Daughters Of The Bride

Daughters Of The Bride Susan Mallery With Joy, Love, and a Little Trepidation Courtney, Sienna and Rachel Invite You To the Most Emotional Wedding of the Year… Their Mother’sCourtney~ The Misfit ~As the awkward one, Courtney Watson may not be as together as her sisters, but she excels at one thing—keeping secrets, including her white-hot affair with a sexy music producer. Planning Mom's wedding exposes her startling hidden life, changing her family's view of her–and how she views herself–forever.Sienna~ The Free Spirit ~When Sienna's boyfriend proposes—in front of her mom and sisters, for crying out loud—he takes her by surprise. She already has two broken engagements under her belt. Should she say "I do" even if she's not sure she does?Rachel~ The Cynic ~Rachel thought love would last forever…right up until her divorce. As Mom’s wedding day draws near and her ex begs for a second chance, she's forced to acknowledge some uncomfortable truths about why her marriage failed, and decide if she’ll let pride stand in the way of her own happily ever after.A must-read for anyone who has survived the wedding of a sister, a mother, a daughter—as told by #1 New York Times bestselling author and master storyteller Susan Mallery! With Joy, Love and a Little Trepidation, Courtney, Sienna and Rachel Invite You to the Most Emotional Wedding of the Year… Their Mother’s Courtney ~ The Misfit ~ As the awkward one, Courtney Watson may not be as together as her sisters, but she excels at one thing—keeping secrets, including her white-hot affair with a sexy music producer. Planning Mom’s wedding exposes her startling hidden life, changing her family’s view of her—and how she views herself—forever. Sienna ~ The Free Spirit ~ When Sienna’s boyfriend proposes—in front of her mom and sisters, for crying out loud—he takes her by surprise. She already has two broken engagements under her belt. Should she say “I do” even if she’s not sure she does? Rachel ~ The Cynic ~ Rachel thought love would last forever…right up until her divorce. As Mom’s wedding day draws near and her ex begs for a second chance, she’s forced to acknowledge some uncomfortable truths about why her marriage failed, and decide if she’ll let pride stand in the way of her own happily-ever-after. #1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR Daughters of the Bride Susan Mallery www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) To Kaycee. Thank you so much for everything. This one is for you. * * * Being the “mom” of an adorable, spoiled little dog, I know the joy that pets can bring to our lives. Animal welfare is a cause I have long supported. For me that means giving to Seattle Humane. At their 2015 Tuxes and Tails fund-raiser, I offered “Your pet in a romance novel” as a prize. In this book you will meet two wonderful dogs—Sarge and Pearl. One of the things that makes writing special is interacting in different ways with people. Some I talk to for research. Some are readers who want to talk characters and story lines, and some are fabulous pet parents. I had a wonderful time learning about Sarge and Pearl. They are well loved and a little spoiled…as all pets should be. I enjoyed the opportunity to work them into my story and I hope you enjoy their charming antics. My thanks to Sarge and Pearl, to their fabulous pet parents and to the wonderful people at Seattle Humane (SeattleHumane.org (http://www.SeattleHumane.org)). Because every pet deserves a loving family. Contents Cover (#udd71dca6-b576-5024-89eb-d75f8d5dec8a) Back Cover Text (#uccde7c52-b073-5ce1-b3f3-ae88826f0649) Title Page (#u16428f2e-c0bd-5ac8-9aa5-c3c593a3759b) Dedication (#u014c64fd-2a39-5237-a681-1ec8234fd350) Chapter 1 (#ulink_b5acdae9-8d2a-512d-b809-c8fd551de1ef) Chapter 2 (#ulink_11f85104-a15f-5136-935f-186a341f03ea) Chapter 3 (#ulink_ad174757-89d2-5560-a397-98407c09fe7a) Chapter 4 (#ulink_e3d7ff33-993e-52be-8b05-033780101c99) Chapter 5 (#ulink_9e56ec55-f67c-5eae-b3c7-7160304f515e) Chapter 6 (#ulink_4467097c-35aa-5528-8d1f-ef2a93f6cb4a) Chapter 7 (#ulink_d109db53-1e09-5fee-915c-8080b5bf8da7) Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo) Book Club Discussion Questions and Menu Suggestions (#litres_trial_promo) Discussion Questions (#litres_trial_promo) Menu Suggestions (#litres_trial_promo) ROASTED ACORN SQUASH BISQUE (#litres_trial_promo) HONEY-LIME SALMON (#litres_trial_promo) DRUNKEN RED-NOSED HONEYBEE CUPCAKES WITH BOURBON-HONEY CREAM CHEESE FROSTING (#litres_trial_promo) BOURBON-HONEY CREAM CHEESE FROSTING (#litres_trial_promo) MARZIPAN DRUNKEN RED-NOSED HONEYBEES (#litres_trial_promo) Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) 1 (#ulink_cfa5a8a7-f3f7-56ab-8077-8668503d5fe3) ONE OF THE advantages of being freakishly tall was easy access to those upper kitchen cabinets. The disadvantages...well, those were probably summed up by the word freakishly. Courtney Watson folded her too-long legs under her as she tried to get comfortable in a chair incredibly low to the ground. Adjusting the height wasn’t possible. She was filling in at the concierge desk only while Ramona hurried off for yet another bathroom break. Apparently, the baby had shifted and was now reclining right on her bladder. From what Courtney could tell, pregnancy was a whole lot of work with an impressive dash of discomfort. The last thing she was going to do was change anything about the chair where Ramona spent a good part of her day. Courtney could pretend to be a pretzel for five minutes. Late on a Tuesday evening, the lobby of the Los Lobos Hotel was quiet. Only a few guests milled around. Most were already up in their rooms, which was where Courtney liked the guests to spend their time at night. She wasn’t a fan of those who roamed. They got into trouble. The elevator doors opened and a small, well-dressed man stepped out. He glanced around the lobby before heading directly to her. Well, not to her, she would guess. The concierge desk at which she sat. Her practiced smile faltered a bit when she recognized Milton Ford, the current president of the California Organization of Organic Soap Manufacturing, aka COOOSM. Mr. Ford had arranged for the annual meeting to be held in town, and everyone was staying at the Los Lobos Hotel. Courtney knew that for sure—she’d taken the reservation herself. But the meetings, the meals and all the income that flowed from them were taking place at the Anderson House. “Hello.” He looked at the nameplate on the desk. “Ah, Ramona. I’m Milton Ford.” Courtney thought about correcting him on her name but figured there wasn’t much point. Despite his giving all that pretty catering money to one of their competitors, she would still do her job—or in this case, Ramona’s—to the best of her abilities. “Yes, Mr. Ford. How may I help you this evening?” She smiled as she spoke, determined to be pleasant. Even if Mr. Ford had decided to hold his stupid awards luncheon at the Anderson House instead of in the hotel’s very beautiful and spacious ballroom, Courtney would do her best to make sure his stay and the stays of his colleagues were perfect. Her boss would tell her not to be bitter, so Courtney returned her smile to full wattage and promised herself that when she was done with Mr. Ford, she would head to the kitchen for a late-night snack of ice cream. It would be an excellent reward for good behavior. “I have a problem,” he told her. “Not with the rooms. They’re excellent as always. It’s the, ah, other facility we’ve booked.” “The Anderson House.” She did her best not to spit the words. “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid there are...bees.” Now the problem wasn’t a lack of smiling but the issue of too much of it. Joyce, her boss, would want her to be professional, she reminded herself. Glee, while definitely called for, wasn’t polite. At least not to Mr. Ford’s face. Bees! How glorious. “I hadn’t heard they were back,” she said sympathetically. “They’ve had bees before?” “Every few years. They usually stay outside of town, but when they come into the city limits, they like the Anderson House best.” Mr. Ford dabbed his forehead with a very white handkerchief, then tucked it back into his pocket. “There are hundreds of them. Thousands. Entire hives sprang up, practically overnight. There are bees everywhere.” “They’re not particularly dangerous,” Courtney offered. “The Drunken Red-nosed Honeybee is known to be calm and industrious. Oh, and they’re endangered. As a maker of organic soap, you must be aware of the issues we’re having keeping our honeybee numbers where they should be. Having them return to Los Lobos is always good news. It means the population is healthy.” “Yes. Of course. But we can’t have our awards luncheon in the same house. With the bees. I was hoping you’d have room for us here.” Here? As in the place I offered and you refused, telling me the Anderson House was so much better suited? But those thoughts were for her, not for a guest. “Let me check,” she told him. “I think I might be able to make room.” She braced herself to stand. Not physically, but mentally. Because the well-dressed Mr. Ford, for all his dapperness, was maybe five foot six. And Courtney wasn’t. And when she stood...well, she knew what would happen. She untangled her long legs and rose. Mr. Ford’s gaze followed, then his mouth dropped open a second before he closed it. Courtney towered over Mr. Ford by a good six inches. Possibly more, but who was counting? “My goodness,” he murmured as he followed her. “You’re very tall.” There were a thousand responses, none of them polite and all inappropriate for the work setting. So she gritted her teeth, thought briefly of England, then murmured as unironically as she could, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.” * * * Courtney waited while her boss stirred two sugars into her coffee, then fed half a strip of bacon to each of her dogs. Pearl—a beautiful blonde standard poodle—waited patiently for her treat, while Sarge, aka Sargent Pepper—a bichon–miniature poodle mix—whined at the back of his throat. The dining room at the Los Lobos Hotel was mostly empty at ten in the morning. The breakfast crowd was gone and the lunch folks had yet to arrive. Courtney got the paradox of enjoying the hotel best when guests were absent. Without the customers, there would be no hotel, no job and no paycheck. While a crazy wedding on top of every room booked had its own particular charm, she did enjoy the echoing silence of empty spaces. Joyce Yates looked at Courtney and smiled. “I’m ready.” “The new linen company is working out well. The towels are very clean and the sheets aren’t scratchy at all. Ramona thinks she’s going to last until right before she gives birth, but honestly it hurts just to look at her. That could just be me, though. She’s so tiny and the baby is so big. What on earth was God thinking? Last night I met with Mr. Ford of the California Organization of Organic Soap Manufacturing. Bees have invaded the Anderson House, and he wants to book everything here. I didn’t mock him, although he deserved it. So now we’re hosting all their events, along with meals. I talked him into crab salad.” Courtney paused for breath. “I think that’s everything.” Joyce sipped her coffee. “A full night.” “Nothing out of the ordinary.” “Did you get any sleep?” “Sure.” At least six hours, Courtney thought, doing the math in her head. She’d stayed in the lobby area until Ramona’s shift had ended at ten, done a quick circuit of the hotel grounds until ten thirty, studied until one and then been up at six thirty to start it all again. Okay, make that five hours. “I’ll sleep in my forties,” she said. “I doubt that.” Joyce’s voice was friendly enough, but her gaze was sharp. “You do too much.” Not words most bosses bothered to utter, Courtney thought, but Joyce wasn’t like other bosses. Joyce Yates had started working at the Los Lobos Hotel in 1958. She’d been seventeen and hired as a maid. Within two weeks, the owner of the hotel, a handsome, thirtysomething confirmed bachelor, had fallen head over heels for his new employee. They’d married three weeks later and lived blissfully together for five years, until he’d unexpectedly died of a heart attack. Joyce, then all of twenty-two and with a toddler to raise, had taken over the hotel. Everyone was certain she would fail, but under her management the business had thrived. Decades later she still saw to every detail and knew the life story of everyone who worked for her. She was both boss and mentor for most of her staff and had always been a second mother to Courtney. Joyce’s kindness was as legendary as her white hair and classic pantsuits. She was fair, determined and just eccentric enough to be interesting. Courtney had known her all her life. When Courtney had been a baby, her father had also died unexpectedly. Maggie, Courtney’s mother, had been left with three daughters and a business. Joyce had morphed from client to friend in a matter of weeks. Probably because she’d once been a young widow with a child herself. “How’s your marketing project coming along?” Joyce asked. “Good. I got the notes back from my instructor, so I’m ready to move on to the final presentation.” Once she finished her marketing class, she was only two semesters away from graduation with her bachelor’s degree. Hallelujah. Joyce refilled her coffee cup from the carafe left at the table. “Quinn’s arriving next week.” Courtney grinned. “Really? Because you’ve only mentioned it every morning for the past two weeks. I wasn’t completely sure when he was getting here. You’re sure it’s next week? Because I couldn’t remember.” “I’m old. I get to be excited about my grandson’s arrival if I want to.” “Yes, you do. We’re all quivering.” Joyce’s mouth twitched. “You have a little attitude this morning, young lady.” “I know. It’s the Drunken Red-nosed Honeybees. I always get attitude when they take over the Anderson House. Gratitude attitude.” “Quinn’s still single.” Courtney didn’t know if she should laugh or snort. “That’s subtle. I appreciate the vote of confidence, Joyce, but let’s be honest. We both know I’d have a better shot at marrying Prince Harry than getting Quinn Yates to notice me.” She held up a hand. “Not that I’m interested in him. Yes, he’s gorgeous. But the man is way too sophisticated for the likes of me. I’m a small-town girl. Besides, I’m focused on college and my work. I have no free boy time.” She wanted her degree within the next year, then a great job and then men. Or a man. Definitely just one. The one. But that was for later. “You’ll date when you’re forty?” Joyce asked humorously. “I’m hoping it won’t take that long, but you get the idea.” “I do. It’s too bad. Quinn needs to be married.” “Then you should find him someone who isn’t me.” Not that Quinn wasn’t impressive, but jeez. Her? Not happening. She’d met him a handful of times when he’d come to visit his grandmother. The man was wildly successful. He was in the music business—a producer, maybe. She’d never paid attention. On his visits, he hung out with Joyce and her dogs, otherwise kept to himself, then left without making a fuss. Of course, the fuss happened without his doing a single thing other than show up. The man was good-looking. No, that wasn’t right. Words like good-looking or handsome should be used on ordinary people with extraordinary looks. Quinn was on a whole other plane of existence. She’d seen happily married middle-aged women actually simper in his presence. And to her mind, simpering had gone out of style decades ago. “You really think he’s moving to Los Lobos?” she asked, more than a little doubtful. “That’s what he tells me. Until he finds a place of his own, I’ve reserved the groundskeeper’s bungalow for him.” “Nice digs,” Courtney murmured. “He’ll never want to leave.” Although to be honest, she couldn’t imagine the famous, Malibu-living music executive finding happiness in their sleepy little Central California town, but stranger things had happened. “I’ll check his arrival date and make sure I’m assigned to clean it,” she told her boss. “Thank you, dear. I appreciate the gesture.” “It’s not exactly a gesture. It’s kind of my job.” While she was considered a jack-of-all-trades at the hotel, her actual title was maid. The work wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills, and right now that was what mattered to her. “It wouldn’t be if you’d—” Courtney held up her hand. “I know. Accept a different job. Tell my family about my big secret. Marry Prince Harry. I’m sorry, Joyce. There are only so many hours in a day. I need to have priorities.” “You’re picking the wrong ones. Prince Harry would love you.” Courtney smiled. “You are sweet and I love you.” “I love you, too. Now, about the wedding.” Courtney groaned. “Do we have to?” “Yes. Your mother is getting married in a few months. I know you’re taking care of the engagement party, but there’s also the wedding.” “Uh-huh.” Joyce raised her eyebrows. “Is that a problem?” “No, ma’am.” It wasn’t that Courtney minded her mother remarrying. Maggie had been a widow for literally decades. It was long past time for her mom to find a great guy and settle down. Nope, it wasn’t the marriage that was the problem—it was the wedding. Or rather the wedding planning. “You’re trying to get me into trouble,” she murmured. “Who, me?” Joyce’s attempt to look innocent failed miserably. Courtney rose. “All right, you crafty lady. I will do my best with both the party and the wedding.” “I knew you would.” Courtney bent down and kissed Joyce’s cheek, then straightened, turned and ran smack into Kelly Carzo—waitress and, until this second, a friend. Kelly, a pretty, green-eyed redhead, tried to keep hold of the tray of coffee mugs she’d been carrying, but the force was too great. Mugs went flying, hot liquid rained down, and in less than three seconds, Courtney, Joyce and Kelly were drenched, and the shattered remains of six mugs lay scattered on the floor. The restaurant had been relatively quiet before. Now it went silent as everyone turned to stare. At least there were only a couple of other customers and a handful of staff. Not that word of her latest mishap wouldn’t spread. Joyce stood and scooped Sarge out of harm’s way, then ordered Pearl to move back. “What is it your sister says in times like this?” Courtney pulled her wet shirt away from her body and smiled apologetically at Kelly. “That I’m ‘pulling a Courtney.’ You okay?” Kelly brushed at her black pants. “Never better, but you are so paying for my dry cleaning.” “I swear. Right after I help you with this mess.” “I’m going to get changed,” Joyce told them. “The prerogative of being the owner.” “I’m really sorry,” Courtney called after her. “I know, dear. It’s fine.” No, Courtney thought as she went to get a broom and a mop. It wasn’t fine. But it sure was her life. * * * “I want to match my dress. Just one streak. Mo-om, what could it hurt?” Rachel Halcomb pressed her fingers against her temple as she felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. The Saturday of Los Lobos High’s spring formal was always a crazy one for the salon where she worked. Teenage girls came in to be coiffed and teased into a variety of dance-appropriate styles. They traveled in packs, which she didn’t mind. But the high-pitched shrieks and giggles were starting to get to her. Her client—Lily—desperately wanted a bright purple streak to go with her floor-length dress. Her hair was long, wavy and a beautiful shade of auburn. Rachel had clients who would fork out hundreds to get that exact color, while Lily had simply hit the hair lottery. Lily’s mom bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know,” she said, sounding doubtful. “Your father will have a fit.” “It’s not his hair. And it’ll look great in the pictures. Come on, Mom. Aaron asked me. You know what that means. I have to look amazing. We’ve only been living here three months. I have to make a good impression. Please?” Ah, the most amazing boy ever asked me out combined with the powerful I’m new in school argument. A one-two punch. Lily knew her stuff. Rachel had never been on the receiving end of that particular tactic but knew how persuasive kids could be. Her son was only eleven but already an expert at pushing her buttons. She doubted she’d had the same level of skill when she’d been his age. Lily swung toward Rachel. “You can use the kind that washes out, right? So it’s temporary?” “It will take a couple of shampoos, but yes, you can wash it out.” “See!” Lily’s voice was triumphant. “Well, you are going with Aaron,” her mother murmured. Lily shrieked and hugged her mother. Rachel promised herself that as soon as she could escape to the break room, she would have not one but two ibuprofens. And the world’s biggest iced tea chaser. She smiled to herself. That was her—dreaming big. Lily ran off to change into a smock. Her mother shrugged. “I probably shouldn’t have given in. Sometimes it’s hard to tell her no.” “Especially today.” Rachel nodded at the gaggle of teenage girls at every station. They stood in various stages of dress...or undress. Some had on jeans and T-shirts. Others were in robes or smocks. And still others modeled their gowns for the dance that night. “And she is going to the dance with Aaron.” The other woman laughed. “When I was her age, his name was Rusty.” She sighed. “He was gorgeous. I wonder what happened to him.” “In my class, he was Greg.” The mom laughed. “Let me guess. The football captain?” “Of course.” “And now?” “He’s with the Los Lobos Fire Department.” “You kept in touch?” “I married him.” Before Lily’s mom could ask any more questions, Lily returned and threw herself into the chair. “I’m ready,” she said eagerly. “This is going to be so awesome.” She smiled at Rachel. “You’re going to do the smoky eye thing on me, right?” “As requested. I have deep purple and violet-gray shadows just for you.” Lily raised her hand for a high five. “You’re the best, Rachel. Thank you.” “That’s what I’m here for.” Two hours later Lily had a dark violet streak in her hair, a sleek updo and enough smoky eye makeup to rival a Victoria’s Secret model. The fresh-faced teenager now looked like a twentysomething It Girl. Lily’s mom snapped several pictures with her phone before pressing a handful of bills into Rachel’s hand. “She’s beautiful. Thank you so much.” “My pleasure. Lily, bring me pictures of you with Aaron next time I see you.” “I will. I promise!” Rachel waited until mother and daughter had left to count out the tip. It was generous, which always made her happy. She wanted her clients—and their mothers—to be pleased with her work. Now, if only one of those eccentric trillionaires would saunter in, love her work and tip her a few thousand, that would be fantastic. She could get ahead on her mortgage, not sweat her lack of an emergency fund. In the meantime, Josh needed a new glove for his baseball league, and her car was making a weird chirping noise that sounded more than a little expensive. If she’d mentioned either of those things to Lily’s mom, she would guess the other woman would have told her to talk to Greg. That was what husbands were for. There was only one flaw with that plan—she and Greg weren’t married anymore. The most amazing boy in school slash football captain slash homecoming king had indeed married her. A few weeks before their tenth anniversary he’d cheated and she’d divorced him. Now at thirty-three, she found herself living as one of the most pitied creatures ever—a divorced woman with a child about to hit puberty. And there wasn’t enough smoky eye or hair color to make that situation look the least bit pretty. She finished cleaning up and retreated to the break room for a few minutes before her last client—a double appointment of sixteen-year-old twins who wanted their hair to be “the same but different” for the dance. Rachel reached for the bottle of ibuprofen she kept in her locker and shook out two pills. As she swallowed them with a gulp of water, her cell phone beeped. She glanced at the screen. Hey you. Toby’s up for keeping both boys Thursday night. Let’s you and me go do something fun. A girls’ night out. Say yes. Rachel considered the invitation. The rational voice in her head said she should do as her friend requested and say yes. Break out of her rut. Put on something pretty and spend some time with Lena. She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d done anything like that. The rest of her, however, pointed out that not only hadn’t she done laundry in days, but she was also behind on every other chore it took to keep her nonworking life running semi-smoothly. Plus, what was the point? They would go to a bar by the pier and then what? Lena was happily married. She wasn’t interested in meeting men. And although Rachel was single and should be out there flashing her smile, she honest to God didn’t have the energy. She was busy every second of every day. Her idea of a good time was to sleep late and have someone else make breakfast. But there wasn’t anyone else. Her son needed her, and she made sure she was always there. Taking care of business. She’d been nine when her father had died suddenly. Nine and the oldest of three girls. She still remembered her mother crouched in front of her, her eyes filled with tears. “Please, Rachel. I need you to be Mommy’s best girl. I need you to help take care of Sienna and Courtney. Can you do that for me? Can you hold it all together?” She’d been so scared. So unsure of what was going to happen next. What she’d wanted to say was that she was still a kid and, no, holding it together wasn’t an option. But she hadn’t. She’d done her best to be all things to everyone. Twenty-four years later, that hadn’t changed. She glanced back at her phone. Want to come over for a glass of wine and PB&J sandwiches instead? I’ll come over for wine and cheese. And I’ll bring the cheese. Perfect. What time should I drop off Josh? Let’s say 7. Does that work? Rachel sent the thumbs-up icon and set her phone back in her locker, then closed the door. Something to look forward to, she told herself. Plans on a Thursday night. Look at her—she was practically normal. 2 (#ulink_61c325fd-dd27-51e0-aade-225d0e18a37c) “MRS. TROWBRIDGE IS DEAD.” Sienna Watson looked up from her desk. “Are you sure?” She bit her lower lip. “What I meant is, how awful. Her family must be devastated.” She drew in a breath. “Are you sure?” Seth, the thirtysomething managing director of The Helping Store, leaned against the door frame. “I have word directly from her lawyer. She passed two weeks ago and was buried this past Saturday.” Sienna frowned. “Why didn’t anyone tell us? I would have gone to the funeral.” “You’re taking your job too seriously. It’s not as if she would have known you were there.” Sienna supposed that was true. What with Mrs. Trowbridge being dead and all. Still... Anita Trowbridge had been a faithful donor to The Helping Store for years—contributing goods for the thrift shop and money for various causes. Upon her death, the thrift shop was to inherit all her clothes and kitchen items, along with ten thousand dollars. Unfortunately, nearly six months before, Sienna had received word of Mrs. Trowbridge’s passing. After the lawyer had given his okay, she’d sent a van and two guys to the house to collect their bequest...only to be confronted by Mrs. Trowbridge’s great-granddaughter. Erika Trowbridge had informed the men that her great-grandmother was still alive and they could take their vulture selves away until informed otherwise. “It wasn’t your fault,” Seth said now as he pushed up his glasses. “The lawyer gave you the key to the house.” “Something he shouldn’t have done. You know, it wouldn’t have happened if they’d hired a local lawyer. But no. They had to bring one up from Los Angeles.” Sienna had apologized to Mrs. Trowbridge personally. The old lady—small and frail in her assisted-living bed—had laughed and told Sienna she understood. Great-granddaughter Erika had not. Of course, Erika was still bitter about the fact that Sienna had not only snagged the role of Sandy in their high school production of Grease but also—perhaps more important—won the heart of Jimmy Dawson in twelfth grade. “She was a nice old lady,” she murmured, thinking she would have liked to have sent flowers. Instead, she would donate that amount to The Helping Store in Mrs. Trowbridge’s name. “I wonder if there’s anything left in her kitchen.” “You think the granddaughter took things?” “Great-granddaughter, and I wouldn’t put it past her. If she had her way, Erika would clean the place out. At least we’ll get the cash donation.” “I’m meeting with the lawyer in the morning.” Sienna was the donation coordinator for The Helping Store, one of a handful of paid staff. The large and bustling thrift store was manned by volunteers. All the proceeds from the store, along with any cash raised by donations, went to a shelter for women escaping domestic violence. Getting away from the abuser was half the battle. Over the years, The Helping Store had managed to buy several small duplexes on the edge of town. They were plain but clean and, most important to women on the run, far from their abusers. Her boss nodded toward the front of the building. “Ready to tap-dance?” Sienna smiled as she rose. “It’s not like that. I enjoy my work.” “You put on a good show.” He held up a hand. “Believe me. I’m not complaining. You’re the best. My biggest fear is that some giant nonprofit in the big city will make you an offer you can’t refuse and I’ll be left Sienna-less. I can’t think of a sadder fate.” “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised. Oh, sure, every now and then she thought about what it would be like to live in LA or San Francisco, but those feelings passed. This small coastal town was all she knew. Her family was here. “Isn’t David from somewhere back East?” Seth asked. She pulled open her desk drawer and collected her handbag, then walked out into the hallway. “St. Louis. His whole family’s there.” Seth groaned. “Tell me he’s not interested in moving back.” There were a lot of implications in that sentence. That she and David were involved enough to be having that conversation. That one day they would be married and, should he want to return to his hometown, she would go with him. She patted her boss’s arm. “Cart, meet horse. You’re getting way ahead of yourself. We’ve only been dating a few months. Things aren’t that serious. He’s a nice guy and all, but...” “No sparks.” Seth’s tone was sympathetic. “Bummer.” “We can’t all have your one true great love.” “You’re right. Gary is amazing. Okay, then, let’s get you to the Anderson House so you can dazzle the good people who make— Who are you talking to?” “The California Organization of Organic Soap Manufacturing, and they’re at the Los Lobos Hotel. The Anderson House has bees.” Seth’s expression brightened. “The Drunken Red-nosed Honeybees? I love those guys. Did you know their raw honey has thirty percent more antioxidants than any other raw honey in California?” “I didn’t and I could have gone all day without that factoid.” “You’re jealous because I’m smart.” “No, you’re jealous because I’m pretty and our world is shallow so that counts more.” Seth laughed. “Fine. Go be pretty with the soap people and bring us back some money.” “Will do.” Sienna drove to the hotel. She knew the way. Not only because her hometown was on the small side—but also because nearly every significant event was celebrated there. The Los Lobos Hotel sat on a low bluff overlooking the Pacific. The main building was midcentury modern meets California Spanish, four stories high with blinding white walls and a red tile roof. The rear wing had been added in the 1980s, and luxury bungalows dotted the grounds. Given the pleasant Central California weather, most large-scale events were held outside on the massive lawn in front of the pool. A grand pavilion stood on the lawn between the pool and the ocean, and a petite pavilion by the paddleboat pond. Sienna parked the car and collected her material. As she walked toward the rear entrance of the hotel, she saw that the windows sparkled and the hedges were perfectly trimmed. Joyce did an excellent job managing the hotel, she thought. She was also a generous contributor to The Helping Store. And not just with money. More than once Sienna had called to find out if there was a spare room for a displaced family or a woman on the run. A year ago Joyce had offered a small room kept on reserve for their permanent use. Helping women in need was something Joyce had been doing forever. Nearly twenty-four years before, when Sienna and her sisters had lost their father, and Maggie, their mother, had been widowed, the family had been thrown into chaos. A lack of life insurance, Maggie’s limited income and three little girls to support had left the young mother struggling. In a matter of months, she’d lost her house. Joyce had taken them all in to live at the Los Lobos Hotel. Now Sienna smiled at the memory. She’d been only six at the time. Missing her father, of course, but also discovering the joy of reading. The day the Watson family had taken up residence in one of the hotel’s bungalows, Joyce had given Sienna a copy of Eloise. Sienna had immediately seen herself as the charming heroine from the book and had made herself at home in the hotel. While it wasn’t the same as living at The Plaza, it was close enough to help her through her grief. Sienna remembered how she’d called for room service and told the person answering the phone to “charge it.” Most likely those bills had gone directly to Joyce rather than to Maggie. And when she’d begged her mother for a turtle, because Eloise had one, a guest had stepped in to buy her one. While there was pain in some of the memories, she had to admit living at the hotel had been fun. At least for her. It was probably a different story for her mother. She entered through the rear door and started down the hall toward the meeting rooms. At the far end, she saw a familiar figure wrestling with a vacuum. As she watched, Courtney tripped over the cord and nearly plowed face-first into the wall. A combination of love and frustration swelled up inside her. There was a reason the phrase was “pulling a Courtney.” Because if someone was going to stumble, fall, drop, break or slip, it was her baby sister. “Hey, you,” Sienna called as she got closer. Courtney turned and smiled. Sienna did her best not to wince at Courtney’s uniform—not that the khaki pants and polo shirt were so horrible, but on her sister, they just looked wrong. While most people considered being tall an advantage, on Courtney the height was simply awkward. Like now—her pants were too short and, even though she was relatively thin, they bunched around her hips and thighs. The shirt looked two sizes too small and there was a stain on the front. She wasn’t wearing makeup and her long blond hair—about her best feature—was pulled back in a ponytail. She was, to put it honestly, a mess. Something she’d been for as long as Sienna could remember. Courtney had had some kind of learning disability. Sienna had never been clear on the details, but it had made school difficult for her sister. Despite their mother’s attempts to interest Courtney in some kind of trade school, the youngest of the three seemed happy just being a maid. Baffling. “You here to talk to Mr. Ford’s group?” Courtney asked as Sienna approached. “Yes. I’m going to guilt those California Organization of Organic Soap manufacturers into coughing up some serious money.” “I have no doubt. The A/V equipment is all set up. I tested it earlier.” “Thanks.” Sienna patted her large tote bag. “I have my material right here.” She glanced toward the meeting room, then back at her sister. “How’s Mom’s engagement party coming? Do you need any help?” “Everything is fine. The menu’s almost finalized. I’ve taken care of decorations and flowers. It will be lovely.” Sienna hoped that was true. When Maggie and Neil had announced their engagement, the three sisters had wanted to throw Mom a big party. The hotel was the obvious venue, which was fine, but then Courtney had said she would handle the details. And where Courtney went, disaster was sure to follow. “If you need anything, let me know,” Sienna told her. “I’m happy to help.” She would also stop and talk to Joyce on the way out. Just to make sure everything was handled. Emotion flashed through Courtney’s blue eyes, but before Sienna could figure out what she was thinking, her sister smiled. “Sure. No problem. Thanks for the offer.” She stepped back, bumped into the wall, then righted herself. “You should, um, get going to your meeting.” “You’re right. I’ll see you later.” Courtney nodded. “Good luck.” Sienna