forever home, even if she had to make it herself.

Life here had fallen into place so easily she didn’t trust it for a long time. Any day it would blow up. The house wasn’t really hers. She wouldn’t be able to find a job or go to college. But none of that had happened. Right away Hugh Shaw hired her to waitress for him at The Oar. Without rent, it was easy to put herself through college. After graduation, thanks to Hugh, she’d lucked into a position as Brody’s assistant. She figured she was due a little luck, and boy how she ran with it. Hard work makes a good life. Hugh Shaw had told her that.

Find a way to be useful to others. She’d taught herself that one. Over time she’d earned Brody’s trust with hard work and integrity. Brody was like her. Once you proved yourself to him, he trusted you like family. In less than a year, he’d fired his worthless manager and given her the job. Now she managed all his business affairs. He paid her a ridiculous salary to do so. She was indispensable to him, both professionally and personally. You’re the sister I never knew I wanted. He told her that often, always with that teasing lilt to his voice. She never tired of hearing it. Did he know how much those words meant to her? She suspected he did, even though she could never express it without choking up and running out the door.

Now, Honor turned the corner of the produce aisle and almost ran into Maggie. They squealed, then laughed, then hugged.

“I thought you were in the city today?” Honor asked.

“I am. I mean, I’m leaving now. I just stopped to grab something for the road.” A premade sandwich, a hunk of cheese, and a bottled water nestled in her basket. “Rhona asked me to bring some of the local cheese Micky likes so much.” Rhona and Micky, Sophie’s adoptive parents, lived in San Francisco. Micky ran a small recording label. He and Maggie were currently working on her first album.

“Kyle just called to tell me we can start finalizing paint colors and choosing furniture,” Maggie said. “With my recording contract, we can actually afford furniture.”

“I can’t wait to see what you choose.”

“Will you give me the name of the designer who did your house?” Maggie asked. “I love your place and Jackson and I are so busy right now with work and wedding planning and everything that we’re about to lose our minds.”

“Mattson and Associates. Trey Mattson lives here in town. He was recently divorced. Nasty from what I hear.”

“The name Trey Mattson sounds like a designer,” Maggie said.

“He’s sorta hot. All broody and artistic.”

“Gay?”

“No way.”

“Can he work with a budget?” Maggie asked.

“That’s his specialty. Trey’s the sweetest guy in the world, despite his gruff exterior. I think he’s from somewhere in the Midwest. You know they’re always nice. Like Canadians.”

“Canadians?”

“Polite and respectful. Anyway, tell Trey I sent you and he’ll give you a deal.”

Another expression Honor couldn’t read crossed Maggie’s face. “Midwest, though. Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

“My best friend Lisa from New York grew up in the Midwest. She’s got a flair for decorating. She’s single. And, she’s from Iowa.”

“Matchmaking?” Honor wagged a finger in mock reproach. “You know that never works out.”

“It might, though, right? An image of Lisa flashed before my eyes when you mentioned him. Maybe it’s a sign or something.”

“Maybe. This town does seem to bring out the romantic side of people,” Honor said.

Maggie put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “Speaking of which, have you asked Zane out on a proper date yet?”

“No. I can’t. What if he says no? I’d die.” So much easier to pretend it was something as benign as fear of rejection than the truth.

“You need to do it. Be brave,” Maggie said. “He won’t say no.”

“He won’t even look at me half the time.”

“You guys seemed pretty cozy at Kara and Brody’s wedding.”

Honor let out a deep breath. What a night that had been. They’d danced for hours, but afterward Zane had taken her home and dropped her on the doorstep all polite and platonic—two things she didn’t want from him. “He didn’t seem interested when we got to my house.”

“He’s scared. You’re going to have to step up or you two are never going to get married.”

“Married? We can’t even figure out how to go on a date,” Honor said.

Maggie smiled and raised her eyebrows. “You can go out on a date and you will. I’m not worried.” She gave Honor a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m off. Songs to sing.”

Honor watched as Maggie walked away, her narrow, former ballerina body graceful in a long skirt and linen blouse. Maggie’s fair skin burned with just the slightest moments of sun. She almost always wore long-sleeved shirts if she was going to be outside. That’s why she looked twenty instead of thirty.

In a couple months, Honor would watch Maggie walk down the aisle and marry her soulmate. Two out of the five Dogs would be married. The others would surely follow thereafter. Someday it would be Zane’s turn and she’d have to stand aside and watch that too. She would remain the watcher from the sidelines, pretending that others’ happiness didn’t fill her with pain and longing. Alone in the shadows. At least she was alive. There was that.

Shop the Cliffside Bay series

 

“This book reads like butter. The words flow so beautifully that you forget you are reading a book. You become the book. It evokes emotions that pour from your soul...I will read these books again, and again, and again. Five sparkly stars!” —★★★★★ Reader Review 

Jackson Waller has loved Maggie Keene since they were six years old, but their dueling dreams ultimately tore them apart. First love—true love—wasn't enough to overcome their individual desires to pursue dreams on opposite coasts. When Jackson learns of Maggie's tragic death on her way to college on the east coast, his heartbreak, compounded by grief, renews his focus on his own future. He vows to do nothing but work toward his goal of becoming a doctor, and maybe enjoy the companionship of his new college buddies, the Dogs.

Maggie Keene left Cliffside Bay with two things: a broken heart and her ambition. For twelve years she relentlessly pursues her dream of a musical theater career in New York City, but when she learns her father is dying, she returns home to find the truth about her family's ugly past. There, she discovers two things that will change everything: one, the bitter old man has spread a wild rumor that she has been dead for over a decade; and two, Doctor Jackson Waller is also back in Cliffside Bay—with his brand-new fiancé.

The second installment of The Cliffside Bay Series by bestselling author Tess Thompson follows the interwoven stories of five best friends, the beach community they love, and the women who captivate them. Prepare to get lost in a wave of small town charm, men you would love to take home to your mother, and smart, resilient heroines you wished lived next door.

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Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical Romantic Women’s Fiction with nearly 40 published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on, Hometowns and Heartstrings.

 

Book Excerpt:

Chapter 1: Maggie

Maggie Keene turned thirty the week she learned she’d been dead for twelve years. It started with a phone call from across the country and a hangover. Her phone squawked and vibrated in that darkest hour before dawn, when even the Brooklyn streets had quieted to a spattering of shouts and sharp horns and rumbles from battered cabs. She groaned as she reached across the bedside table for the abhorrent gadget. Why had she chosen the whistle ringtone? It pierced the very center of a person’s brain. Which, at this precise moment, throbbed without any outside stimulus whatsoever. An empty plastic water glass fell to the floor and bounced across the room.

Finally, she found the phone and punched it into quiet submission. “Hello.”

“Hello, Maggie?”

“Yes.”

“This is Darla.”

Maggie jerked upright, hard and straight. Darla. Her father’s wife. The Postmistress.

“It’s four in the morning.” Vodka and perspiration seeped from her pores. Maggie wiped her forehead with the corner of the sheet.

“Your father’s dying. He doesn’t have long. He’s asked for you.”

“Asked for me?” Maggie repeated the question, dull and confused. “It’s been twelve years.”

“He wants to make amends,” Darla said.

Amends?

“He’s found God.”

God? Viscous, acrid syrup boiled in Maggie’s belly. She pressed her fingers against her mouth and swallowed.

“Will you come?” Darla asked. “Will you come home?”