laughed. “While I appreciate the sentiment, I’m not going to need it.” She waved and headed for the Stewart Salon. The meeting room was set up with glasses of wine and plenty of hot and cold appetizers. At one end was a large screen, a podium and a microphone. Sienna removed her laptop from her tote and turned it on. While it booted, she plugged it into the room’s A/V system. She started the video and was pleased to see the pictures on the screen and hear the music through the speakers. “Perfection through planning,” she murmured as she set the video back to the beginning. Ten minutes later the good members of COOOSM bustled into the salon and collected glasses of wine and appetizers. Sienna circulated through the room, chatting with as many people as she could. She knew the drill—introduce herself, ask lots of friendly questions and generally be both approachable and charming, so that by the time she made her pitch, she was already considered someone they knew and liked. She made as much effort with the women as the men. While studies were divided on which gender gave more to charity, Sienna had always found that generosity came in unexpected ways, and she wasn’t about to lose an opportunity based on stereotypes. Every dollar she brought in was a dollar the organization could use to help. Milton Ford, the president of COOOSM, approached her. The little man barely came up to her shoulder. So adorable. She smiled. “I’m ready whenever you are, Mr. Ford.” “Thank you, my dear.” He shook his head. “This town does have its share of very tall women. There’s a young lady who works here at the hotel. Ramona, I believe.” Sienna happened to know that Ramona was about five-two, but she didn’t correct him. No doubt Courtney had done something to confuse Mr. Ford, but this wasn’t the time to set him straight. Not with donations on the line. “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the podium. Sienna walked over to the microphone and turned it on, then she smiled at the crowd. “Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you so much for taking time out of your schedule to meet with me today.” She winked at a bearded older man wearing overalls. “Jack, did you ever decide on that second glass of wine? Because I think it will help you make the right decision.” Everyone laughed. Jack toasted her. She smiled at him, then pushed the play button on her computer. Music flowed from the speakers. Carefully, slowly, she allowed her smile to fade. A picture of a large American flag appeared on the screen. “Between 2001 and 2012, nearly sixty-five hundred American soldiers were killed in Iraq and Afghanistan. During that same period of time—” the screen shifted to the face of a battered woman clutching two small children “—almost twelve thousand women were murdered by their husbands, boyfriends or a former partner. Even now, three women are murdered every single day by the man who claims to love them.” She paused to let the information sink in. “Through the money we raise at The Helping Store, we provide a safe haven for women and their families in their time of need. They are referred to us from all over the state. When they arrive here, we offer everything from shelter to legal advice to medical care to relocation services. We take care of their bodies, their hearts, their spirits and their children. One woman in four will experience some kind of domestic violence in her life. We can’t stop that from happening across the globe, but we can keep our corner of the world safe. I hope you’ll join me in making that happen.” She paused as the voice-over on the video started. She’d planted the seed. The material she’d brought should do the rest. Two hours later the last of the guests left. Sienna carefully put away the pledge forms. Not only had the group been generous, they also wanted to challenge other chapters of their organization to match their donations. “How’s the most beautiful girl in the world?” The voice came from the doorway. Sienna hesitated just a second before turning. “Hi, David.” “How did it go?” her boyfriend asked as he moved toward her. “Why am I asking? You impressed them. I know it.” He pulled her close and kissed her. Sienna allowed his lips to linger for a second before stepping back. “I’m working,” she said with a laugh. “No one’s here.” He moved his hands to her butt and pulled her close again. “We could lock the door.” If the words weren’t clear enough, the erection he rubbed against her belly got the message through. How romantic—going at it on a serving table while surrounded by dirty plates and half-full glasses of wine. Sienna chided herself for not accepting the gesture in the spirit in which David meant it. Successful and smart. He loved his family, puppies, and as far as she could tell, he was an all-around nice guy. “Remember you telling me about the time you took a girl home to meet your parents and realized you couldn’t do it in their house?” she asked, her voice teasing. He chuckled. “I do. Humiliating.” “Joyce, the owner of the hotel, is a little bit like my grandmother.” “Ouch.” He drew back. “Grandma is even worse than Mom.” He nibbled on her neck. “Rain check.” “Absolutely. Thanks.” He released her and pushed up his glasses. “You heading back to the office?” She’d kind of wanted to head home after her presentation. She could deliver the pledge forms to her boss in the morning. But if she said that, David would want to make plans. Wow. She would rather go back to work than spend the evening with her boyfriend? What was up with that? She looked at him. He was about her height, with dark brown hair and dark eyes. A nice build. He wasn’t handsome, but she’d never cared much about that. Once a guy crossed the “not a troll” threshold, she was fine. David Van Horn should have been the man of her dreams. Lord knew she’d been looking. He was the thirty-five-year-old senior vice president at the recently transplanted aerospace design firm in town. She was pushing thirty and had no idea why she hadn’t been able to find “the one.” Maybe there was something wrong with her. Not a conversation she wanted to have with herself right now, she thought. Or ever. “I don’t have to go back to work,” she told him. “Great. Let’s have dinner here.” “I’d love that.” A statement stretching the truth more than a little, but who was going to know? 3 (#ulink_30de8f9a-0864-5cbc-86f8-5f708eb3b3ca) “WANT ME TO put vodka in yours?” Kelly asked as she handed Courtney a tray of glasses filled with lemonade. “I wish,” Courtney told her. “Alas, no. I have a meeting.” “Uh-huh. With your mom. Just give me the high sign and I’ll start screaming. That will give you a good excuse to come running.” Kelly wrinkled her nose. “I’ll have to think of a reason. Maybe a broken ankle.” “You’d look adorable in a cast. Tiny and broken. Men would be flocking.” Kelly grinned. “I could use a good flocking.” Courtney was still laughing as she walked out of the bar and around to the pool area, where Joyce sat with Courtney’s mother, Maggie, at one of the tables on the far side. A large umbrella protected them from the mid-May afternoon sun. Sarge and Pearl lay on the grass a few feet away. Joyce wore her usual St. John separates—today she had on black knit pants and a three-quarter sleeve black knit shirt. A blue, black and gray scarf pulled the look together. Maggie had come from her office. Her tailored dark green dress brought out the color of her eyes and complemented her blond hair. As Courtney approached, her mother caught sight of her and quickly scrambled to her feet. Her haste to get to Courtney and rescue the tray would have been comical if it wasn’t a metaphor for their entire relationship. Assume, no matter the circumstances, that Courtney can’t handle it. Although given her somewhat predictable ability to create a disaster out of thin air, she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. “I’ll just take that,” her mother said with a smile. She carried the tray back to the table. Courtney hesitated only a second before joining them. Too bad Neil hadn’t come along. He was always a calming presence. Courtney and her sisters enjoyed spending time with him. He was sweet, with a quirky sense of humor. But there was no Neil-buffer today, and as Joyce considered herself as much Maggie’s friend as Courtney’s, there would be no help from that quarter, either. Courtney sat next to Joyce and reached for a glass of lemonade. As she took a sip, she thought that maybe she should have taken Kelly up on her offer of vodka. That would have taken the edge off the meeting. “As we discussed before,” Joyce began, “the party is going to be out here.” She motioned to the grassy area in front of the pool. “We’ll have an open tent for dinner, but I’m hoping the weather cooperates and we can have drinks and appetizers out under the stars.” “Sunset’s about eight ten,” Courtney said, putting her drink back on the table and opening her tablet cover. “We’ll be having drinks and appetizers with the sunset.” “That will be so beautiful.” Maggie smiled at her daughter, then leaned toward Joyce. “What about the food?” Joyce turned to Courtney and raised her eyebrows. “What are we having?” Courtney found the menu in her file. “We’ve talked about a buffet. That gives us the most options. You and Neil both like spicy food, so I suggest you serve barbecue jerk chicken and grilled sweet-and-spicy shrimp as the main entr?es.” She listed the side dishes offered and the appetizers, along with the idea of having watermelon mojitos as the signature drink. “They’re pink,” she told her mother. “We could do cosmopolitans, too.” The latter was much easier and would make her popular with the bar staff. In theory, the catering department didn’t ever want anything labor-intensive like a mojito as a signature drink at an event, but she’d called in a few favors to get it approved. “I do love pink,” Maggie murmured, glancing between the two of them. “And Neil would say whatever makes me happy. Oh, let’s do cosmos. They’ll remind me of Sex and the City.” Courtney could practically hear a collective sigh of relief from the bar staff. She made notes on her tablet. When her mother had first started dating Neil Cizmic, none of her daughters had thought much about it. A widow for nearly twenty-four years, Maggie had dated on and off, sometimes getting involved with a man for a few months at a time. But the relationships had never gotten serious. Then Neil had come along. On the surface, they couldn’t be more different. Maggie was tall and thin. Neil was at least two inches shorter and much more round. But he’d won her over with his kind heart and honest love. Now they were getting married. Every now and then Courtney poked at her heart to see if she minded that her late father was being replaced, but there had been no reaction. More than enough time had passed. If marrying Neil made her mom happy, then Maggie should go for it. As for the “until death do us part” section of the vows, well, Courtney wasn’t the one getting married. She was willing to admit she’d never been in love, but from what she’d seen, most romantic relationships ended badly. As for the nonromantic kind of love, well, that hurt, too. “The cosmos will be so pretty,” Joyce said. “And there’s an open bar for anyone who wants something different.” Maggie leaned back in her chair. “I’m so excited. I always wanted an engagement party, but my mother said we couldn’t have one.” She looked at Joyce. “I was only eighteen when Phil and I got engaged, and nineteen when we got married. My mother made all the decisions. It was awful. We argued every day for a year. I wanted different dresses for the bridesmaids, a different cake. I hated the flowers she picked. So I swear, this time, I’m going to do everything the way I want. Convention be damned.” “You have good taste, Mom. No one’s worried,” Courtney assured her. Something she’d passed on to her other two daughters. Sienna could make a paper bag look like high fashion, and Rachel made her living by doing hair and makeup. Courtney knew she was the only one missing the style gene in their family. Her mother grinned. “You should be a little worried. I started planning my wedding when I was fourteen. I have a lot of pent-up ideas.” She eyed the pool. “Is that treated with chlorine?” Joyce looked a little startled by the question. “Of course. Why?” “Oh, I was just thinking swans would be nice. But they can’t swim in chlorinated water, can they?” Courtney felt her eyes widen. “No, and swans poop a lot, Mom. Cleaning the pool after the fact would be a nightmare.” Her mother sighed. “Too bad. Because I’ve always wanted swans.” Joyce shot Courtney a look of concern. Courtney quickly flipped through the files on her tablet, then turned it so her mother could see the photo on the screen. “I’ve been playing around with some ideas based on pictures I’ve seen on Pinterest. For example, a champagne fountain before the toast. Kelly, one of the waitresses here, knows how to stack the glasses and is going to help me with it. Won’t that be great?” She figured it was the adult equivalent of shaking keys at a fussy baby, and her odds were about the same. Maggie leaned forward and nodded slowly. “That’s lovely. Neil and I would like that very much.” “Good.” Courtney flipped to another picture. “This will be the table runner for the head table.” Her mother stared for a second, then her eyes widened before filling with tears. “How did you do that?” she asked softly. “It was easy. I uploaded the pictures to the website, then arranged them. The company prints out the runner and ships it.” The custom table runner was made up of a collage of photographs. Most of the photographs were of the sisters as they grew up. A few pictures showed Maggie with her daughters. Interspersed were pictures of Maggie and Neil on their various trips. “Where did you get these?” her mother asked. “They’re wonderful.” “Rachel had a lot of them on her computer. I borrowed a couple of photo albums the last time you had us over for dinner. I got the ones of you and Neil from him.” “It’s lovely. Thank you. What a wonderful idea.” Courtney was surprised by the praise. Pleased, of course, but surprised. This was good. They were making progress. And no swans would be forced to swim in chlorinated water. “It sounds like we have everything under control,” Joyce said as she got to her feet. “Excellent. I need to go check on some arriving guests. They’re new and, to be honest, sounded a little shady on the phone.” Courtney groaned. “Did you take reservations? We’ve talked about this. You need to stay off the phone.” Joyce, while a lovely person, could be overly chatty with new guests. Most people simply wanted to know availability and price. Joyce wanted them to share their life story, and if they weren’t forthcoming with the information, they were labeled “shady.” “It’s my hotel. I can do what I want.” Courtney grinned. “That would be true.” She turned to Pearl and Sarge. “Be gentle with the new people. I’m sure they’re perfectly nice.” “My dogs are excellent judges of character. Don’t try to influence them.” “I’m trying to keep you from scaring the guests away.” Joyce grinned. “Where else are they going to stay? The Anderson House has bees.” “You’re impossible.” “I know. It’s part of my charm.” Joyce waved and walked toward the hotel. Courtney turned back to her mother and found Maggie studying her. “What?” “I’m glad you and Joyce get along so well and that she looks out for you.” Courtney carefully pulled the cover over her tablet and braced herself. In some ways, Maggie was harder to deal with than Sienna. Her middle sister thought she was inept and borderline dull-normal. Her mother feared she was...broken. “She’s a good friend and a great boss,” Courtney said lightly. “I’m lucky.” Maggie pressed her lips together. “I know. I just wish you had a little more ambition. I worry about you. Is it that you think you can’t do better or you don’t want to?” Breathe, Courtney told herself. Just breathe. There was no win here. She simply had to endure the conversation, then she could get back to her life. “The fact that you’re helping out with my engagement party got me to thinking you might be interested in doing something more than being a maid.” Her mother reached into her handbag and pulled out a brochure. “I know you said you weren’t interested in being a dental assistant, but what about a massage therapist? You like people, you’re very nurturing and you’re physically strong.” Courtney took the brochure and studied the first page. She honest to God didn’t know what to say. Joyce would point out this was her own fault. She was the one who let her family believe she was working as a maid at the hotel. Well, technically she was working as a maid, but only part-time as she continued her education. That was the part they didn’t know. She supposed she could simply come clean—but she didn’t want to. She wanted to wait until she could slap down her diploma and watch them all stare in disbelief. That was a moment worth waiting for. “Thanks, Mom,” she said with a smile. “I’ll think about it.” “Really? That would be wonderful. I’d be happy to help pay for it. I think you’d do well.” Maggie hesitated. “There are so many wonderful opportunities out there. I hate to see you wasting your life.” “I know and I appreciate it.” Her mother nodded. “I love you, Courtney. I want the best for you.” All the right words. All warm, affectionate sentiments. On her good days, Courtney could believe them. On her bad days, well, sometimes it was hard to let go of the past enough to forgive. “Thanks, Mom. I love you, too.” * * * “A glove’s important, Mom.” “I know it is.” “I really need a new one.” Rachel didn’t doubt that. Josh was basically a good kid. He didn’t whine, he didn’t ask for a lot. His passions were simple—anything sports-related and the occasional computer game. That was it. Christmas and birthday presents revolved around whatever sport most had his interest. As they had for the past three years, spring and summer meant baseball. Los Lobos didn’t have a Little League team, but there was a county league. Josh insisted they sign him up the first hour they could, something she was happy to do. He was eleven—she figured she had all of two, maybe three years before he became a raging male hormone and then all bets were off. “Dad said he would buy it for me but I had to