“Home?” Come home? Cliffside Bay was no longer her home. She wanted to say that out loud, but instead a gravelly voice like Al Pacino in a bad gangster movie played in her mind. The hard streets of Brooklyn, baby. That’s my home.

“Yes,” Darla said. “Home to California.”

The idea landed with a heavy thud inside her aching head. Go home. Could she? After all this time? Not for him. But for herself? Confront the past and gain the truth? Say what she wanted to say? Not redemption for the dying, but peace for her, the living? Closure. Answers?

Yes, answers. She deserved answers. This was an irrefutable fact. The injustice of it bored into her mind like a cancer. She would never be free until there was retribution—until he had to pay with something dear to him. Just tonight, on the way home in the cab, she’d been unable to keep the images of that day from crowding into the lonely spaces of her mind.

Her mother crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. Her father teetering above with the bag in his hands. Jackson tugging at her arm, his face the color of an oyster’s pearl and his voice an octave too high.

Would this be her last opportunity to get her father’s confession?

Below, from the street, a horn blared a staccato warning.

“I’ll come,” Maggie said. “But not for him.” I’ll get him to tell the truth. Before he’s whisked off to hell, he would affirm what she already knew. He murdered her mother and baby sister. He would tell her where her newborn sister’s body was hidden. And finally, Maggie would bury the sweet baby that hadn’t had a chance to live next to their mother.

“It’s the right thing, Maggie.”

“The right thing? For whom?”

“You don’t know what you think you know. You were always too big for your britches.” Darla and her Texas sayings. Maggie had forgotten how self-righteous the Postmistress was.

The thick, bubbling hatred stewed in Maggie’s stomach. “You don’t get to say one word about me or my life. Not after what you did—what you helped him do.”

Darla cleared her throat. She must still smoke. An image of cigarette smoke wafting around Darla’s pocked face flashed before her eyes. When had Maggie last seen her? A week before she left, waiting in line at the drug store. They’d pretended not to see each other. “What do you think he did exactly, Maggie?”

Out of Darla’s mouth, Maggie sounded like a curse word. Maggie. She’d learned once from one of Lisa’s boyfriends—the sales guy—that you should insert someone’s name into conversation because it made them feel seen and heard. The technique was good for selling things or picking up chicks in a bar. It had worked on her best friend Lisa. For a while, anyway.

Darla repeated the question with even more scorn in her voice this time. “What do you think we did, Maggie?”

“You know.”

“There’s something I should tell you,” Darla said.

The line went silent. Maggie waited. Had they lost the connection?

After several dead seconds, Darla spoke. “Never mind. Best it waits ‘til you get here.”

“It’ll be a few days,” Maggie said. I’ll have to rummage up the cash for a plane ticket.

“He’s old. Sad and remorseful. You’ll pity him now,” Darla said.

“I won’t.” Maggie hung up and resisted the urge to toss her phone across the room.

She collapsed back in bed and stared at the ceiling. It was her birthday in a few days, but her friends had taken her out tonight. They’d gotten all dolled up with perfectly applied makeup and dotted perfume behind their ears and worn little dresses that barely covered their behinds.

Maggie groaned again as the night rushed back to her. The club. Dancing. Birthday drinks, pink and festive in their fancy glasses. Clearly overserved. All of them spilled into cabs an hour before closing time, still giggling.

What a night, though. To the future, they had roared as they toasted and spilled and laughed and danced. They’d promised one another, for tonight, no thoughts of auditions or callbacks or diets for this gaggle of chorus girls. Just a pounding bass and those overpriced drinks they’d pretended they could afford and had no calories. They were actresses, after all, and the whole “as if” scenario from Sanford Meisner could be used for more than acting. Denial was a wonderful thing. Until rent came due. Until you got on the scale.

Now, though, reality fermented in the murky pit of her stomach where the black syrup remained. The angry scar on her left knee itched, reminding her that her story was officially over. No more dancing professionally, the doctor had said with a click of his pen. I’m sorry.

Sorry? That was all he could come up with? He could have at least added her name at the end of the sentence. I’m sorry, Maggie. I’m sorry for your broken heart and your ridiculous dreams and your empty bank account, Maggie.

What he’d actually said was much less sympathetic. “What did you expect? You started ballet at three years old. That’s a lot of years abusing your body. It’s time to retire from dancing.”

Retire? From what? Working in a bar and taking endless dance and acting classes and auditioning for chorus roles? Was this a career from which to retire?

Thirty years old. Dreams a bust. Twelve years in the Big Apple and nothing but the calluses on the bottoms of her feet and the stage name Marlena Kassidy listed under “chorus” in a handful of theatre programs to prove she’d ever been here.

Other than her friends. She’d figured the phone call just now would be one of said friends. The most likely candidate being Pepper. She’d decided to stay for another round when they left the club and Maggie figured she was stuck somewhere without cab fare. Or, crying into her vodka-soaked pumps about the former boyfriend she’d run into that night. Or, God forbid, panicked in a urine-splashed jail cell after a moment of lapsed judgment.

Maggie was always the one they called. Even on her birthday. She could figure a way out of a mess or an empty pocketbook like no one else. Like a boss, as Pepper was prone to say, which always made Maggie giggle. Pragmatic and sensible, able to get right to the heart of a thing—that was her. It was the small-town-girl vibe, they always said. She was kind, fanciful, and still had the right answer to comfort a friend, despite living as a New Yorker for twelve years.

Come to my place. I’ll pay the cab from my “mad money” when you arrive. He’s not worth crying over, sweetie. I’ll make pancakes and mimosas and we can watch Rent until the sun rises.

Maggie’s mother had called it mad money. And, like her mother, Maggie never had much, mad or otherwise. But that didn’t keep a girl from taking care of her own. There was always an extra shift behind the bar. Or two.

She stared at the ceiling. Her mind raced like the rapid beat of a club song. She wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep. Not after that phone call. Just get up. Play guitar. Work on a new song.

Maggie stumbled to the bathroom and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She’d fallen into bed still wearing her dress and thick makeup. Her long, red hair hung in a tangled mass down her back. Smeared black eyeliner and mascara blotted out the freckles on her cheeks. The ocean blue dress, once so perky and boastful, hung in wrinkled and disheveled defeat.

Like me.

Maggie scrubbed her face with soap and hot water. Steam rose from the sink and soothed her tired eyes. She swallowed a few ibuprofens and changed into leggings and a soft t-shirt, then wandered out to the front room. Lisa was asleep on the couch, still dressed from the evening in her little black dress. One of her shoes rested listlessly on the coffee table, speckled with sticky drops of a Cosmopolitan.

Since Whiskey broke up with her, Lisa had been sleeping on the couch instead of in her bedroom. Maggie didn’t need to ask why—nor the reason for the French language lessons or the shortening of her once waist-length hair. They’d been friends since their theatre days at NYU. There wasn’t much they hadn’t been through together, most recently a jerk who called himself Whiskey. Whiskey, for heaven’s sake. Maggie knew his real name was John. A stealth peek at his driver’s license had revealed that dirty little truth. No one in this town could admit to what and who they really were.

Who was she now? She wasn’t sure anymore. Beneath her exterior made of dance muscles, expensive haircuts, and thrift store clothes—always better to pay for a good haircut than clothes—was she still a small-town girl?

Fear rumbled down the back of her neck and settled in her chest, blinking like an errant traffic light. She imagined her father, dying in a hospital bed, shrunken and sick. Were his strong, mean hands and cutting words still able to hurt her, or had looming death squashed his venom? Could she summon the courage to do what needed to be done?

And what of the rest of them? Those who had betrayed and abandoned her? The ones she had believed would always love her unconditionally? What of them? That script had taken a cruel turn. Jackson and Zane, and Doc and Miss Rita were as much a façade as the sets in a theatre production. How easily they were pushed over and dismantled.

All these years she’d stuffed the pain inside, focused on her new life and her goals.

A glorious life.

Not a glorious life. A hard life.

This turning thirty was turning her into a real crybaby. She spoke in a silent, stern voice to herself. Buck up. You’re going home. You do what you have to do and get out. Once that’s done, you can and will figure out what to do with the rest of your life.

But first, she might have a good long cry.

No. No more crying. She’d cried enough self-pitying tears for a lifetime over the past few weeks.

Maggie slipped Lisa’s other shoe from her foot and set it next to its mate. She covered her friend with a blanket. Lisa stirred and mumbled something in French.

Maggie shuffled over to the front window. Her reflection was ghostlike in the glass, the details of her appearance obscured, other than the outline of her slender figure.

The phone call had opened a door inside her mind. Memories surfaced in images that played on the window. Surfing next to Zane. Dancing under the full moon in Jackson’s arms. Jackson Waller. How was it possible that her heart still ached at the thought of him?

She placed her hand on the glass and whispered his name as if he were merely outside waiting in the gloomy night. Where was he now? Had he become a doctor like he’d planned? Or were his dreams like hers? Unattainable? Silly to him now that the reality of the world had swallowed all sense of self?

No, not Jackson. He would have done what he said he would. Singularly focused on whatever he wanted. Until he wasn’t.

It would be easy to find him. Everyone knew a quick social media search would pull him up in an instant. Years ago, she’d vowed to keep his memory separate from her new world. This was a different life, a different Maggie. New York Maggie hadn’t loved Jackson Waller all her life, only to have him break her with his dismissal. Not even Lisa and Pepper knew his last name. She couldn’t take the chance that they might decide to look for him. When and if the pain of their parting ever subsided, she would free him from the cage and allow the remembrances to inform the present. Until then, she kept him locked away, like a box of photographs she knew existed but that she would not open.

Maggie grabbed her guitar and sank into the faded armchair they’d rescued from the street, deleted from someone’s home for a newer, trendier model. She and Lisa had reupholstered it in an optimistic yellow. More precisely, Lisa had. She was from the Midwest and her mother was a home economics teacher, so she knew how to do useful things like cook and sew and decorate.

Maggie strummed a few chords. Usually she could think better when she played her guitar. While she recovered from her knee surgery, she had written songs with a focus and speed she’d never had before. Lyrics and tunes had come in abundant clumps of inspiration. She had to wonder if her idle body had somehow lent her brain its energy. The songs were pretty good. Maybe. Who knew, really? She’d thought there was no way she could fail until she arrived in New York and ran smack into the cement of reality.

Unlike her friends, she no longer believed tomorrow would be better. She knew after yesterday’s appointment that it would not be. She had told no one, not even Lisa, about her doctor’s visit the previous afternoon. Since her injury and subsequent surgery, a persistent thought had snuck in like a snake and wrapped its reptilian muscles around her neck. Was it time to leave New York?

The problem was this: who the heck was she if not a chorus girl looking for her big break? All these years she’d sacrificed everything to make it, and she was no further ahead than when she’d arrived at eighteen. It was time for a new chapter. If only she knew what that was.

A more traditional life? Marriage and children? A family of her own? These blessings would be welcomed, but how did one find them?

While Lisa and Pepper were in a constant search for the one, Maggie had never bothered with men. After college there had been a few men she’d dated casually, but no one important. No one who could push away the memory of Jackson. She told herself it was because of her ambition and focus. No time for men. However, the truth was—no one would ever compare to Jackson. She would never love another man like she had him. If she couldn’t have that kind of love, she’d rather have none.

Was her summons home a sign? Should she go back to California and try her luck in Hollywood? She could change the direction of her career away from theatre to television and film.

The truth, Maggie.

The idea of Hollywood left her cold and exhausted. Without dancing, performance had lost its hold on her. She loved to sing, but her voice was more suited to popular music than the operatic style of musicals. It had only taken her twelve years to admit that truth.

God, she was tired of hoping. She plucked a melody on the strings of her guitar. The sympathetic notes reverberated in the quiet room.

From the couch, Lisa stirred. “What time is it?”

“It’s just after four. Go back to sleep.”

“What happened?” Lisa asked.

“You passed out before I could get you into your pajamas,” Maggie said. “As did I.”

“I barely remember stumbling up the stairs. Oh no, did we pay the cab driver?”

“I took care of him. You want water?”

“And an aspirin? I feel like death.”

Maggie set aside her guitar and went to their kitchen. Kitchen being a loose term, as it was more like an area.

Lisa was upright by the time Maggie came back with the water and painkillers. She did her nurse-like duty, then plopped back in the armchair.

Lisa drank the entire glass of water, then swept her blond curls back from her face and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders.

“I’m afraid to ask what the doctor said yesterday. I know it’s bad because you didn’t say anything before we went out.”

“He said the surgery healed nicely, but it won’t stay that way if I keep dancing professionally. The strain on my knee is too much, unless I want to live a life with constant pain and subsequent surgeries.”

“Crap.” Tears welled in her friend’s eyes.

“I know.”

“What does this mean?” Lisa’s eyes looked like a baby doll’s when she cried, round and glassy blue.

“Plan B, I guess.”

“What is that?” Lisa asked.

Maggie picked up the guitar and plucked a few notes. “I got a call tonight. From home. My dad’s dying.” She needn’t provide any further information. Lisa knew what that meant.

“Oh, God.”

“I have to go see him. It might be my last chance,” Maggie said.

“You have to try, at least.” Lisa wiped under her eyes with the corner of the blanket.

“I just want him to tell me where the baby’s body is.” Maggie’s voice quivered. She strummed a chord on the guitar to gather herself. “Jackson’s dad left no stone unturned twenty years ago. Whatever my father did with her, we’ll never know unless he tells me.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Lisa asked.

“You know you can’t.” Money, for one. Money, for two.

Lisa drew her knees up to her chest. “Why do I feel like you won’t come back?”

“Because I probably shouldn’t. I don’t know who I am without dance. But I need to find out.” Right then she craved the shelter of sycamore trees and the scent of the Pacific.

Home. She had to go home.

Lisa looked toward the window, picking at the skin around her thumb like she did when she was troubled. “I got a call this morning from my mom. My twin brother and his wife are having another baby. A girl this time.”

Maggie waited for her to continue.

“It got me thinking about all the stuff I’ve missed since I left home and moved to New York. All the birthdays and Christmases—I missed the birth of my twin’s little baby once already and I’m not sure I want to miss the next one. I want to be Aunt Lisa.” She smiled. “Cool Aunt Lisa who speaks French. Not loser Aunt Lisa who can’t afford the plane fare to come home for Thanksgiving. Not delusional Aunt Lisa who lies to herself and everyone else about how great things are going here.”

“Everyone but me. I know,” Maggie said. “And I love you no matter what.”

“I know you do. I saw some of your songs on the table this morning. They’re good.”

Maggie flushed, embarrassed. “Maybe.”

“I know they’re good. You should do something with them. Your voice is special. You know that, right?”

“You know you’re a great actress?” Maggie asked.

“I am, yes.”