check with you first.” At least she was driving and had an excuse not to look at Josh. Because she couldn’t—not without him seeing the rage in her eyes. Damn Greg, she thought bitterly. Of course he could afford to buy his son a new glove. Greg had only himself to worry about. Her ex-husband made a good living as a Los Lobos county firefighter. He also had excellent medical benefits—something she’d lost after the divorce. Even more annoying, his schedule was a ridiculous twenty-four hours on, twenty-four hours off for six days, followed by four days off. Which gave him plenty of time to play, and play he did. Add in the fact that he’d moved back home with his folks, so he basically had no living expenses, and the man was swimming in both cash and time. Don’t think about it, she instructed herself. Dwelling on how good Greg had it only made her angrier. She had to remember that the man paid his child support on time. That was something. But as for the rest of it—she couldn’t help resenting how easy he had it. Yes, she did well at the salon. She was able to support herself and her son. The child support covered the mortgage, and she paid for everything else. But it wasn’t as if there was a bunch of extra cash at the end of the month. She was doing her best to build up an emergency fund and keep current on household repairs. There wasn’t anything left over for things like baseball gloves. When she was sure she could speak in a happy, excited tone, she said, “Go for it, Josh. You need a new glove. It’s great that your dad can afford to get it. Do you already know what you want, or do you need to do some research?” “I know exactly what I need.” And he was off, describing the glove down to the kind of stitching. Oh, to be that young and innocent, she thought with regret. To trust that everything was going to turn out the way it was supposed to. To believe in happily-ever-after. She’d been that way, once. She’d had hopes and dreams—mostly of finding her handsome prince. And when she’d laid eyes on Greg, she’d known, just known, he was the one. Back then everyone had believed he was the one. Greg had been the guy every girl wanted. And she’d been the one to get him—right up until he’d cheated on her. She turned the corner, then pulled into Lena’s driveway. Josh was out of the car before she’d come to a full stop. “Bye, Mom. See you later.” He ran into the house without bothering to knock. She was still shaking her head when her friend Lena appeared on the porch. Lena turned back to kiss her husband, then hurried to the car. She got inside and waved the bag she held. “Great cheese and dark chocolate. Am I good to you or what?” They hugged. “You’re the best,” Rachel told her. “Thanks for coming over tonight. I could use some girl time.” “Me, too. Tell me the wine is red.” “It’s red and there are two bottles.” “Perfect.” She and Lena had been friends since elementary school. They were physical opposites—Lena was petite and curvy, with brown hair and dark eyes. Rachel was taller and blonde. They’d played together, dreamed together, and when they’d grown up, they’d been each other’s maids of honor. They’d married young and then had sons within a few months of each other. But things were different now. Lena and Toby were still happily together. “What?” her friend asked. “You’re looking fierce.” “Nothing. I’m fine. Just the usual crap.” “Greg?” Rachel sighed. “Yes. Josh needs a new glove and his dad is going to buy it for him.” Her friend didn’t say anything. Rachel turned onto her street. “I know what you’re thinking. I should be grateful he’s an involved father. That the extra money he has could be spent on women and drinking, but he spends it on his kid.” “You’re doing all the talking.” Rachel pulled into her driveway. “I just wish...” “That a really big rock would fall on him?” She smiled. “Maybe not that, but something close.” Because it was Greg’s fault their marriage had failed. He’d chosen to have a one-night stand with a tourist. She’d known the second she’d seen him—had guessed what he’d done. He hadn’t tried to deny it, and that had been that. Her marriage had ended. When they got back to Rachel’s, they poured wine. Rachel eyed the beautiful wedge of Brie and knew there had to be maybe five thousand calories in that chunk of soft goodness, and she honestly couldn’t care. Had she put on weight lately? Probably, but so what? Her clothes still fit, at least the loose ones did. She worked hard and deserved to reward herself. It wasn’t as if she had anyone to look good for. She sipped her wine and knew that the right response was that she needed to look good for herself. That she was worth it and all those other stupid platitudes. That if she wanted to feel better, she had to take better care of herself. All of which didn’t get the laundry washed or the bathrooms cleaned. “You need to get over him.” Lena’s comment was so at odds with what Rachel had been thinking that it took her a second to figure out what her friend was saying. “Greg? I am. We’ve been divorced nearly two years.” “You might be legally divorced, but emotionally you’re still enmeshed.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “Did you have too much waiting time in a doctor’s office? Did you read some women’s magazine? Enmeshed? No one actually uses that word.” “You just did.” Rachel made a strangled noise in her throat. “I don’t want to think about him,” she admitted. “I want to move on with my life.” “Find a man? Fall in love?” “Sure.” A lie, she thought, but one her friend would want to hear. Fall in love? She couldn’t imagine going out with someone who wasn’t Greg. He’d been her first date, her first time, her first everything. The world still divided itself neatly into Greg and not Greg. How was she supposed to get over that? “You’re so lying,” Lena said cheerfully. “But I appreciate that you’re making the effort to humor me.” “I want to move on,” Rachel admitted. “I just don’t know how. Maybe if I could get away from him. But with us having Josh together, there’s no escape.” “You could move.” The suggestion was spoken in a soft voice, as if Lena knew what Rachel would think. Rachel did her best to remain calm when on the inside she wanted to start shrieking. Move? Move! No way. She couldn’t. She loved her house. She needed her house and all it represented. It was proof that she was okay. She would take a second job to pay for the house, if she had to. None of which made sense. She understood that. She also knew she was reacting to a traumatic event in her childhood—the death of her father and the fact that her family had been forced out of their house a few months later. Rachel remembered hating everything about living at the Los Lobos Hotel. Looking back, she knew she should be grateful that they’d been taken in, that they hadn’t had to live in a shelter. But she couldn’t get over the shock and pain the day she’d come home from school to find her mother sobbing that they’d lost everything and it was her father’s fault. She’d been so scared. Daddy was dead—how could he continue to be in trouble? When she’d been older, she’d realized their father hadn’t been a bad man—just financially careless. There hadn’t been any life insurance, no savings. When she and Greg had married, she’d been focused on buying a house. They’d been young and it had been a financial struggle, especially with a baby, but they’d made it. This was her home—she was never leaving. But the price of that was living with the ghosts of her lost marriage. Greg’s memory still lingered in every room. “Maybe I could get someone to do a spiritual cleansing of the house. With sage. And salt. Do you need salt?” Lena briefly closed her eyes. “I love you like my best friend.” “I am your best friend.” “I know, so please understand why I’m saying this. The problem isn’t the house, Rachel. It’s you. And there isn’t enough sage or salt in the world to get you over Greg. You’re going to have to decide once and for all to emotionally move on. Until you do, you’re trapped. Forever.” The truth, however lovingly delivered, could still hurt like a son of a bitch. Rachel blinked a couple of times, then reached for the wine. “We’re so going to need another bottle.” 4 (#ulink_c2f29e1b-540e-5def-b617-0daf8277d4f3) “YOU LIKE THIS, BABY? I picked the leather to match your beautiful curly hair.” Quinn Yates waited for his companion to say something, but Pearl only stared at the car as if expecting him to open the passenger door. Which he did. The large standard poodle jumped gracefully inside, then returned her attention to him as if ready for a compliment. “You look good,” he told her. “Where do you want to go? For a burger?” “She prefers ice cream.” He turned to see his grandmother walking down the stairs by the side of the hotel. She was dressed as always in her beloved St. John tailored knits and Chanel flats. She wore her white hair in that poufy old lady bubble style he would always associate with her. He knew she would smell of L’air du Temps and vanilla. He crossed the driveway to meet her and pulled her into a hug. The tension that had been with him on the drive north faded. “You made it,” she said, wrapping her arms around him as if she would never let go. He’d always liked that about her. Joyce gave good hugs. When he’d been a kid, she’d been his anchor. When he’d gotten older, she’d always been there, ready to offer advice or a kick in the ass—depending on what she thought he needed. Now she was simply home. He held on a few more seconds, pleased that she didn’t seem any frailer than she had when she’d visited him six months before. She was well into her seventies, but as vital and sharp as ever. Still, lately he’d found himself worrying. “Ice cream, huh,” he said, glancing at the dog sitting in the passenger seat of his Bentley. “Then that’s what we’ll go get.” Joyce stepped back. She barely came to his shoulder and had to look up to meet his gaze. “You’re not taking the dog for ice cream. I don’t know what ridiculousness you get up to in Los Angeles, but here in the real world, dogs don’t eat ice cream.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve been back thirty seconds and you’re already lying to me.” She smiled. “All right. They do, but at home. We don’t take them out. Besides, if you take Pearl, you need to take Sarge, too. He’ll get jealous otherwise.” As if he heard his name, a small white fluffball barreled through the open doorway and down the path. Pearl jumped out of the Bentley and ran to greet her companion. They were an odd pair. The tall, stately blonde poodle and the small, white bichon-poodle mix. Pearl was nearly four times Sarge’s size, yet he clearly ran the show. Now they circled Quinn, sniffing and yipping. He crouched down to greet them both. After letting them sniff his fingers, he offered pats and rubs. “Your man arrived yesterday,” his grandmother told him. “He’s my assistant, Joyce, not my man. We’re not living in a 1950 Cary Grant movie.” “But wouldn’t it be fun if we were? I tried to check him into the hotel, but he said he was staying somewhere else.” Quinn straightened and closed the passenger door of the Bentley. “He is. Wayne and I work best when there’s some separation between us.” “You’re not moving back because you think I’m getting old, are you?” She always did like to cut to the heart of the matter. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’ve thought you were old for a long time now, and not everything is about you.” She touched his face. “You are so full of crap.” “That is true.” He held out his arm. She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and he led her back into the hotel. Quinn’s mother had been Joyce’s only child. He’d spent as much of his childhood with Joyce as with his mom. By the time he’d turned fourteen, his mother had abandoned him and he’d moved into the hotel permanently. Now as they entered the lobby, he took in the high ceilings, the crystal light fixtures and the big, curving reception desk. The furniture was comfortable, the food delicious and the bartenders generous with their pours. Add in the beachfront location in quiet Central California, and the Los Lobos Hotel had nearly everything going for it. At seventeen, he couldn’t wait to be anywhere but here. Now some twenty years later, he was grateful to be back. The dogs led the way into the bar. He and Joyce took seats at a corner table. The dogs settled at their feet. He was sure having a couple of canines in an establishment that served food had to violate several state ordinances, but as far as he could tell, no one complained. If they did, they were told the dogs were excellent judges of character. That tended to quiet all but the most offensive of guests. And the ones who weren’t quieted were asked to leave. A pretty redhead appeared at their table. “Hello, Joyce. Quinn.” He recognized her face from his previous visits, if not her name. Fortunately, her name tag was easy to read. “Nice to see you again, Kelly.” She smiled. “What can I get you two?” “I’ll have a glass of Smarty Pants chardonnay.” Quinn laughed at his grandmother. “I can’t believe you’re still bitter about what happened.” “I haven’t forgotten because I have an excellent memory. Besides, I love my new wines. I’m serving them as the exclusive house wine in the hotel.” A few years back, the local winery Joyce had sourced from decided to change winemakers and therefore the style and taste of their wines. Joyce had complained, the winemaker had done his own thing and, in protest, she’d gone looking for wines she liked better. Middle Sister Wines, based in Northern California, had won both her taste buds and her business. The chardonnay was very popular with the ladies who lunched at the hotel, with a fresh, California bouquet that had hints of citrus and pear. Another of their whites, Drama Queen pinot grigio, had been racking up awards from wine competitions around the country. “They’ve become a tradition,” Joyce added. He squeezed her hand. “You’re my favorite tradition. I adore everything about you.” How could he not? She was delightful, and even if she wasn’t, she was the only family he had left. Kelly turned her attention to him. “And for you?” “I’ll have the same.” White wine wasn’t his favorite, but when with Joyce... “And a cheese plate,” his grandmother added. “Quinn is hungry.” He wasn’t, but there was no point in arguing. “Right away,” Kelly told them. “I’ve reserved the groundskeeper’s bungalow,” Joyce said when Kelly had left. “You should be very comfortable there.” He knew the cottage—it was at the south end of the property, private and large. “It’s one of your most expensive suites,” he protested. “I just need a regular room for a couple of weeks while I figure out what I’m doing.” “No. I want you to have it. You’ll be more comfortable there.” He knew she didn’t need the money renting it would provide, but still. “Thank you.” “I’ve blocked it for the summer,” she added. He raised his eyebrows. “I’m forty-one. Don’t you think it’s time I moved away from home?” “No. You’re just back and you’ll find your own place soon enough. This way you can settle in and find what’s exactly right. Assuming you really are staying.” “You doubt me.” “Of course. You live in Malibu, Quinn. You have a business there. Whatever will you do in sleepy Los Lobos?” A good question and one he was looking forward to answering. “I can run my business from here. Once I get a recording studio set up, my artists will come to me.” “You’re really that important?” Her voice was teasing, her smile impish. He winked. “I am all that and more.” She laughed. “I hope it’s true and you do stay. And I don’t even care if you’re moving because you’re worried about me. What kind of place do you need for your studio?” “Almost anywhere would do. We’ll be remodeling regardless. So a house or a warehouse. I’d prefer a stand-alone building with good parking.” And privacy. Where people could come and go without being seen or photographed. “Is that nice mute man going to be joining you?” Quinn sighed. “Zealand isn’t mute. He just doesn’t talk much.” “I’ve never heard him speak at all. Are you sure he can?” “Yes. He’s said words at least twice.” Zealand might not have much to say, but he was the best soundman in the business. He would be the one deciding if the space Quinn was interested in could be converted into a killer studio. One where they could work and turn sound into magic. Movement caught his attention. He looked up and saw a tall blonde walk to the bar. She had long hair pulled back into a ponytail and wore black pants and a long-sleeved black shirt. It wasn’t her face that caused him to keep looking, although she was pretty enough. It was more the way she walked—partially hunched, with her shoulders rounded—as if she didn’t want to be noticed. When she reached the bar, she and Kelly spoke. They both laughed. The blonde said something else, then turned to leave. As she took a step, she somehow got tangled in a bar stool and stumbled. She righted herself, glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, then hurried away. “That was Courtney,” Joyce told him. “You’ve met her before.” Quinn knew his grandmother well enough to say, “No,” in a firm voice. “I’m only—” “No. Whatever you have in mind, no.” “There’s more to her than meets the eye.” Kelly delivered their wine and the cheese plate. Pearl and Sarge immediately sat up. Quinn saw there were two dog biscuits on the tray. Kelly handed one to each dog, then smiled and left. “You’re not too old for her,” his grandmother added, dashing his hope that the arrival of their drinks had been a distraction. On the bright side, there was obviously nothing wrong with her mind. On the not-so-bright side...damn. “She’s what? Twenty-five?” “Twenty-seven. That’s only a fourteen-year difference.” “It’s not the years, it’s the miles.” “You’re still a handsome man.” He paused in the act of raising his glass. “Okay, that’s creepy.” She laughed. “You know what I mean.” They touched glasses. Quinn sipped the crisp, buttery chardonnay. “Nice.” “I like it. Now, about Courtney—” He held up his free hand. “Not happening. I love you like my grandmother, but I’m not going there.” “You have to at some point. Don’t you want to fall in love?” A familiar question. The answer to which had always been hell, no. But lately...he’d started to wonder. A year ago there’d been someone in his life who had made him think there were possibilities. Before he could figure out what, she’d fallen in love with someone else. While he’d gotten over her, the fact that he’d been considering more than his usual no-strings we’re-in-it-for-the-sex had surprised him. And gotten him to thinking. Did he want more? He hadn’t reached the point of defining the question as did he want to fall in love? He wasn’t sure there was a guy on the planet who thought that way. But having someone around on a permanent basis—that might work. “I need to figure it out,” he admitted. “Figure fast. You’re not getting any younger.” He laughed. “What happened to I’m a good-looking man?” “Beauty fades.” He raised his glass to her. “Not yours.” Joyce rolled her eyes. “Your charm is lost on me. I’m old.” “You are perfection.” She didn’t smile back. Instead, she looked at him intently. “I mean it, Quinn. I want you to find someone. Settle down. Have children. I worry about you.” “I can take care of myself.” “Yes, dear, but sometimes it’s nice if you don’t have to.” * * * Actually writing a marketing plan wasn’t that big a deal. It was getting to the point where it could be written that was the tough part. Courtney decided to reward her three hours of tedious research and number crunching with some ice cream and maybe a cookie chaser. She stood and stretched as she weighed the sugar high against having to leave her room. In truth, the trip from the fourth floor to the kitchen was no big deal. Still, it was late and she should probably just go to bed. But the thought of ice cream could not be denied. She saved her work on her laptop, then walked to the door. Her room in the hotel was at the end of the hall, by the stairs. It was tucked next to the linen closet and right by one of the HVAC units, not to mention several water pipes. There was also a large tree that had grown tall enough to completely block any hope of a view beyond leaves. In short, a complete disaster to rent to guests. Joyce had tried remodeling it several times and even offering it at a discount, but there were always complaints. A couple of years back, she’d come to Courtney with a trade. Free room and board in exchange for a certain number of hours of maid labor. For the time Courtney worked beyond that, she got a paycheck. The deal gave them both what they wanted. Courtney had taken possession of an old twin bed Joyce had been ready to toss, along with a battered desk and a dresser. She was a sound enough sleeper not to care about the HVAC or pipe noise and the lack of view was totally fine with her. Free rent, meals and utilities meant she only had to work enough to pay for her car, cell phone and books. The money she’d saved for college wasn’t quite enough to cover tuition, but she’d been lucky enough to land a few scholarships and grants. Every semester she managed to squeak by. Now she was only a year away from graduating, and with luck she would do so without a loan. “Yet another reason to celebrate with ice cream,” she told herself. She took the stairs to the main floor and crossed the quiet lobby. Her sneakers were silent on the hardwood floor. While her threadbare jeans and secondhand USC sweatshirt weren’t exactly haute couture, she knew the odds of running into a guest at this hour were slim. She didn’t bother with overhead lights in the kitchen. She knew her way in the twilight produced by the soft glow from under-the-counter illumination and exit signs. She collected a bowl and a spoon, then crossed to the walk-in freezer to pick her flavor. She walked out with a three-gallon container of vanilla chocolate chip and found herself in the brightly lit kitchen, facing a tall, broad-shouldered man. She shrieked and jumped. The ice cream slipped from her hands. She grabbed, he grabbed and they both ended up with their arms wrapped around a very cold, very large container. They were close enough for her to see the various shades of blue in his irises and inhale the scent of clean fabric and man. His jaw was strong, his beard about two days old and his gaze piercing. Her heart thundered in her chest, but it had very little to do with shock and everything to do with attraction. “One of us should let go,” he said. “What?” Oh, right. She immediately released the container and straightened. “Um, sorry. You startled me.” “I got that.” He put the ice cream on the counter. “Late-night snack?” “Something like that.” They continued to watch each other. One corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “I’m Quinn.” Seriously? “We all know who you are. There are all kinds of pictures of you in Joyce’s bungalow. Plus, she talks about you all the time.” He groaned. “I don’t want to know what she says.” “Most of it is good.” His brows rose. “Most?” Courtney grinned. “You said you didn’t want to know. I’m Courtney, by the way. We’ve met a few times before.” “I remember.” She doubted that. A man like Quinn would remember meeting Rihanna and Taylor Swift, but not someone like her. She would have been nothing but staff, and who remembered the woman who cleaned his room? She pointed at the container. “It’s vanilla chocolate chip—our flavor of the month. You want some?” “Sure.” She grabbed a second bowl and spoon, then scooped out ice cream for both of them. She returned the container to the freezer. When she walked back into the kitchen, she half expected to find Quinn had gone. But he’d pulled up one of the stools by the counter as if he planned to stay. She did the same, careful to leave a polite amount of space between them. “Oh, there are cookies, too,” she said. “If you want some.” “No, thanks. This is enough.” Not a philosophy she could get behind, but now she wasn’t comfortable adding a couple of crushed cookies to her bowl. Later, she promised herself. She would take them up to her room. “You’re up late,” he commented. “I like the hotel at night. It’s quiet. All the guests are asleep. Or at least not wandering around, making trouble.” “Is that how you see them?” “You’ve never cleaned up a hotel room after a rowdy party.” “That’s true.” They ate in silence for a few seconds. Courtney found the moment surreal. Quinn might not be an actual rock star, but he was famous for discovering musical talent of all kinds and taking those talents to the top of the charts. “A fan?” he asked, nodding toward her. It took her a second to realize he meant her sweatshirt. She glanced down at the USC college logo. “Not really. One of the guests left it behind and it was way too nice to throw out.” She remembered the pretty but tearful coed who’d tossed the sweatshirt at her, demanding it be burned. “It had been her fianc?’s, and it turned out he’d slept with one of the strippers hired for his bachelor party.” She licked her spoon. “I’ll never understand the whole concept of inviting trouble a few days before you commit yourself to someone for the rest of your life. But weddings are all about drama.” She eyed him. “Are you really moving back to Los Lobos?” He nodded. “But you live in LA.” “That’s not necessarily a good thing.” “Isn’t your business there?” “It’s mobile. I’m ready for a change.” She wondered if any part of his decision was about his grandmother. “She’s doing fine, you know. Mentally and physically.” “Thanks for the update. She’s not the only reason, but she’s one of them.” He paused. Courtney took a bite of ice cream. As if he’d been waiting for her to be in that delicate act of swallowing, he then said, “She’s trying to fix us up.” Courtney began to choke. He waited until she’d regained control to add, “Or have me take you on as a project. Which makes me wonder why you need fixing.” The door was so far away, Courtney thought longingly as she glanced toward the exit. She ignored the heat burning her cheeks. There was no pretending that wasn’t happening, not with the overhead lights blaring down. In a matter of seconds, she knew her face was as brightly colored as her sweatshirt. “You’re imagining things, I’m sure,” she managed, thinking that as much as she loved her boss, she was going to have to kill her. There was no other response that was appropriate. He waited. She sucked in a breath. “I don’t need fixing. I’m doing great. I’m only two semesters from graduating with my bachelor’s in hotel management. I have a good job and lots of friends.” “You’re twenty-seven.” She was torn between wondering how he knew that and the relevancy of the statement. “So?” “You waited a while to go to college.” A statement, not a question. Yet she was somehow compelled to explain. Maybe it was the way his dark blue gaze settled on her face. Maybe it was the fact that it was nearly one in the morning. Maybe it was a latent babbling gene choosing this inopportune moment to surface. Regardless, she started speaking and then couldn’t seem to stop. “Not everyone makes it to college out of high school,” she began. “Did you know that returning female students are the most successful demographic in college?” “I did not.” “It’s true. My theory is they’ve tasted fear. They know what it’s like to try to survive without a good education and it’s not easy.” “Because you’ve done it?” “Uh-huh. I left high school when I turned eighteen. I was only in eleventh grade because I got held back a couple of times. I didn’t wait for the semester to end or anything. I legally became an adult and I was gone.” She licked her spoon. “It wasn’t so much about everything happening at home, although that was a part of it. Mostly I couldn’t stand being two years older and labeled as dumb.” She glanced at him, then back at her ice cream. “I had a learning disability that didn’t get diagnosed until I was nearly ten.” She didn’t bother with the whys of that. No reason to go over that material. “After I left high school, I got a job at Happy Burger.” “I love Happy Burger,” he told her. “Everyone does. I rented a room in a house on the edge of town and supported myself.” Which was mostly true. She’d been forced into a series of second jobs to make ends meet, had cut off ties with her family for nearly a year because she was eighteen and angry and needed to grow up, and had taken up with a series of really bad-for-her guys. “I was going nowhere. Around the time I turned twenty, two things happened. I got a job here as a maid, and the manager of Happy Burger told me that if I earned my GED, he would recommend me for a management position. He told me that I had a real future at Happy Burger.” “Was that good news or bad news?” “It was the worst. I didn’t want to spend my life at Happy Burger. But it was the wake-up call I needed. I got my GED and started at community college. Along the way, I quit the burger job.” “And now you’re two semesters away from your bachelor’s.” She waved her spoon. “You know it.” “Impressive.” “The info dump?” He flashed her a sexy smile. She was sure he didn’t mean it to be sexy, but he probably couldn’t help it. Quinn was just that kind of guy. It wasn’t in the way he moved, because right now he was sitting still. But whatever it was still existed. Maybe it was a confidence thing, or a pheromone thing. Either way, she found herself wanting to lean closer and sigh. “You’re impressive,” he clarified. “Look at where you started and where you ended up. I respect that. I work with a lot of talented people. Most of them don’t follow traditional paths to success. Good for you for doing the work.” He smiled again. “You’re right. You don’t need fixing.” His words made her beam as a warm glow filled her. A glow that lasted all of eight seconds, right until ice cream dripped off her spoon and onto her sweatshirt. She held in a groan and wiped at it with her finger. Couldn’t she just once be sophisticated and elegant? Or even casual and coordinated? Did she always have to be spilling, bumping and dropping? This was what her sister Sienna would call “pulling a Courtney”—a phrase Courtney had always hated but had to admit existed for a reason. And speaking of her family— “You can’t tell anyone what I told you,” she said quickly. “About the college stuff.” Quinn frowned. His eyebrows drew together and little lines formed. It was even sexier than the smile had been. “What do you mean?” “Joyce knows, but no one in my family does. About me going to college. I don’t think they know I have a GED. If you run into them, it would be great if you didn’t, you know, say anything.” “Okay. Interesting. Why?” She raised a shoulder. “It’s a long story.” “Right. And you’re not one to overshare.” He stood. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” “Thank you.” He studied her for a second. She had no idea what he was thinking but figured that was probably for the best. “Good night, Courtney.” “’Night, Quinn.” He put his bowl in the dishwasher, then walked out of the kitchen. She watched him go, allowing herself the pleasure of admiring his butt and the way he moved. The man had grace and style. He was sophisticated and unexpectedly nice. If she were someone other than herself, she would so want to start something with him. But she wasn’t. Besides, she was focused on school and working and getting through her last year of college. Then she would land her dream job and find someone to date. A smart, kind man who thought she was exactly what he was looking for. Assuming that man existed. She put her bowl next to Quinn’s before hunting down the cookies and grabbing a handful. As she walked back to her room, she imagined what would have happened if Quinn had reached across the table and pulled her close. No doubt she would have dropped her spoon and spilled all over him. Or burped during their kiss. Because that was how her life went. Even in her dreams. 5 (#ulink_b8d926fd-021a-5a83-9dc0-70aa2d78987e) RACHEL WAS CONFIDENT that laundry multiplied in the night. What had been a single load a couple of days ago was now four. Five if she did Josh’s sheets. He would tell her it wasn’t necessary, but she thought differently. She glanced at the clock and held in a groan. It was five on Sunday afternoon. She’d worked late the previous day with the idea that on a weekend when Josh was with his dad, she could earn a little extra money. Which was great, but by the end of her workweek, she was always exhausted. That had turned into sleeping late, which she probably needed, but it didn’t get any of her chores done. She’d done grocery shopping, paid some bills and spent the past two hours weeding in the yard. In between, she’d baked cookies, put a stew in the Crock-Pot and made her son’s lunch for the following day. Now she faced laundry and cleaning the kitchen. Once Josh got home—which should be any second now—they would go over his homework, assuming his father had remembered to make him do it, review his schedule for the week and then watch a show for an hour before bed. And starting tomorrow, she would do it all over again. She put the whites in the washer, added detergent and bleach, then hit the start button. She already had the baseball uniforms in the sink in the laundry room. Between the grass stains and the ground-in dirt, those had to be pretreated or they would never get clean. Honestly, she didn’t know how professional sports organizations kept their uniforms so nice. Maybe they didn’t bother. Maybe every player wore new ones for each game. She heard footsteps in the front of the house followed by a familiar “Mom! I’m home!” There were a million things to do and she was still tired and maybe a little cranky, but none of that mattered. Josh’s voice was the best sound in the world, and knowing he was back made everything a little easier. She walked toward the living room and smiled when she saw her son. He was tall for his age. All gangling with too-long arms and legs. At eleven, he was on the verge of adolescence. His voice hadn’t changed yet and he’d yet to get a single chin hair, but she knew that was coming. He’d inherited his father’s dark hair and eyes, but her smile. He was a good kid. Smart, caring, generous. Easygoing. Now he dropped his duffel on the floor and hurried to greet her. “Dad bought me a new glove,” he said, holding it out in one hand while he reached for her with the other. He gave her a quick hug, then he stepped back and offered the glove. “It’s exactly what I wanted. Dad and I played catch yesterday, to break it in, then he hit balls and I caught them. Try it on.” She slid her hand into the glove and was surprised when it wasn’t too small for her. “Is this an adult size?” she asked. Josh grinned. His too-long hair fell into his eyes and he swept it back with a gesture that reminded her too much of his father. “Uh-huh. The guy at the store said I was in between, so we decided it made sense to get the bigger one.” She held up her right hand and he held up his left. They both spread their fingers. Rachel was stunned to discover her eleven-year-old son’s hand was nearly as big as hers. “When did that happen?” she asked. Josh laughed. “I’m going to be as tall as you soon, Mom. Then taller.” “I can’t decide if that’s good or bad,” she admitted. “Me, either.” The voice came from behind her. She took a second to brace herself against the inevitable reaction to seeing her ex-husband, then turned. “Hello, Greg.” “Rachel.” He looked good, but wasn’t that always the way? Every time she saw him, she looked for some sign that he was aging. Decaying would be better. But there was only the ever-present handsome face, perfect hair and sex-god-like body. “I thought I’d go get pizza for dinner,” he told her. “The usual for you?” She wanted to say no. That she wasn’t interested in eating with him. That pizza was the last thing she needed. That her constant exhaustion, and the feeling that no matter how hard she worked the best she could hope for was to not lose ground, had led to a horrible snacking habit that was taking its toll on her body. That or elves were shrinking her clothes while she slept. She felt fat and old and tired, while he got to be handsome and toned and in his prime. Of course, if she had every other day off, she would have time to do things like eat right and exercise. If she lived with someone who cooked the meals and cleaned the house and took care of every other chore, she wouldn’t be so rushed or exhausted. If she wasn’t the custodial parent, then... She drew in a breath. The mental litany wasn’t new, nor was her frustration. But there was much she couldn’t change and more she didn’t want to. Being Josh’s mother, having him most of