“You are.” She was. As good as anyone out there. Not to mention, Lisa was a classic beauty, like a movie star from the forties with an hourglass figure and eyes the colors of sapphires.

Maggie was not a classic beauty. Not with her flat chest and white skin and freckles that covered every inch of her body.

“But it doesn’t matter,” Lisa said. “Every single day a new busload of girls as talented as we are show up. They’re fresh and young and their hearts haven’t been broken a thousand times already.”

“What’re you saying?” Maggie asked.

“I’m saying I want to go home. I want to live in a home with a real kitchen. I want to know people who are doing interesting things outside of the theatre. I want to find a nice man who doesn’t pretend his name is an adult beverage.”

Maggie laughed through her tears. “But what will we do?” She gestured toward the window. “We don’t know how to do anything but be chorus girls.”

“And bartenders.”

“And waitresses,” Maggie said.

“I always told myself I’d give it ten years and if things hadn’t worked out by then, I’d think about Plan B.” Lisa wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “It’s been almost twelve years since the first day we met in Professor Yang’s drama class. We’ve given it a good try, but it’s time to find another path, another way to live.”

“I’m scared,” Maggie said.

“Me too. But we’re going to have to trust that we’ll figure it out along the way,” Lisa said. “You go home to California. Pepper and I will pack up or sell anything you don’t take with you.”

“Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Maggie, we’ve been friends for what feels like a lifetime. Anyway, we’re paid up until the end of the month. That’ll give me time to sort through stuff. It’s not like we have any furniture worth taking with us.”

“What about this chair?” Maggie asked. “The color’s so optimistic.”

Lisa chuckled. “That chair is like us—looks good on the outside, but a wreck underneath.”

“That’s a good song lyric.”

“It’s time to go home and get our insides fixed up,” Lisa said.

Home. She would go home to Cliffside Bay and settle her scores. Not to live, obviously. Not after what had happened with Jackson, not after the betrayal of everyone she once loved. But somewhere in California might work. Or maybe Oregon. Washington State? A place with pines and sycamore trees. A town where the briny scent of the Pacific would soothe her disappointment.

“Once I get settled wherever, you have to come see me,” Maggie said.

“Absolutely. And you can come to Iowa.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Iowa.”

“Liar.”

 

Chapter 2: Jackson

The sun had not yet peeped up over the eastern mountains when Doctor Jackson Waller parked in front of Cliffside Bay’s only market. A woman in the park across the street caught his attention. His stomach lurched. Maggie stood under the birch tree. Dressed in running pants and a sweatshirt, she bent at the waist and touched the dewy grass with the tips of her fingers. Long red hair covered her face.

“Maggie.” He whispered and leapt from his truck. Maggie. His Bird. It was her. It had to be her. His feet pounded the concrete, loud in the quiet of the morning. He reached the mailbox at the edge of the grass and stopped. His breath lurched. He leaned with both hands on the cold metal of the mailbox. Not Maggie. Not even close. This woman had legs sturdy like old-growth forest, not lean dancer legs.

He expelled air from his tight chest and a strangled sob drowned out the song of a sparrow in the birch tree. The woman looked up at him and staggered backward. He’d frightened her—staring at her like he’d seen a ghost.

He’d frightened himself. This was not Maggie. No freckles scattered across a narrow nose or a birthmark on her neck in the shape of Italy. This woman had blue eyes, not the green of a mountain lake.

My God, he was slipping into insanity. Having visions. Seeing ghosts. More specifically, he was seeing Maggie. Everywhere. Not like before, when it happened maybe once a year. Since he’d moved home to Cliffside Bay six months ago, his visions had grown to daily occurrences.

Two days ago, he’d been sure it was Maggie holding a dress to her torso outside the women’s boutique. Yesterday, he’d seen her in the bookstore with her head bent over a journal. All it took was one close look at the women’s faces to realize it was only red hair they had in common with Maggie. And yet, in that first split second, he’d believed it was her.

His brain knew the truth. Maggie Keene, love of his life, had died in a car accident on her way to college in New York City twelve years ago.

But his heart had eyes too. They were made of hope and denial. They saw what was not there.

Damp with sweat, he apologized to the woman and slinked across the street to the flowers.

As the sun rose in the eastern sky and shot beams of golden light over the rolling hills, he stood between buckets of flowers outside the food market. To the west, fog hovered over the Pacific, eliminating the view of the beach and water. It would be hours before the mist conceded to the warmth of this late-June day and dissipated. Around noon, as if the dampness had never existed, the sky would transform into a deep blue and the long strand of beach would fill with umbrellas and children and dogs and picnics.

But at daybreak, the drowsy town dozed. It seemed to Jackson that the world at this hour was conversely dejected and hopeful.

Other than wetsuit-clad surfers who rode waves down at the long stretch of beach, the bustling movements of the grocery store staff was the only pocket of activity. Shades covered the windows of the rest of the storefronts along Main Street, including the bookstore, Violet’s shop of refurbished items, Zane’s bar and grill, a surf shop, Miss Rita’s dance studio, as well as Jackson’s medical office. Doctor Jon Waller and Doctor Jackson Waller. Father and son. Like Jackson had planned all his life.

Many early mornings since his return to town, he met Zane for a surf. They would head down to the beach with their boards like they had when they were young and ride the waves as if they still were. Today he would not surf. He had other business. Flowers and the cemetery. Today Maggie would have turned thirty. And, today, like every birthday since her death, Jackson would lay ranunculus on her grave.

Clayton, the floral manager, despite being in his late seventies, had arrived before dawn with the daily allotment of locally grown flowers. Now, he stood to the side as Jackson chose a pale pink ranunculus from the bucket. The intricacies of the ranunculus were surely some of God’s finest work. Their petals were like layers of the finest crepe paper and reminded Jackson of ballerinas’ tutus. They were perfect for Maggie.

He examined another before adding it to the bunch cradled in his arms. Only the best would do.

Just inside the door, Martha wriggled her plump fingers at Jackson as she prepared her organic coffee stand for the wave of locals and tourists who would soon invade. If sympathy could be expressed through the wriggle of fingertips, Martha was your girl. The produce manager, Fred, an old friend of Jackson’s father, paused between apple stacking to tip his hat. Also in sympathy.

They knew why he was buying flowers at the crack of dawn. They even knew why it had to be ranunculus. Clayton had likely picked them that morning for just this purpose.

Ranunculus, once grown in his mother’s garden, were Maggie’s favorite. Everyone in town knew this. Everyone in town had grieved with him when they’d lost her. They didn’t pretend she’d never existed like so many did when presented with death. Not here. Here they still talked about her. How talented she’d been. How beautiful. How sad it was that she was plucked from the world so young.

Clayton’s 1970s beater of a pickup truck was parked in front of the store. Muddy tires told the story of its morning adventures to the flower farms.

“How’s your truck holding up, Clayton?” Jackson asked.

Clayton took off his hat and brushed his hands through wild white hair before answering. “Heck, she’s as good as she ever was. The old girl and I do our runs out to the flower farms every morning like we always have.”

“Ever thought of treating yourself to a new truck?”

Jackson already knew the answer, but it was fun to ask Clayton just to hear his rote response, followed by the lecture of the demise of practicality, thanks to the younger generation.

“No need to replace something that isn’t broke, Doctor Waller. Your generation needs to learn that.”

“We sure do, sir.” Jackson smiled as he handed Clayton the bunch of chosen flowers. “Every time someone calls me Doctor Waller, I want to look behind me to see if my dad’s there.”

“Well, that’s you now, son. We’re real proud of you too. Speaking of your dad, I saw him golfing yesterday afternoon with Janet Mullen. I gather they’re an item?”

“You’re correct, sir.”

“Never too late for an old dog, I guess. Not that I’d know. Harriet and me been together since we were eighteen years old. We figure we’re the lucky ones, loving so young and for so long.” Clayton wrapped the flowers in brown paper. With his shaky and weathered hands, he tied a pink bow around the cone-shaped container. Pink for Maggie.

Jackson grabbed money from his wallet, but Clayton pushed his hand away. “Not today, Doctor Waller.”

Jackson knew better than to argue. “Thanks, Clayton.”

“You tell Maggie I said hello.”

“Will do.” He bit his bottom lip as he jogged to his truck. Once inside, he rested his forehead against the steering wheel and gulped air. He would not cry. Not today. Please, not today.

The first time he’d thought he’d seen her was just a year after she died. On a busy street in Los Angeles, he’d spotted her waiting for a bus. He’d called out her name. When she didn’t respond, he’d touched her shoulder. The stranger had turned and glared at him, afraid of his unwanted touch. Like today, he’d backed away, apologizing. It was not Maggie, but a cruel imposter.

For God’s sake, she’d been dead for twelve years. Twelve years!

He was a doctor, a healer. Yet, he was sicker than any of his patients. Many people who’d lost a spouse or lover, especially when they were young, couldn’t even recall their face. Not him.

What had Clayton said about his wife?

Lucky ones to have loved so young and for so long.

I thought that was you and me, Bird.

***

Ten minutes later, Jackson knelt on the damp grass and brushed the dust from Maggie’s tombstone with his free hand before placing the flowers in the vase he kept there.

With his index finger, Jackson traced her name.

Maggie Laura Keene

June 27, 1987 – August 7, 2005

Our Songbird.

Jackson had nicknamed her Songbird when they were little. Over time, it morphed to just Bird, which he interchanged equally with Maggie. When they were teenagers, she used to tease him that he only called her Bird when he wanted to kiss her.

Fog hovered between pine, eucalyptus, and sycamore trees. A sparrow hopped between tree branches, singing. She would have loved a morning like this.

He arranged the bouquet so that each marvelous flower was shown to its best advantage, like ballerinas on a stage.

Sometimes he spoke out loud to her. Not today. Today his heart was so big and sore that it took up every ounce of energy just to breathe.

Thirty years old. What would she be like now? Would she have forgiven him for sending her away? Would she have ever gotten past the cruel and selfish way he’d ended things between them?

Would you, Bird?

Her answer seemed to drift up from the sea and rustle through the pines.

I would have, Jackson. It was a silly fight. We would have been back together by Christmas.

If only he hadn’t made an ultimatum that night, she would be alive and by his side.

Either stay in California with me or we’re done.

The last words he’d ever said to the girl he’d loved all his life had been cruel. He’d never had the chance to say he was sorry and beg for her forgiveness. He lived with that every single day.

She’d chosen her dream over him. Who could blame her? She’d seen him for who he was.

I never thought you could be this selfish.

Her father, Roger Keene, had been the one to tell them she was dead. His name was in the databases as “next of kin” instead of Jackson’s parents, who had raised her from the time she was ten years old. That bitter irony was lost on no one. The bastard had pounded on the Wallers’ door two mornings after Maggie drove out of town. She’s been killed in a car accident, he told them. Somewhere in Kansas she’d lost control of the car. The police had suspected she’d fallen asleep.

Roger Keene had been the one to go to Kansas and collect her ashes. He’d been the one to arrange for her urn to be buried in the family plot next to her mother. There was nothing Jackson or his father could do. They were only her family by love, not blood. Jackson balled his fists, remembering how Roger Keene had played the grieving father at Maggie’s memorial. As if he’d had anything to do with raising her. As if he’d ever loved anyone but his narcissistic, brutal self. In further irony, the bastard was still alive. Sick and dying, but alive. May he rot in hell.

Jackson tugged at a tuft of overgrown grass at the edge of the tombstone and tore it into bits. The lazy groundskeeper should use clippers. This plot should be kept tidy and beautiful.

His gaze moved to Maggie’s mother’s tombstone. At least her father had put Maggie next to her mother. Mae needs a flower too. He placed one from the bouquet over her grave.

Oh, Bird. I still miss you so much. I’m afraid I’m insane.

He hadn’t even confessed to his therapist that his Maggie sightings had become a daily occurrence. How much longer could he keep Sharon waiting for a proposal? How much longer until Maggie no longer filled his restless dreams at night?

The sparrow hopped from the tree and landed on the top of the tombstone. She chirped at him. Did she sing move on, move on, move on?

Happy birthday, sweet Bird. I love you. Say hi to my mom.

***

Jackson had a good poker hand. In fact, it was a great hand. A full house. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been up during a Dog’s poker game. Not that they played often now that they were adults. They’d come a long way from the geeky underclassmen at USC assigned to the same dorm room who’d named themselves the Dogs after the famous painting of dogs playing poker. With time had come responsibilities. What had been a weekly game during their college days had become more like a once-a-month game at best.

He looked around the table to gauge the others’ hands. Not much to see. Almost twelve years they’d played poker together and he still couldn’t read his friends’ faces.

Brody never allowed his expression to show anything but a competitive intensity, perfected during his time on the football field as the quarterback for San Francisco’s professional football team. He loved to win and would do almost anything to do so, on or off the field. His fiancée, Kara, called it his game face: glittering eyes, mouth set in a straight line with his square jaw clenched. The rest of the Dogs called it “resting douche face.” God forbid any of them would ever give one of the others a compliment without some form of mockery.

Truth was, Brody was the heart of their group. Without him, Jackson suspected the entire dynamic would fall apart. He was a born leader and, whether any of them liked to admit it, good-looking, smart, and humble. Kara said no one should be given that much talent and beauty in one lifetime. Whether it was fair or not, the man recently threw a sixty-yard pass to win the Super Bowl.

His twenty-million-dollar-a-year contract helped him build this house that overlooked the ocean. Not only had he built suites for his mother and their longtime housekeeper, Flora, but he’d also made sure to build a man cave for the Dogs’ poker games and to watch sports, including Brody’s games during football season. With dark walls and bulky, masculine furniture, the room was like a commercial for bourbon and tobacco. In one section of the room, a wraparound sofa faced a giant, flat-screen television. On the other end, a round table with five chairs had been custom built for the five Dogs.

Tonight, the scent of the sea and freshly cut grass drifted in through the open windows and mingled with the smells of leather and expensive booze. Brody and Kyle each had a tumbler of Glenlivet scotch. Zane sipped from his usual vodka on the rocks with a squeeze of lime. Jackson had a glass of a Paso Robles Cabernet. Yes, he was a wine snob, which could be blamed on his father.

“I raise you one,” Jackson said.

“Good hand, Doctor Waller?” Brody tossed in two chips. “I raise you another one.”

“It’s creepy when you call me Doctor Waller,” Jackson said.

“You sound like you have a crush on him,” Kyle said. He also tossed in two chips.

Brody smiled. “I do have a crush on him.” When Brody smiled, his face transformed from intense to striking. He’d been doing a lot of smiling since becoming engaged to Kara.

“Doesn’t the whole town? Oh, Doctor Waller, can you look at the rash on my arm?” Zane fluttered his eyelashes as he slid two chips across the table and into the pot. “I think you need to rub some ointment on it. Maybe back at my place?”