the time, was important to her. The price of that was one she was willing to pay. The same with the house. She needed to be here. The rest of it would take care of itself. “Pizza would be fine,” she said, thinking the Crock-Pot dinner would keep for tomorrow. “You okay?” “Fine. Doing laundry, getting meals ready for the week. The usual.” “How can I help?” The unexpected question stumped her. Help? Greg didn’t help. He played. He surfed with his best friend, Jimmy. He hung out with the other firefighters. He tinkered with his truck. “I’m fine,” she told him. “Did Josh do his homework?” “Uh-huh, and I checked it. The essay needed some work, but he did great on the math.” “Good. Only another month until summer vacation. I’m going to have to look into the park camp for him.” An expense that would eat into her budget. Greg would pay for half of it, but she would have to cough up the rest. “I’ll get you my work schedule for the next two months this week,” Greg told her. “Once I have it, let’s sit down and plan out the summer as best we can. I can be responsible for him on my days off. If he’s in camp, I can take him and pick him up so it’s one less thing for you to deal with.” She told herself not to be surprised. While Greg hadn’t been that great a husband, he’d always cared about Josh. Although he wasn’t into the details, no one could doubt his love for his son. “It would be nice if he could spend more time with you,” she said cautiously. “Then it’s a plan.” She nodded. He flashed her a smile. “I’m going to get the pizza. You didn’t say if you wanted your usual.” “Yes, please.” “Then we’ll be right back.” Josh returned from taking his things to his room. “Can I have soda, Mom?” he asked. “No.” He laughed. “One day you’re going to say yes.” “One day you’re not going to ask.” “Never gonna happen.” “I did make cookies.” He gave her a quick hug. “You’re the best.” “Put that in writing.” “I could paint it on the garage door.” “That would be nice.” Greg held open the front door. “You say that now, but if he really did it, you’d be pissed.” “Don’t get any ideas,” she told him. Because helping Josh paint phrases on the garage door was exactly something Greg would do. He would think it was funny. Rachel set the table. She got a beer for Greg, a glass of wine for herself and juice for Josh. In the distance, the washer chugged away. She checked the Crock-Pot, then went to change the sheets on Josh’s bed. Her son’s room was big and bright, with a large window and an oversize closet. Sports equipment was strewn everywhere, along with clothes and sports magazines. About once a quarter she got on him to clean up the space, but most of the time she simply let him be or picked up herself. Now she put away the clothes he’d taken to his dad’s, putting still-clean shirts on hangers and throwing the dirty clothes into the hamper in his closet. She pulled back the comforter and blanket before tugging off the sheets. She retreated to the hallway linen closet to collect clean bedding. The smooth cotton fabric was a solid color now. Gone were the cars and trucks Josh had once loved. He was growing up so fast. She remembered when he’d been born—so small and helpless. She and Greg had been overwhelmed. They were the first of their friends to get married, get pregnant and have a baby. Lena had followed six months later and by then Rachel had considered herself an expert. But those first few weeks had been terrifying. It wasn’t supposed to have happened that way, she thought as she pulled the fitted sheet over the corners of the mattress. She and Greg had wanted to travel for the first five years of their marriage, then start a family. But she’d forgotten her birth control pills at home on their honeymoon and he hadn’t wanted to wear a condom. One thing had led to another. It had always been that way with them. Too much, too fast. Back in high school, he’d been the most popular guy around. Two years older, he’d been a senior while she’d been a lowly sophomore. She hadn’t realized he’d known her name until he stopped her in the hall outside her English class. He’d smiled at her and asked her out. Just like that. In front of God and everyone. She’d said yes because he was Greg, and even then she’d been unable to resist him. As she smoothed the top sheet into place, she recalled how nervous she’d been. About everything. She’d never been on a date before. She hadn’t even been sure her mother would let her go. But Maggie had had a meeting with one of her accounting clients and hadn’t made it home until late. By then, Rachel was out with Greg and nothing would ever be the same again. She finished making the bed and carried the dirty sheets to the laundry room. By the time she’d transferred the clean clothes to the dryer and put in a second load, Greg and Josh were back. “The Dodgers are tied,” her son informed her when she walked into the kitchen. His tone was pleading. “It’s a really important game.” Which should have impressed her. Only, in Josh’s opinion, they were all important. “Are you saying you’d rather watch TV than eat dinner with your parents?” she asked, pretending to be shocked at the notion. “Please, Mom.” How much longer would he ask rather than simply do? How many more years until the hormones kicked in and she became nothing but an irritation in his life? When it was just the two of them, she generally agreed. Often she joined him in the living room to watch whatever game was on TV. But if she said yes tonight, she would be dining alone with Greg. Did either of them want that? She risked a glance at her ex. Greg shrugged. “He loves the Dodgers. It’s fine with me.” Josh whooped, as if all was now decided, then hurried into the living room to set up a TV tray. Seconds later the sounds of the baseball game were audible. He returned to the kitchen, put two giant slices on a plate, grabbed his glass of juice and disappeared again. “We’ll miss you,” Greg called after him. A mumbled response came in reply. “Kids,” he said with a grin as he took the seat across from hers. “What are you gonna do?” He held open the smaller of the two boxes of pizza. She saw the veggie with extra cheese she liked but rarely got. Because when it was just her and Josh, it didn’t make sense to pay for an extra pizza or toppings. “Thank you,” she murmured as she took a slice. He set a couple of the all-meat slices on his plate. “What did you two—” “How was your—” They spoke at the same time. Rachel looked away, then back at him. “What did you and Josh do this weekend?” “We spent a lot of yesterday shopping for his glove. We went to three different stores before finding the right one.” Which meant they’d gone way out of Los Lobos. Something that would make her crazy—mostly because of the time. But Greg wouldn’t mind. He’d always been more adventurous than her. There was a reason he’d chosen a job that put his life on the line. As he talked about the different gloves they’d looked at, she remembered what he’d been like that first night they’d gone out. She’d been beyond scared. Barely sixteen and she’d been kissed only one other time. After dinner, they’d gone to the park. The night had been warm—too warm. The unseasonable temperature had meant lying in the grass was comfortable. They’d found a secluded spot and settled down. He’d kissed her. She still recalled how magical his mouth had felt on hers. He hadn’t pushed her, hadn’t taken too much, and they’d kissed for what felt like hours. Then he’d touched her breasts. No one had ever done that, and she’d been unprepared for the tingles that had swept through her. Her head had warned her to stop him, but her heart had whispered that this was Greg, and anything he wanted to do had to be right. Her body had loved the heat and excitement his touch had generated. She hadn’t known she could feel such things. One thing had led to another, and before she’d realized what was happening, she was naked and he was inside her. The feeling of being swept away had ended the second he’d taken her virginity. Pain was a quick road to reality. She’d thought about telling him to stop, but it was really too late. So she’d waited the three or four seconds until he’d finished, then had gotten dressed. Neither of them had spoken on the drive home. She’d jumped out of his car and raced inside—not sure what to think. She’d done something wrong, she knew that much. A slut. If her mother ever found out... The next morning Rachel had thought about faking being sick. Only, she didn’t want anyone asking about her. Speculation was death. Better to simply pretend to be fine and get through the day. She’d been shocked to find Greg waiting for her as she left the house. He’d told her they had to talk. Reluctantly, she’d gotten into his car, even though she had no idea what they were going to say. They’d done it. Now they had to deal with having done it. What was there to say? Apparently, a lot. “Are you okay?” Not the question she’d expected. She’d nodded. “I’m sorry,” he told her earnestly, his dark gaze locked on her face. “Not that we had sex, but because it happened so fast. It should have been after we’d been going out for like six months, and been a lot more romantic.” His concern turned sheepish. “I kept waiting for you to tell me no, and when you didn’t—” He shrugged. “I couldn’t believe you were going to let me do that.” “Why wouldn’t I? You’re you. Everybody loves you.” “Do you?” Love him? Did she? “I don’t really know you. I know of you, but that’s different.” “So you’re saying you used me for sex.” After that time in the park, she would have sworn she would never laugh again, never smile, never feel good about herself. But right then, she couldn’t stop her lips from curving up. “I wish I was brave enough to do that,” she admitted. “But I’m not.” “You’re the most confusing girl I’ve ever known. And the prettiest. Can I drive you to school?” She’d said yes and that had been the beginning of their relationship. They’d dated exclusively until she’d graduated from high school and then they’d gotten married. “What are you thinking?” he asked, drawing her back to the present. “And don’t say nothing. It’s obvious you didn’t find my glove descriptions riveting.” “Sorry. I was just going over what I have to get done this week.” A flat-out lie, but there was no way she was going to admit to reminiscing. While their marriage had been her whole world, Greg hadn’t felt the same way. He’d cheated on her. “Josh’s game’s Wednesday afternoon, right?” he asked. “I want to make sure I’m there.” “Yes. It’s at four.” She picked up her pizza slice and took another bite. “I know you’re one of the team moms. Anything I can do to help with that?” As a team mom, she was expected to collect money from the other parents to pay for drinks and snacks. She was also in charge of making sure the equipment was collected at the end of the game. If any was left behind, she brought it home with her until the next practice. There were usually two team moms. Heather was the other one, but she was turning out to be a flake. “I’m good,” she told him. “You sure? Josh mentioned that Heather hadn’t remembered to bring snacks last time. I could take care of that.” “I’m handling it. Besides, you have to miss some of his games for work.” “Yeah, but I could help when I’m not working. You wouldn’t have to do it all yourself.” “I don’t mind.” “At least that way you know it will be done right?” he asked. The tone was light, but there was something in his words. “What do you mean?” “You don’t trust easily.” She put down her pizza and glanced toward the living room. When she returned her attention to Greg, she made sure her voice was low. “If you’re asking if I trust you, I would say it depends. You’re a good father and I appreciate that. Josh needs his dad in his life. As for the rest of it, we’re divorced, Greg. What does it matter what I think of you?” He pushed his plate away. “You’re never going to get over what happened, are you? It doesn’t matter how many times I tell you I’m sorry. That I want to make things right. You don’t care. I screwed up and you can never forgive me.” Her stomach started to hurt. “You don’t care about my forgiveness. You just don’t like being the bad guy. It cuts into your self-image. Get over it. Like I said, you’re a good father. I never say anything bad about you to Josh. We work well with him. That’s more than most divorced couples have.” “Don’t you ever wish we could be friends again? There were rough times while we were married, Rachel, but there was a lot of good, too.” There had been, she thought to herself. Lots of laughter and love. At least at first. But then things had changed. She’d grown up and he hadn’t. While she’d taken care of their child and their house, Greg had gone out with his friends. He might have cheated only after ten years of marriage, but he’d let her down a long time before that. “I like things how they are now,” she told him. “Separate. You have your life and I have mine.” For a second she thought he was going to protest. To say he wanted something else. Something more. Her chest tightened and her heart pounded. Hope, anticipation and fear blended into a churning mess that didn’t sit well with her pizza. Because no matter what face she showed to the rest of the world, she knew the truth. That despite what she said and how she acted, she’d never gotten over Greg. It wasn’t that she couldn’t forgive him, it was that she couldn’t forget him. He’d obviously moved on and she was stuck still in love with him. “That’s what I thought,” he told her, his voice resigned. “What’s done is done and there’s no going back.” The hope shriveled and died, much like her heart had done that day two years ago when she’d taken one look into his eyes and had known the truth. “I should be going,” he told her. “Have a good week.” “You, too.” He called out a goodbye to Josh, then let himself out the back door. Rachel wrapped up the rest of her small pizza. She couldn’t eat any more tonight. And while Josh would protest the lack of meat, he would still snack on it tomorrow when he got home from school. Later, after her son was in bed, Rachel sat alone in the living room. The house was quiet, the only sounds coming from outside when a car drove by. She told herself that everything was fine, that she was doing okay, but she knew she was lying about all of it. * * * Quinn stared at the house. It was three stories and about forty-two hundred square feet. Big windows, a nice yard, on a quiet street. “Never gonna work,” Wayne announced. “You haven’t seen the inside,” Quinn pointed out. “What if it’s perfect?” Wayne—a sixtysomething former marine—sighed the sigh of those cursed with too much intelligence who were forced to deal with ordinary mortals. “I’ll explain it to you Barney-style,” he said, speaking slowly. Quinn held in a grin. Explaining something Barney-style meant speaking slowly and simply, as if to a child. Wayne was nothing if not colorful. The older man had been with him about seven years. Before that he’d been a dispatcher for a trucking company and before that a marine. They’d met under unusual circumstances. When Wayne’s son had died, he’d tried to drink himself to death. Quinn had been the one to take him in and sober him up. Then he’d offered him a job as his assistant. He’d been shocked as hell when Wayne had accepted. “You Barney-style all you want,” he said. It was Monday morning. He hadn’t slept well the night before, and he needed more coffee. Having Wayne walk him through the details just might be entertaining enough to make him forget his lack of caffeine. “It’s not a verb,” Wayne grumbled. “You’re getting the phrase all wrong. Damned civilians.” Quinn held out his hand. Zealand groaned, then handed over five bucks. Because whoever got Wayne to complain about the world not being “marine enough” first won five dollars. Quinn pocketed it, then nodded at Wayne. “Tell me why this isn’t a good idea.” Wayne swore under his breath. “There’s not enough parking,” his assistant began. “We could pave over the grass, but you know the neighbors are going to complain. All those windows—” He pointed to the front of the house. “Every one of those is a place for noise to get in from the street and out from the studio.” “I produce music, not noise,” Quinn protested. “That’s what you call it. The folks who live in the neighborhood won’t agree. What are you going to do? Cover the windows and put up soundproofing?” Quinn looked at Zealand, who shrugged. “Then why have windows?” Wayne asked. “You’re running a business that goes late into the night. You can’t have bands coming and going at two in the morning. This is a small town, boss. They have their ways.” “What do you know about small towns?” Quinn asked. “Enough.” “I take it you’re not a fan.” “Not really. But you said you wanted to move here, so here I am.” “Poor Wayne.” “Yeah, I’m suffering.” Zealand chuckled. Quinn thought about what his assistant had said. “You’re right. A house doesn’t make sense. Why don’t the two of you go check out some industrial spaces? But they have to be relatively quiet. We can’t be next to some factory that bangs all day and night.” “Right. Because only the bands can do that.” Quinn looked at him. “Which kind of banging do you mean?” Wayne frowned. “Both, I guess.” “You’ve learned our ways well, young Obi-Wan.” Wayne sighed again. “You’re really moving here.” “I am. You’ll learn to love it. There’s a boardwalk and a pier. It’s over a hundred years old.” “Piers do not get better with time.” “Lots of families with kids. Teenagers during spring break. What could be more perfect?” Wayne started for the car. “Are you talking? Because all I hear is a buzzing sound.” “Speaking of buzzing, there’s a very famous honeybee that summers here sometimes.” “You say one more word about the bees and I’m going back to LA. I mean it. I’ll quit.” Zealand chuckled as he slid into the backseat. Quinn started the engine of the Bentley. “The Drunken Red-nosed Honeybee is known to be industrious and gentle.” Wayne rested his head in his hands. “Kill. Me. Now. That’s all I ask.” “Sorry, my friend. You’re the only one with that kind of training. You’re going to have to suck it up and suffer. Like you always do.” Wayne straightened. “Tell me about it. My life is pain.” 6 (#ulink_3de673ea-bd59-5d2d-b2c3-6ebdc3b80291) SIENNA HANDED OVER a wrench to the man stretched out under her kitchen sink. “You could just call a plumber.” “I know how to replace a garbage disposal.” “So you say. But if it explodes, it will take me with it.” “That would be a loss for all of us.” Jimmy, her landlord, friend since grade school and ex-fianc?, turned so he could see her. “I mean that. The loss part.” “You’d better. I don’t want to be sliced into little pieces by an exploding garbage disposal.” “No one does.” She sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor of her rented duplex. The small, two-bedroom place suited her. It was clean, pretty, and had a yard. Jimmy was the best kind of landlord—he mowed the lawn, did repairs quickly and had the carpets cleaned at least twice a year. In return, she paid her rent on time and did her best to be a good tenant. Theirs was a relationship that worked. “How’s business?” she asked. “Good. I have a couple new listings. Three houses closing this month.” “Who would have thought?” Jimmy chuckled. “That I would turn out respectable? Stranger things have happened.” “I’m not so sure.” Back in high school, Jimmy had been more interested in surfing than studies. He’d drifted through school. Still, he’d been funny and kind, with a sexy attitude that had captured her schoolgirl heart. They’d dated all through senior year. When she’d left to go to UC Santa Barbara, he’d followed. While she’d attended classes, he’d surfed and worked odd jobs. Sometime during her freshman year, they’d gotten engaged. That had lasted nearly a year. Their breakup hadn’t been dramatic, just the realization that they were too young and they wanted different things. He’d gone home and she’d stayed in college. But they’d remained friends. She liked knowing that Jimmy was in her life. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly five thirty. She still had time. “Hot date?” Jimmy asked. “A date.” “Ouch. Does he know about your lack of enthusiasm?” “I’m enthused.” “Not really. It’s that David guy, right?” “Uh-huh.” “I take it he’s not the one.” “No. He’s very nice and we have fun.” “But?” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know. We have a lot in common. He’s smart, well-educated. We vote the same.” Jimmy snorted. “You vote the same? Seriously? That’s your criteria now?” “Of course not. It’s just...” Jimmy slid out from under the sink. “Stand back. I’m about to test this thing.” He pointed to the far side of the kitchen. “Go stand there. I’ll put my body between you and the explosion.” “Talk about a gentleman,” she teased. “There are so few of you left these days.” “Most of us have died in garbage disposal accidents.” She scrambled to her feet and walked to the other end of the kitchen. Jimmy turned on the water and flipped the switch. The steady hum of the garbage disposal filled the room. “Impressive,” she told him when he turned it off. “Very impressive.” “I’ve got game, I’ll admit it.” He washed his hands, then dried them with a towel. “So why do you see him? It’s not like you need a boyfriend.” Ugh. They were back to David. She leaned against the counter. “I don’t know. I like him, I guess.” He raised his dark eyebrows. “You guess?” “He’s very solid and stable. That’s nice.” “Unlike your surfing ex-fianc??” “You’re plenty stable now.” “I’m practically staid.” She took in the dark, shaggy hair, the three days’ worth of beard, the earrings and the tattoos on his arm. “Jimmy, people will call you many things, but staid isn’t one of them.” “You say the sweetest things. So what’s up with David? Why don’t you dump him?” “I don’t know. Maybe I should.” She frowned. “It’s so strange. I love my job. Seriously—it’s the best. And I like living in Los Lobos. I have a really good life.” “But?” “But there’s something I can’t put my finger on.” A restlessness, she thought. The sense of missing something important. “Are you upset about your mom?” he asked. “About her getting married?” “God no. She’s been a widow twenty-four years. If anyone deserves to move on, it’s her. Neil’s a great guy. We all like him.” “Just checking. Weddings do funny things to people.” “I promise, there will be no drama with my mother’s wedding. She’s a mature, responsible woman marrying a great guy.” “I got an invitation to the engagement party.” The thought of Jimmy being there made her smile. “Good. Are you going?” “I thought it would be fun. You and David will be there, right?” “We will.” She found herself wanting to ask if he was bringing a date but then realized she didn’t want to know. Which wasn’t fair. Of course she wanted Jimmy to be happy. He was a great guy. “Why aren’t you engaged or married?” she asked. He pressed a hand to his chest. “You spoiled me for other women.” That made her laugh. “Right. You were so broken after our engagement ended that you took up with the one person I dislike more than anyone.” “You are referring to the fair Erika?” “You know I am.” “But she’s lovely.” “She’s mean, and if I recall correctly, she dumped you.” Jimmy’s expression of amusement never wavered. “That she did. I suspect she was only trying to prove she could get me, not that she could keep me.” “If I had an ego, I would say she went after you because I stole you from her in the first place.” “You do have an ego and it’s well deserved. And you did steal me.” He glanced at the clock. “You have a date and I have to clean up my mess here.” “What?” She followed his gaze. “You’re right. Thanks for reminding me.” She walked down the tiny hall to the master bedroom. It wasn’t big, but her queen-size bed fit fine, along with the dresser she’d had since she was twelve when her mom bought all three girls new furniture. The piece wasn’t anything she would have chosen now—it was too ornate, with carving on the corners and drawer pulls in the shape of birds. But somehow it connected her to her past. She walked into the en suite bathroom and used a headband to hold back her short hair. After washing her face, she applied moisturizer and sunscreen, then put on makeup. David was taking her out for Mexican food, which meant casual rather than fancy. She slipped on a white tank top and short denim skirt, then chose black suede peep-toe wedges with a little fringe at the ankle. Drop earrings and several bangles completed the outfit. She fluffed her short hair back into the spiky style she wore, then grabbed a cropped black faux leather jacket for later—when it got cool—before returning to her kitchen. Jimmy had mopped up from his work and put everything back under the sink. He looked up from loading his toolbox and whistled. “You clean up good. I prefer you messy, but clean works.” She laughed. “Thank you. You’re very kind.” “Nope. Just observant. David doesn’t stand a chance. But none of us ever did.” Sweet words. Not true, but sweet. Her second engagement had been to a guy named Hugh. They’d met her senior year of college. He’d been from a prominent banking family in Chicago and had been in Santa Barbara for his post–graduate school first job. Apparently, he was required to work his way up in another bank before joining the family empire. Hugh had been charming, successful and easy to be with. They’d fallen in love almost immediately. She’d met his family over winter break at a ski resort in Vail, then had brought him home over spring break. He’d proposed at sunset on the beach. After graduation she’d taken a job at a nonprofit in Santa Barbara and had started organizing their wedding. The plan had been to stay there for three or four years before moving to Chicago when he entered the family business. Everything had changed when his father had had a heart attack and Hugh had gone back to take care of the company. She’d quit her job and joined him a few weeks later. What she told everyone was that once she got to Chicago, she’d realized they weren’t as in love as she’d thought. That she didn’t like the city or being so close to his family. But the truth was different. The truth was that his family hadn’t liked her. Apparently, they never had, especially his mother. She hadn’t fit in with their friends or their lifestyle. She wasn’t classy enough. All of which Hugh had explained within a week of her arrival. He hadn’t ended things, exactly. Instead, he’d asked for more time. And for her to change. “You’re beautiful,” he’d told her, his voice and expression equally sincere. “That helps. But you simply don’t have the right background. With some coaching and time, you could really be the right package. I can’t make any promises, Sienna, but I want us to try to make this work.” Not exactly the words a fianc?e longs to hear. Assuming she was still his fianc?e. Which he’d clarified with a slight shrug and “Oh, and Mom thinks you should return the ring until we’re sure.” She’d handed him the two-carat diamond ring he’d placed on her finger only three months before and had walked out. When she’d flown back to Los Lobos, she’d told everyone that Chicago and Hugh weren’t for her. She’d never once admitted the truth. That she hadn’t been good enough. At least not on the inside. While her outsides had passed muster, the rest of her had been lacking. She shook her head to chase away the memories. Right then, the doorbell rang. “Your handsome prince,” Jimmy said with a grin. “Be nice,” she told him. “I mean it.” “Will you spank me if I’m not?” “Stop it!” She opened the door. “Hi,” she said brightly. David stepped inside, then bent down to kiss her. In the nanosecond before his mouth touched hers, she heard a loud “Hey, David. How’s it hanging?” David straightened. “Jimmy. What are you doing here?” Jimmy held up his toolbox. “Changing out the garbage disposal. I’m handy that way. You two run along. I’ll lock up.” She shook her head. “You’re done. Get out of here.” Jimmy walked to the door and squeezed past her and David. “You’re welcome.” David carefully closed the door behind him. “A new garbage disposal?” “Yes. Want to check it out?” She drew in a breath. “Or are you asking if there was something else going on? David, I’ve known Jimmy my whole life. We’re friends and he’s my landlord. I have a lot of flaws, but being unfaithful isn’t one of them. If you can’t trust me, this isn’t going to work between us.” For a second she found herself wishing he would push back. Would make a fuss. Because then...well, she wasn’t sure what. She would break up with him? Did she want that? She honestly wasn’t sure. He put his hands on her waist and drew her close. “You’re right. I’m sorry. There’s something about Jimmy that gets to me, but that’s my problem, not yours. Of course I trust you. Sometimes I can’t believe my luck, but I trust you.” “Thank you.” He kissed her. A soft, sweet kiss that should have stirred her heart, but didn’t. What was wrong with her? “Ready for dinner?” she asked, drawing back just enough that he couldn’t kiss her again. “I am.” He took her hand in his and smiled at her. “Come on. There’s a margarita with your name on it just a few short blocks away.” “I can’t wait.” A margarita sounded good. And an evening with David, well, that would be fun, too. He was a great guy. She needed to remember that. David would never tell her she wasn’t good enough. He thought she was a prize. Compared to the alternative, being a prize sounded really good to her. * * * Rachel spent the Wednesday afternoon baseball game fuming. Heather not only hadn’t shown up, but she hadn’t even bothered to call. Which meant Rachel arrived with snacks but no drinks. She’d been forced to run to the store and buy water and juice packs for twenty boys. When she’d returned, there hadn’t been any close parking, so she’d had to lug everything nearly two blocks, which had taken her two trips. By the time she was set up, the game had already started and her lower back was throbbing. Ice, she promised herself. She would spend the whole evening icing her screaming muscles. She knew the price of ignoring the spasms. If she didn’t take care of the problem early, it would get worse, and she couldn’t afford to miss any work. She sat down by the team bench and handed out drinks as the boys requested them. When Ryan Owens scraped up his arm sliding into home plate, she was the one who brought out the first-aid kit and cleaned his wound. “Did you see?” the twelve-year-old asked excitedly. “I got a run.” “You did. It was fantastic.” She used first-aid wipes on the scrape, then applied a nonstinging disinfectant and a couple of bandages. “This will hold you until the game is over,” she told him. “Have your mom look at it when you get home.” Ryan nodded and returned to the bench, where he was congratulated for his run. Rachel shifted on her seat, wishing the game would end so she could go lie on an ice pack. But there were several innings to go. She dug in her purse for some ibuprofen and took two pills, then waited and endured. She saw her friend Lena up in the stands and waved. Greg was there, too, but didn’t seem to notice her. Nearly two hours later, Josh’s team had won. The boys cheered, then lined up to shake hands, like they’d been taught. Lena walked over. “We’re taking Kyle out for a celebration pizza. You and Josh want to come?” “My back’s acting up. I’m going to pass.” Lena’s mouth twisted. “I’m sorry. Why don’t we take Josh with us and bring him back afterward? That will give you some time to just relax.” “Would you? Thanks. That would be great.” “Need any help with the drinks or equipment?” “I’m good.” Her friend waved and returned to the boys. Fifteen minutes later nearly everyone had left the field. Rachel had three bags of trash, leftover snacks and water, along with five bats, three mitts and all the bases. Because Heather hadn’t shown up, and whichever parent was supposed to be responsible for the equipment had forgotten. Greg came up to her. “No Heather?” “No. She didn’t call or anything. I had to go get the drinks she was supposed to bring.” She stood up and did her best not to groan as pain shot through her back. “I’m going to always bring extra in the car from now on, just in case.” Greg frowned. “You’re hurting. Your back?” “I’m fine.” He ignored that. “Where’s your car? I don’t see it in the lot.” “I had to go shopping for the drinks,” she snapped. “When I got back, there weren’t any spots.” He held out his hand. “Give me your car keys. I’ll get it and move it closer for you, then help you carry everything. You need to get home and on ice.” She wasn’t sure why, but his offer annoyed her. Or maybe it was that he knew what was wrong. Or the whole situation with Heather. “I said I’m fine.” “You’re not. Let me help, Rachel.” “I can do it myself. I should just leave the equipment out here. Someone will steal it, but maybe the parent responsible will learn a lesson. Only, they won’t and I’ll be the bad guy for letting it happen. I have to do everything.” “Do you know who the parent is?” “There’s a list. I have it at home.” “Are you going to call them?” “What? No. That’s not my job.” “And you’re not going to say anything to Heather, are you?” “What’s the point? She doesn’t take this seriously. She knows I’ll pick up the slack and she takes advantage of me. I’m not even surprised.” Greg stared at her. “You’re not going to give me your car keys, are you?” “I told you, I’m fine.” “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He shocked her by picking up her handbag and digging through it until he found her keys. “Hey! You can’t do that.” “I just did.” He walked toward the street. She watched him for a second, then walked slowly to collect the bases. Every step was agony. Pain shot down her right leg, and she was terrified that the muscles were about to seize up. She had muscle relaxers at home, along with the healing ice. But first there was this mess to clean up. By the time Greg got back, she’d stacked the bases and collected the forgotten equipment. He shook his head. “You couldn’t wait, could you? What the hell, Rachel? Why do you always have to be the martyr? It’s like you’re the only one who gets to be right and everyone else has to be—” He stopped talking. “I don’t think everyone is wrong,” she told him. “But sometimes they are. Like Heather is today.” “Yet you won’t confront her. You’ll simply stew about it. You’ll be snippy with her the next time you see her and she won’t know why. She’ll think you’re a total bitch, but you get to have righteous indignation on your side. Then at some parent meeting someone will mention the team mother thing and you’ll get to be the one who always showed up.” She didn’t like the sound of that. “You’re saying I’m wrong to be here on time, doing her job and mine?” “No. I’m saying you’re wrong for not calling Heather and telling her to get her butt down to the game.” “That’s not my style.” “You’re right. It’s not.” He turned and walked a couple of steps, then faced her again. “It’s never been your style. You are the queen of passive-aggressive.” “What?” He put his hands on his hips. “I always knew it, but I didn’t get what it meant. I never realized how it affected everything.” She sank onto the bench and stared at him. “You’re acting crazy.” “I’m not. I’m right, aren’t I?” He moved closer, then sat a few feet away and faced her. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Us and what went wrong.” “You cheated.” “Yeah, but it’s more than that. You’ve been mad at me for years. Because of how I acted. Because you had to be the grown-up in the relationship. I loved you, Rach, but I wasn’t ready to be a husband or a father. But there I was—playing at both.” “Leaving me with all the work,” she grumbled. “You’re right. I did leave you with everything. You couldn’t depend on me to support you the way you needed. And you sure wouldn’t ask for help. That’s the part that gets me. Why didn’t you ask?” He paused, as if waiting for an answer. Not that she had one. She’d liked the conversation much better when they’d been talking about his flaws rather than hers. “Do you think it’s about your dad dying?” “What?” she yelped. “Leave my father out of this.” “I know it was hard for you when that happened. You missed him, and your mom depended on you to take care of things. There was so much responsibility for you. So much more than you were equipped to handle. But you couldn’t ask for help.” How had he figured this out? She searched for an escape, but there was only her car and he still had her keys. It wasn’t as if she could simply limp away. “I don’t want to talk about this,” she told him. “You had to do everything,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “There’s a part of me that thinks you really like doing everything. I’m not sure if it’s a control thing or being the one who’s right or something else. But like today. You could have asked a dozen people to go get the drinks, but you didn’t. You had to do it all yourself, even with your back hurting.” Tears threatened, but she blinked them away. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Humiliation burned, but so did determination. And the latter was going to win. “Or with us,” he continued. “You should have reamed me a new one, but you didn’t. You simply endured my bad behavior. I played and you were the faithful, long-suffering wife. You got to be right, though, and you enjoyed that.” “You’re wrong,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her midsection. “About everything.” “I’m not. It’s taken me nearly two years to put together the pieces, but I think I have them now. I was wrong to cheat on you, Rachel. I knew the second I did it, I would regret it for the rest of my life. And I do. I was wrong and I’m sorry. I broke your trust and you were right to throw me out. I needed that and you deserved your pound of flesh. But you were wrong about a lot of other things.” He leaned toward her. “Here’s where it gets fuzzy for me. The asking for help thing. Is it that you really need to do it all yourself, or do you think you’re the only one who can do it right? Because I think that’s the key. Getting the answer to that question.” “Why are you doing this? Why are you treating me this way?” “Not to hurt you. I hope you can believe that. The thing is, I don’t think we’re finished. I’m not sure what that means, exactly, but I haven’t moved on, and I don’t think you have, either. We’re both in limbo. I keep thinking that if I can finally understand you, I’ll know what to do.” He stood and smiled. “Thanks for talking to me. This was really good. I understand a lot more now.” How nice for him. He’d laid her bare, talked about how awful she was, and now he felt better? Lucky him. She felt sick to her stomach. She wanted to crawl into a hole until the entire world went away. “I’m not going to ask if you need help,” he told her. “I know you’ll say no. I’m just going to do it. You sit here while I load the car. Then I’m going to follow you home and unload it. You just worry about yourself. I’ll take care of everything else.” She felt as if he’d slapped her. Of all the awful, mean, cruel things to say—that was the worst. Because he wanted her to believe in him. To trust him. To hand over control and let him run things. She’d tried that before. With him, with her mother, even with her friends. And she knew how it ended. With the other person letting her down and her all alone. It had always been that way and it always would be. He looked at her, then shook his head. “I can see you don’t believe me. It’s okay, Rachel. Now that I know what’s wrong, I can fix it. Maybe that makes me a fool, but I’ve got to try. You’ll see. Everything is going to be fine.” Famous last words, she thought grimly. A little bit like “I’ll love you forever.” She’d fallen for that one, too. And look where it had gotten her. 7 (#ulink_55f9fca1-fd12-5781-bfcb-238c31429538) COURTNEY WHEELED HER cart down the path to the final room on her list. Unless a guest requested a special time for housekeeping, she had the option of cleaning the rooms in any order she liked. At the risk of being just a little weird, she’d saved Quinn’s bungalow for last. It was nearly one in the afternoon. She was tired, but happy. She’d stayed up until three to finish her marketing report and had sent everything to her professor. She had one more paper to write, then she was done for the summer. The thought of not studying for nearly twelve weeks was strange. She’d been going year-round since she’d started at community college. With all her general education requirements filled, she only had classes in her major left. And the last few she had to take weren’t offered in the summer. Not that she was going to be overwhelmed by free time. Her mother was getting married at the hotel in August. August 20, to be exact. Joyce had already made it clear she was putting Courtney in charge of the wedding. On the one hand, Courtney appreciated the fact that her boss had faith in her. Plus, handling an event that large would look good on her r?sum?. On the other, she suspected Joyce had an ulterior motive—to bring mother and daughter back together. Not that they were actually apart. They were more, um, casually involved in each other’s lives. She supposed that had always been the case. After her father died, her mother had been frantic to hold her family together and restart her husband’s accounting business. Then the bills had piled up and they’d lost their house. Maggie had been scrambling. Courtney got that. She respected all her mother had done. As an adult, she could look back and see how hard things had been. But as the youngest kid in the family, the one who was frequently overlooked and ignored, she couldn’t help still being resentful. For those reasons, and maybe some others, she and her mother had never been close. She could live with that. But, according to Joyce, she should make more of an effort. Something that wasn’t going to happen in the middle of her shift. She stopped her cart in front of the door to the bungalow and knocked. “Housekeeping,” she called loudly. She hadn’t checked the parking lot to see if Quinn’s car was there. Not that she usually kept track of guests’ vehicles. Except in his case, it was pretty easy to tell. There was only one Bentley parked there. She was about to knock again when the door opened. Quinn stood in front of her, all tall and sexy in jeans and a—she blinked—Taylor Swift T-shirt. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a Swifty,” she admitted. “This changes things.” “I like the irony of the T-shirt.” “No one believes that.” She rubbed her temples. “Oh, God. Now I can see you dancing to ‘Shake It Off.’ My eyes! My eyes!” Quinn chuckled. The low, rumbly sound did odd things to her stomach. She, um, shook it off and reminded herself she was here to work. “Okay, time for me to clean your room. Move aside.” Quinn didn’t budge from the doorway. One brow rose. “Do you talk to all your guests that way?” “No, but you’re different.” “I have no doubt of that.” “I meant like family. Joyce and I go way back and you’re her grandson. So that makes you...” She wasn’t sure what. “An uncle?” he asked drily. “No. That seems a little creepy. We could be cousins.” “I don’t think so.” “Whatever our relationship, I need to clean your room.” “I’m good.” A voice in her head unexpectedly whispered that she was sure that was true. No doubt Quinn was very good. All that experience, not to mention rhythmic ability. “It’s my job to clean the rooms. It’s what I do here.” She smiled brightly. “You don’t want to keep me from my work, do you?” He studied her. “Not your destiny?” “No way. I have a plan.” “The college degree.” “Exactly. But to pay for that, I must work.” “Why a maid?” he asked. “As opposed to a train engineer—assuming I had the appropriate skill set?” “Something like that.” She thought for a second. “I like working for Joyce. The work is physically tiring, but I don’t have to interact with a lot of people, so I’m free to think about stuff.” She tapped the phone in her shirt pocket. “Or listen to lectures I’ve downloaded from the internet. The money is fair, sometimes people tip and it gets me closer to my master plan. Oh.” She smiled. “It also makes my mother crazy. Not the most mature reason, but one of them nonetheless.” “You’re honest.” “I don’t have a great memory, so being honest helps me keep my life straight.” His gaze settled on her face. “No great moral compass you live by?” “Sure, but everybody says that and no one believes it.” One corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re unexpected.” Was that the same as being sexy? Probably not, but a girl could dream. Quinn was a really interesting man. He drove a Bentley and wore Taylor Swift T-shirts. He’d been in tabloids, but he adored Joyce’s two dogs. Not that people who appeared in tabloids didn’t like pets. She drew in a breath. “Wow—you’re really good. I’m totally confused and it’s been five minutes. Are you going to let me clean your room or not?” “Not.” “You don’t want to think about that? You have a cleaning service back in LA. How is this different?” “It just is.” Because I want you desperately. She smiled to herself. Right. Because that was exactly what Quinn was thinking. “Inside joke?” he asked. “Oh, yeah.” She heard a cart coming down the path and turned to see one of the room service guys pushing it toward the bungalow. “Hey, Courtney.” “Hi, Dan.” She looked at Quinn. “Lunch?” “Uh-huh. Want to join me?” Dan winked at her as she pulled her cleaning cart out of the way. She smiled back. Quinn stepped outside to let him in. “On the dining room table,” he said, then turned to Courtney. “I got sweet potato fries.” “How can I resist an offer like that?” “You can’t.” She positioned her cart to the left of the front door, then walked inside. The layout for all the bungalows was the same—a living room–dining room on one side, the bedroom-bathroom-closet on the other. There was a private patio with a couple of chairs and a small table. In Quinn’s case, the patio faced the pond with the paddleboats. Dan set down the lunch on the table, then left. Courtney crossed to the half bath by the door and washed her hands. By the time she returned, Quinn had cut the burger in half and split the fries. He stood by the minibar. “What do you want to drink?” “I’ll take the glass of water, if that’s okay,” she told him. “It is.” He removed a beer from the fridge. They sat across from each other. For a second Courtney felt strange. A guest had never invited her to lunch before—not that Quinn was actually a guest. Which probably made it okay. “Joyce said you live on the property.” “I do. I have a room on the fourth floor. It’s one of those badly placed spaces with too much noise and a tree blocking the view, so I don’t have to feel guilty when the hotel is full.” “Why would you feel guilty? The room is part of your pay.” “Oh, sure. Use logic. My mind doesn’t work that way.” She took a bite of her burger. Quinn had ordered the California special with avocado, bacon and jalape?os. Delicious. “I used to live here, too,” he told her. “With Joyce,” she said when she’d chewed and swallowed. “I remember hearing about that. What happened to your parents?” She reached for her water. “Am I allowed to ask that?” “You can ask me anything you want.” She told herself not to read too much into that statement. “Okay, where are your parents?” “I never knew my dad. My mom got pregnant young and he took off.” One broad shoulder rose and lowered, while his expression remained neutral. “She wasn’t into having a kid around and used to leave me here all the time. Joyce was great, but I didn’t take well to being ignored by my mother, so I acted out. When I was fourteen, I got caught shoplifting. My mother told the judge she couldn’t handle me and that I should be locked up. I spent a month in juvie. When I got out, she was gone. She’d taken off without telling anyone where she was going.” Courtney stared at him. “That’s so awful. I’m sorry. You must have been devastated.” The shoulder rose again. “Some, but it wasn’t a total surprise. She blamed me for pretty much everything that went wrong in her life. Joyce moved into the two-bedroom bungalow and dragged me along with her. It was tough for a while, but we made it work.” There was no emotion in his voice—it was as if he was talking about getting his car serviced. But she knew there had to be a lot of feelings. No one could go through what he had without feeling scarred. “Joyce loves you. You had to know that, even as a kid.” “I did.” He smiled. “She blames herself for my mom. She says she was too busy with the hotel to be there for her daughter.” Courtney reached for a fry. “My mom was too busy for us after my dad died. I guess a lot of parents have to wrestle with balancing work and family, especially if they’re a single parent.” “But?” “I didn’t say but.” “It was there in the subtext. But she should have done a better job?” Courtney leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. “I know, I know. I should get over it. But jeez, I was held back twice in school and she barely noticed. Do you have any idea how hard that was? How the kids tormented me? And then I got very, very tall. That didn’t help.” “I like that you’re tall.” She felt herself smile. “Really?” “Tall women are sexy.” Could she extrapolate from that? Probably not while dressed as a hotel maid, but maybe there was hope. “Joyce always said that I was her redemption,” he said. “I think of myself more as a do-over.” “No. Go with being her redemption. That’s way cooler. Who gets to say that about themselves? Of course, there is a lot of responsibility that goes with it, but it would be worth it.” “You’re an idealist.” “Mostly. You’re a cynic.” “You can’t know that.” “I can guess.” “Because I’m older and wiser?” “And you’ve seen the world.” He laughed. “While you’ve been trapped here in Los Lobos. Life happens everywhere.” “Yes, but it’s not exciting here.” “It’s not exciting anywhere. Don’t buy into the press reports. They’re lying.” She felt as if there was a hidden meaning in his words, but she had no idea what it was. “How old were you when your father died?” he asked. Talk about an unexpected shift in conversation. “Three. I don’t remember him at all. I don’t remember much about that time. I’m sure it was horrible, but it’s all blurry to me. I know it was tough for my mom. She worked as a secretary at my dad’s office, but she wasn’t an accountant like he was. When my dad died, a lot of people in the company quit and most of the clients left. There wasn’t any life insurance and my mom lost the house.” “What happened?” “Joyce took us in. Funny how she took you in, and then when you left for college, she took us in.” “I doubt the events are related.” “Probably not. Anyway, we lived in one of the bungalows. My mom studied accounting at night, hung on to the employees and clients she could and slowly built her way back. Over time, she became a CPA, bought a house, then a bigger house, put Sienna through college.” His gaze was steady. “You must be proud.” “I am.” The words were automatic. “But?” “There’s no but. I’m very proud of my mother. She went through something really horrible and came out the other side. Her three daughters are productive members of society.” “But?” “I love my mom.” “No one is saying you don’t.” He had a nice voice, she thought absently. Low and kind of seductive. Compelling. She found herself wanting to answer the unspoken question. Not because she felt the need to share, but because he was drawing it out of her. “I’m still angry.” “For not noticing you got left behind?” “That and other things. I had a learning disability. That’s why I didn’t do well in school. It wasn’t diagnosed until I was ten. Nothing that dramatic, just a slightly different wiring in my brain. With the right tools, I started doing better. Plus, it was the kind of thing I would eventually outgrow.” She reached for another fry. “Once I could read and understand, I worked really hard to catch up with everyone else. I started doing well. I was transferred out of the remedial classes and into mainstream ones. I got As and Bs. My mom never noticed. I tried to tell her, but she never had time.” Courtney rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. I’m still the baby.” “Why would you say that? You went through something difficult. You feel how you feel. You’re not wrong.” “Are you secretly a woman?” He leaned his head back and laughed. “I work with artists. I’ve learned how to be sensitive. But thank you for affirming my masculinity.” “Anytime.” “How did you let your mother know you were angry?” he asked. “What makes you think I did?” “You wouldn’t have suffered in silence. Not your style.” He smiled. “I know because you’re not afraid of me. A lot of people are.” “Maybe I hide my fear with humor.” “You hide a lot of things with humor, but not fear.” Yikes. This was not a topic she wanted to deal with. The how did you let your mother know you were angry? now seemed so much easier by comparison. “I left high school when I was eighteen. Just walked out. There was nothing the state could do. She didn’t like that.” “I remember. You had a promising career at Happy Burger and you threw it all away.” “I had the chance to do more, so I did. Not everyone has that chance.” “Point taken. What else?” “I didn’t speak to her for a year. Or my sister Sienna.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not that Sienna and I have ever been close.” “Why not?” “I don’t know. Have you met her? She’s so perfect. I mean physically beautiful. Which I guess I don’t technically care about, but things come easily to her. She was good in school without really trying, and the guys were all over her. She’s been engaged twice and broke it off both times. No one’s ever wanted to marry me.” “Have you wanted to marry anyone?” “No, but that’s not the point. I want to be asked. I never was. Not to a school dance or anything.” “You’ve had boyfriends.” Not a question, but close enough that she felt compelled to answer. “I’ve had guys in my life. When I turned eighteen, I didn’t just leave high school, I left home. I was on my own. I got involved with some real jerks. They were a little older and I thought they were so cool.” She picked up the last fry. “I was wrong.” “You figured it out.” “After a while, yes.” “Some people never do.” “That’s sad. Anyway, I didn’t speak to my mom or Sienna. I stayed in touch with Rachel. She and I are close. Eventually, she talked me into meeting with Mom and we reconnected.” Sort of. They were a family, but they weren’t all that involved in each other’s lives. Or to be completely honest, she didn’t let anyone know what was happening with hers. “Oh,” she said brightly, “I got a tattoo. The day I turned eighteen. It was supposed to be a symbol of my freedom.” “Is it?” “No. It was silly. And because I was so young, it’s on the small of my back.” She held up a hand. “Don’t judge.” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/suzen-melleri/daughters-of-the-bride/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.