“Aren’t you talking about yourself, Shaw?” Jackson asked. “You haven’t deluded yourself into thinking women are coming into The Oar for the food?”

“You know it’s my food,” Zane said. “My rock-hard abs are just a bonus.”

Jackson looked at Zane. One hand held his cards. The other rested on the table. No movement. Zane could keep a stoic expression while riding the toughest wave, and he ran his bar and grill without ever breaking a sweat. In addition, truth be told, his restaurant’s food was fantastic. That said, he was a terrible poker player. He gave himself away when he had a good hand by tapping his fingertips against the tabletop like a miniature drum roll. Every single time. In typical Dog style, no one had ever pointed this out to him, which is why he hardly ever won a game. When he did, it was usually for a small pot. They knew to fold when they saw those fingers start to tap.

“I raise you,” Jackson said. Three chips. This was going to cost him if someone had a better hand.

“It’s definitely Zane’s pretty face bringing them into the bar,” Kyle said. “Did you see that group of girls at the back table last night? Every time you walked by, I thought the brunette was going to faint.”

“I heard one of them squealing about your eyes,” Brody said, matching the bet. “She called them turquoise, as if that’s a real eye color.”

Zane rolled his said turquoise eyes as he tossed more chips into the pot. “You guys exaggerate. Plus, those ladies were barely old enough to drink, which makes them too young for us.”

“Twenty-one’s legal, man,” Kyle said.

“We’re thirty, in case you’ve forgotten,” Jackson said.

“I refuse to acknowledge this blasphemy,” Kyle said. “Anyway, age is merely a number.”

“Have you heard of the Peter Pan syndrome?” Brody asked. “You might look into it.”

“I never look into anything called a syndrome,” Kyle said. Jackson studied Kyle. What kind of hand did he have? The jerk almost always won.

Kyle raised an eyebrow and winked at him. “You know you can’t read me for crap.”

“I can,” Jackson said. “Like a book.”

“No one can read me. Years of dedication and practicing my poker face in the mirror has made me who I am.” Raised in poverty, Kyle was making up for it in adulthood by buying up half of California as a real estate developer. His latest venture was a new resort here in town.

“That’s probably true,” Zane said. “As much as it disgusts me to imagine how many hours a day you spend looking at yourself.”

“Hold on there, pretty boy,” Kyle said to Zane. “I recall a certain roommate who used to spend hours fixing his hair.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.” Zane grinned and pointed to his sun-kissed blond curls. “This is just natural beauty.”

“You are pretty,” Kyle said. “If only you’d use your good looks for good. Me, I use mine to give pleasure to as many women as I can.”

“Oh, brother,” Brody said as he rolled his eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong. Giving pleasure to one woman—the woman is where it’s at.”

“And deny the rest of them?” Kyle ran his hands down his muscular torso. “That would just be cruel.”

“No one likes a braggart,” Jackson said. Kyle wasn’t bragging. His angular face, patrician nose, and dark blue eyes that glittered with intelligence and curiosity caught women’s attention. However, it was his utter self-confidence and wit that made women fall into his arms without a thought to the heartbreak waiting around the corner the moment they hinted of any real feelings. Kyle was a cad of the first degree.

“You do look better now that you pay someone at Nordstrom to dress you,” Zane said.

“Rachel is her name and she’s very clever,” Kyle said.

“She’d have to be, given the raw material,” Brody said.

When they’d first met as freshmen at USC, Kyle had been skinny and nerdy. Now, a dedication to fitness and a personal shopper at Nordstrom had transformed him from nerdy to smoldering.

“Very funny. Zane, you should call Rachel immediately for help,” Kyle said. “If you ever want to dress like an adult instead of an overgrown surfer dude.”

“I will never dress like an adult again,” Zane said. “I burned my suits when I left L.A. I have no interest in looking slick.”

“Except for my wedding,” Brody said.

“Right. For Kara, I will make an exception,” Zane said. “It’s not every day I’m asked to walk a beautiful bride down the aisle.”

“I’m not slick, by the way. Some woman called me wolfish the other night,” Kyle said.

“Wolfish? I don’t think that was a compliment,” Brody said, laughing.

“Really? I liked it,” Kyle said. “It made me feel dangerous.”

“Speaking of dangerous, it’s time to face the music, boys.” Jackson displayed his poker hand on the table. The Dogs made various noises of disgust.

Jackson smiled as he scooped the winning chips into his pile. “It’s fun to win.”

“It happens so seldom, though,” Kyle said.

“Maybe this is the start of a new chapter for me,” Jackson said. Four of the five Dogs were here, which lifted his spirits. Lance, Brody’s younger brother, was the only Dog missing. He was in New York working on Wall Street. Hopefully, they would see him next month for Flora and Dax’s wedding. Although, no one could win against Lance. He had a photographic memory and Jackson suspected an ability to count cards. If Lance were a less ethical man, he would be in Vegas right now beating the house.

A new chapter? That’s what he needed. But could he make one?

“You okay, buddy?” Zane asked him.

Jackson looked up. “Me? Sure, yeah. Fine.”

“We know what today is,” Brody said. “You doing all right?”

“It’s okay if you’re not,” Kyle said.

Jackson looked at him, surprised. Kyle was usually the first to run when a conversation turned serious. “I’m struggling a little.” The understatement of the century. “She would’ve turned thirty today.”

“Yeah, I know,” Zane said.

“I should be better than I am,” Jackson said. “No one grieves this long unless they’re a little screwed in the head.”

“You loved her very much,” Brody said. “And today’s her birthday. I understand, now that I love Kara. To lose her might kill me.”

“It’s been twelve years,” Jackson said.

“What does your therapist think?” Brody asked.

Jackson shrugged and sipped from his glass. The wine tasted bitter tonight. “She thinks I’ve never fully believed that Maggie was dead, therefore I haven’t moved on like I should.”

“What kind of half-cocked theory is that?” Zane asked.

“Right?” Kyle said. “You know she’s dead. You just wish she wasn’t.”

“Anyway, there’s no instruction manual on grief,” Brody said. “I still miss my dad every single day.”

The urge to confess his fears trampled all reason, all self-preservation. If he could tell anyone the truth, it was the Dogs. “I’ve been seeing her everywhere. Since I moved back here. Any woman with red hair—my mind thinks she’s Maggie. This is not normal, guys.”

“It’s just because you’re back here,” Kyle said. “When I went home a few years ago, it felt like my mom was around every corner. And she’s been gone a long time.”

“Sure. It’s all the memories here,” Zane said. “Stirring things up.”

“The ring I bought for Sharon’s been sitting in my desk drawer for months,” Jackson said. “I need to ask her. She’s expecting me to ask her. The longer I put it off, the less fair it is to her.”

The room went silent. No one would meet his gaze.

Finally, Zane spoke. “There’s no rush. No timeline.”

“Proposing to her isn’t going to make you miss Maggie any less,” Kyle said.

Again, Kyle surprised him. What did he know about missing someone?

“It might,” Jackson said. “Like a line in the sand for my mind. I love Sharon. She’s amazing. You all know that.” Sharon Fox was a research doctor who looked like a supermodel. She loved Jackson despite how he’d strung her along for years. Heck, they’d been friends for six years before she convinced him to become involved romantically. “She’s hung in there for a long time.”

“What about her job in L.A.?” Brody asked. “I thought she didn’t want to move here.”

“She told me she will—if there’s a ring on her finger,” Jackson said. “She’ll commute to a university in San Francisco once she secures another position.”

“I don’t think she’ll like it here,” Zane said.

“What’s not to like?” Jackson asked.

No one spoke for a few seconds. Kyle plucked strips of the paper label from his beer bottle. Brody drank down the entirety of his scotch. Zane clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the light fixture that hung over the table.

“What is it?” Jackson asked. “What’s wrong?”

“We want you to be happy,” Zane said.

“I want that too,” Jackson said. I don’t want to slowly lose my mind. “Sometimes I wonder if coming back here was a mistake.”

“No way, man. This was your plan since we were kids,” Zane said.

Maggie was my plan, too. And look what happened there.

“Maybe you’re right. It’s just being back here. All the memories.” Jackson smiled to assure them he was fine, but his dry mouth stretched painfully against his teeth.

“They’ll fade,” Zane said. “I’m sure of it.”

“I’m going to marry Sharon. I owe her that much,” Jackson said. “And I need to know you guys are on my side.”

“Of course we are,” Kyle said. “Thick and thin, like we always promised.”

“No matter what,” Brody said.

“Sure. Whatever you decide, we’ll get behind it a hundred percent,” Zane said.

Kyle raised his glass. “To the Dogs. We have one another’s backs. No matter what goes down.”

“Always,” they repeated as they clinked glasses.

“Now somebody deal,” Kyle said. “I’m in the mood to win.”

***

The next day, Jackson finished putting the cast on three-year-old Dakota Ellis’s arm. “All done, buddy. You did a fantastic job of staying still.”

Dakota grinned. “Mommy said to.”

His mother, Violet, sat in the chair with the same worried expression they’d come in with, even though her son’s tears had long since dried. Jackson knew a thing or two about worry.

“Now, off you go. Ask Nurse Kara for a lollipop while I talk to your mom for a minute,” Jackson said as he scooped the little boy off the table.

Dakota headed out the door, staring at his cast.

Jackson turned back to Violet. “There’s no need to look so worried. He’ll be good as new in a month.”

“It’s not that so much as, well, I’m struggling. Money-wise.”

“Is business slow?” he asked.

Violet owned a shop in town that sold goods made from refurbished items, like tires into purses and so forth. Jackson had bought a bracelet made from chicken wire for Sharon. It had not gone over well.

Violet also headed up the committee in town with a sole purpose to protect the historical parts of town from development.

“My rent at the shop is too high compared to what I’m able to sell things for,” Violet said. “If my parents hadn’t moved to their vacation place in South America and left me their house here, I’d be in deep trouble. Still, with self-employment taxes, property taxes, not to mention the price of health insurance—I’m barely making it. A broken arm wasn’t in the budget.” Violet’s bottom lip trembled. “Do you guys have payment plans?”

“We can, but insurance will cover most of this,” he said.

“Not my insurance. My deductible’s six thousand dollars before they pay a dime. I have to pay over five hundred a month for our premiums, and I make too much to get a government subsidy for Dakota.” She wiped under her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just so tired.”

“Don’t apologize.” How was she supposed to get ahead when the system was rigged against her? “Anyway, you’re in luck. We happen to have a special running this month on little boy’s broken arms. They’re free with a purchase of a lollipop.”

“Jackson, no. I can’t take your charity.”

His mother, who had run the office when Jackson was a kid, had conveniently forgotten to bill people for visits if she knew they were struggling financially. “You let me know when things are looking up and we’ll bill you then.”

“I won’t forget,” she said.

“I’m not worried.”

Violet tucked her long, honey-hued hair behind both ears and lifted the corners of her mouth in a sad smile. “It’s been a rough few years.” Despite it all, Violet was even prettier than she’d been in high school, with hair the color of honey and small, delicate features. As Kyle had pointed out the first time he was introduced to her, she had a beautiful figure, thanks to yoga. Although, beautiful figure wasn’t exactly how Kyle had described her. He’d said something more along the lines of sizzling hot body, if Jackson recalled correctly.

However, Kyle’s admiration of Violet was short-lived. She was a zealot when it came to their little town, crusading to keep the town historically pure, which created a massive conflict with Kyle. She did not approve of new construction, especially a large resort, and was not shy about expressing her displeasure. Usually with a picket sign.

“How’s Sharon? Have you convinced her to move here yet?” Violet asked.

“She’s been pretty clear that a proposal equals her commitment to moving.” He kept his voice light.

“Well, it’s a big step,” Violet said.

“Yes. It is. Very much so.” He cringed at the uncertainty in his voice.

“I’m happy for you.”

Jackson scratched his neck under the stiff collar of his buttondown shirt. “What about you? Are you seeing anyone special?”

“No. I have Dakota, so you know, not much chance I’ll attract anyone decent. Way too much baggage.”

“Everyone has baggage. Don’t give up on love. You’re a catch, with or without your adorable boy. Some guy’s going to be lucky to have you.”

Violet rose from the chair and smoothed the front of her cotton sundress. “Thanks, Jackson. I didn’t realize a pep talk was an additional service you provide.”

“Anytime. Now go open your shop. Town’s practically crawling with tourists today.”

After he escorted Violet out to the lobby, he went into his office and opened his desk drawer. A small box nestled next to freshly sharpened pencils. He opened it; the diamond ring sparkled under the lights. Just do it.

His pulse quickened to the pace of a hummingbird’s wings. Sharon was a good woman. Even if he had to keep reminding himself, he was a lucky man. Nothing good ever came from his overanalysis. Or did it? Never mind. He must stop this nonsense.

It was time. He had to propose to Sharon and make it official. Time to grow up and start a family. Move forward with someone else. Finally.

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City girl returns to her roots in this suspenseful small-town romance. Lee Tucker left River Valley and never looked back. Until tragedy thrusts her into danger and the little town in the middle of nowhere Oregon is her only chance for survival. Tissues recommended for this feel good story.

In the wake of her husband's tragic death, Lee is pregnant and one million dollars in debt to a dangerous loan shark willing to do anything to collect. Out of money and options, Lee seeks refuge in the small Oregon town where her mother's dilapidated home sits vacant, as desperate for a fresh start as Lee herself.

With a baby on the way and a living to make, Lee opens a restaurant and begins to rebuild her life. But just as she catches her breath, and the eye of a local musician offering a second chance at love, she finds herself right back in the clutches of the debt collector with more to lose than ever.

Author Bio:

Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical romantic women’s fiction with nearly forty published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on “Hometowns and Heartstrings.”

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Three stubborn women, each of whom made a promise. Who will yield, and who will break?

Abigail made a vow to her husband before he passed, one she could not, would not break. But life hasn't been easy without him by her side, and her children grow more with each passing day. Sometimes it feels like she'll be alone forever.

Amanda is tired of being a mess. She wants to achieve, to impress, to excel. If that means changing who she is, even changing her entire life, then so be it.

Donna has learned the truth about the world the hard way. You either attack, or you're attacked yourself. She doesn't like being the villain, but she's done being a patsy. She's determined to carve out a place for herself, no matter what.

These women have all returned to Birch Creek with big plans, but the future loves to surprise us. Can their vows keep them on target? Or will they decide it's more important to follow their hearts, no matter how bad the fallout?

If you're starting a thousand mile journey with a single step, you better make sure you're wearing comfy shoes.

Abby Archer's life has rarely been better. As a newlywed, she and Steve have things just as she wants them. But when a big surprise leaves Abby confused, can she trust Steve to do things the way she needs them handled?

Amanda Brooks' business had a rocky start, but she and Mandy are more energized than ever. Eddy's back too, and they're trying to navigate a new way forward. Work and love are both shaping up nicely when disaster strikes. Can the new presence in town wreck all their plans, or will Amanda square her shoulders and persevere?

Donna has finally accepted her feelings for Will, and she's enjoying her job too. But working far from home has its own share of difficulties, and eventually her current job will end. When the retreat is built, will Donna find that tiny Manila is big enough to fulfill all her dreams?

Return to Birch Creek to see how your favorite friends are navigating career, family life, and love with a little bit of laughter.

“Fantastic...vivid...A lively read with tons to offer fans of women's drama and nostalgic fiction everywhere.” —Readers’ Favorite

It’s the swingin’ 70’s–a time of change, when singers sang about making life better by being there for others. Helen Reddy’s “I Am Woman” became an anthem for the women’s movement while other songs like Simon and Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Waters” offered comfort to people. This was a time for spreading peace and love.

In 1973, Wendy, a recently separated woman, discovers a new life when she starts her own business and becomes part of the bar scene. The once conservative Wendy makes major changes to her lifestyle, including her involvement with a number of men.

Wendy’s life becomes complicated with the different men she sees, combined with her estranged husband’s continual reappearance. She turns to drugs to help her relax and escape, creating a downward spiral that only her best friend can save her from.

More Reviews:

“This character-driven slice-of-life drama...explores love, friendship, self-esteem, heartbreak, trust, and healing as its hero rebuilds her life and rediscovers the power of friendship.” —BookLife

“A Woman in Search Of... is a beautiful story of a woman trying to navigate life on her own terms.” —San Diego City Book Reviews

Author Bio:

Lynne Brightman Horn graduated from Cal-State Long Beach, majoring in drama and English. She taught for the Los Angeles Unified School District for 10 years and was also a teacher and Education Coordinator at the Conservation Corps of Long Beach for 10 years. Lynne is the author of two books, The Glass Birds and A Woman in Search Of... She also wrote a short story that was turned into a play that was performed at a community college. Lynne spends her time reading, writing, gardening and enjoying her family and friends.

"A story of strength, pain, healing, fated love, and new beginnings, The Candle Palace is a must-read book which I think romance fans will cherish for years to come." —Harlequin Junkie

Sometimes a single flame can ignite a love that lasts a lifetime.

Milo Phillips knows the meaning of pain. Suffering through the most intense physical agony of his life, he's confined to a hospital bed to bear it alone. More than once, he wishes he'd died in the explosion that melted and mangled his skin. Darkness consumes him, snuffing all the joy in his life and leaving an empty hole in its place.

But one day, a flicker of light sneaks into his hospital room, driving away some of the hopelessness. For the first time in months, pain isn't all he feels.

The flicker's name is Sara Foster, his new nurse. Milo just hopes that Sara can see past his scars. Because underneath, his heart has begun beating again just for her.

More Reviews:

"Devney Perry captured my heart with a The Candle Palace! All the emotion and pain and feels that makeit worth it in the end!" —New York Times bestselling author, Carly Phillips

"This was pure ANGSTY ROMANCE GOODNESS!! The literal definition of a tormented hero and a truly forbidden romance." —Aestas Book Blog

"The Candle Palace is the best candle blown out and relit time and time again." —Enamored Reads

Author Bio:

Devney is a Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author. Born and raised in Montana, she loves writing books set in her treasured home state. After working in the technology industry for nearly a decade, she abandoned conference calls and project schedules to enjoy a slower pace at home with her family. Writing one book, let alone many, was not something she ever expected to do. But now that she’s discovered her true passion for writing romance, she has no plans to ever stop.

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Three reasons I'm still single by Jayne Grandberry:

1. I'm eleven feet tall and guys are intimidated by my height... okay I'm just six foot, but you get the idea.
2. My British accent makes me sound fancier than I am.
3. Running a business is hard work, and doesn't leave a lot of time for dating.
4. 
   

Opening a second clothing boutique is my singular focus. So I'm not even trying when my friends set me up with financial wizard, Stacey Cunningham. After my less then stellar first impression, I'm as surprised as anyone when we tumble into bed. Multiple times. For a nerdy single dad he's got a lot of skills between the sheets.

Actually, he's the complete package... but this isn't where I see my life going. I'm not wife or mommy material, and it's just a matter of time before he realizes I'm not the girl he wants.

Escape to Daytona Beach, bikini body not required. Fall in love with the circle of friends in this No Strings Series. They're like the gals of Charlies Angels only they don't fight crime, they fight falling in love. Each book can be read as a standalone. Each book offers some good laughs and a few feel good moments. Hot hero included.

Three reasons why I'm currently crying by Heather Michaels:

1. My house is falling apart.
2. My special needs eight year old is begging to play football and it breaks my heart to say no.
3. I haven't had sex in two years.
4. 
   

Between my day job, night school, and doctor's appointments, I'm lucky if I have time to shave my legs. So when I run into my college flame, Dax Griffin, who's living his football dreams, the fact that my life is a hot mess burns even more. Seeing him pushes me over the edge and into his bed. This time around, I know not to expect anything more than one night.

The sex may be great, but it won't solve my problems. When Dax insists on being my handy man, it seems too good to be true. He says he's a changed man, but I wonder if I've changed enough to accept him.

As much as I want to say yes, I don't know if I can trust that I'm the girl he loves.

Three reasons I slept with my best friend's brother by Paisley McAllister:

1. We laughed all night, the drinks were strong, and I needed to sleep somewhere.2. I have a weakness for military men.3. I know he won't kiss and tell.

... but lord when he kisses, he makes me forget I've completely broken the best friend code.

So when he makes me a no strings attached offer, I figure we've already done it once. But Hank has never been the type for casual. He's husband material, and I should've seen the problems with this plan from the beginning.

As good as he makes me feel, the ink's just dried on my divorce papers. I'm no longer the girl he knows.

Three reasons I'm getting in a car with a stranger by Josie Woodmere:

1. My POS car is on fire on the side of the highway.2. The guy in the truck doesn't look like a murderer... in fact, he's hot.3. Even if he tries something, I'm confident I could take him.

Hottie in the truck, Brinn McRae turns out to be straight-laced and so not my type. Plus, I'm not looking for romance. I have to find a job and my estranged brother.

The universe must have different plans because the first job my Daytona temp agency sends me to is Brinn's flight school. And if I thought we weren't compatible before, working in his small office makes me question my feelings. The only problem is I'm not sure if I want to loosen his straight-laces or choke him with them.

I don't know if he's man I want, but I'm the girl he needs.

They each hit the trail solo in search of themselves...

Overworked entrepreneur Jules Martinez is sick and tired of men leaving her for their exes. Determined to wipe the giant, scarlet R for rebound off her forehead, she kicks off a yearlong vow of celibacy with five, blissful weeks backpacking her favorite trails through Washington State. Solo.

Out-of-work financial analyst Evan Davenport hasn't been happy since camping in Scouts as a kid-before his wealthy parents and now ex-fiancé made all his major life decisions. Hoping to find joy and purpose, he buys all the latest ultralight backpacking gear, flies to Washington, and sets off alone on a weeklong speed hike through the wilderness.



Mother Nature has other plans, though, and keeps shoving Evan and Jules in each other's paths. Usually naked. When sparks fly, can they find what they're looking for in life together instead of apart?