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The Heart of Christmas
Brenda Novak


Just call her Christmas Eve…Eve Harmon has always enjoyed Christmas, but this year it reminds her of everything she doesn't have. Almost all her friends are married now, and that's what Eve wants, too. Love. A husband and kids of her own. But the B and B she manages, and even Whiskey Creek, the small Gold Country town where she was born and raised, suddenly seem…confining.Eve's worried that her future will simply be a reflection of her past. There's no one in the area she could even imagine as a husband - until a handsome stranger comes to town. Eve's definitely attracted to him, and he seems to have the same reaction to her. But his darkly mysterious past could ruin Eve's happily ever after - just when it finally seems within reach. And just when she's counting on the best Christmas of her life!







Just call her Christmas Eve…

Eve Harmon has always enjoyed Christmas, but this year it reminds her of everything she doesn’t have. Almost all her friends are married now, and that’s what Eve wants, too. Love. A husband and kids of her own. But the B and B she manages, and even Whiskey Creek, the small Gold Country town where she was born and raised, suddenly seem…confining.

Eve’s worried that her future will simply be a reflection of her past. There’s no one in the area she could even imagine as a husband—until a handsome stranger comes to town. Eve’s definitely attracted to him, and he seems to have the same reaction to her. But his darkly mysterious past could ruin Eve’s happily ever after—just when it finally seems within reach. And just when she’s counting on the best Christmas of her life!

www.BrendaNovak.com (http://www.brendanovak.com)


PRAISE FOR THE WHISKEY CREEK NOVELS OF NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR BRENDA NOVAK

“[The characters’] heartwarming romance develops slowly and sweetly. The sex is fantastic, but the best part is how Simon and Gail tease and laugh as they grow closer.”

—Publishers Weekly on When Lightning Strikes

“It’s steamy, it’s poignant, it’s perfectly paced—

it’s When Lightning Strikes and you don’t want to miss it!”

—USATODAY.com’s Happy Ever After blog

“In this sensitive, passionate, and heartbreakingly poignant second installment of her Whiskey Creek series, Novak masterfully explores what happens when a woman whose entire life has been consumed by playing a variety of roles casts off her suffocating masks and, with the support of an unexpected lover, embraces who she was, is and can be.”

—RT Book Reviews on When Snow Falls (2012 Reviewers’

Choice Winner and Nominee for Book of the Year)

“With a great supporting cast of characters Novak fans have come to know quite well, When Summer Comes is a magical addition to the already heartwarming Whiskey Creek series.”

—Fresh Fiction

“[Home to Whiskey Creek is an] engrossing, character-rich story that takes a hard look at responsibility, loyalty and the results of telling (or concealing) the truth.”

—Library Journal

“Once again Novak’s Whiskey Creek springs to life in all its realistic, gritty Gold Country glory as two determined, likable people come to terms with their pasts and give love a chance. This poignant, heartfelt romance puts a refreshing spin on the classic reunion/secret baby theme.”

—Library Journal on Come Home to Me

“[Brenda Novak] weaves a tight story of human weakness and longing, with cross threads of passion and hope. One needn’t wonder why Novak is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author. Just read Come Home to Me.”

—Examiner.com


The Heart of Christmas

Brenda Novak




www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)


To Marilyn Burrows—for her love of reading

and her friendship with Ruth Carlson.


Dear Reader (#ulink_1e5b60e3-f674-5e39-bdf9-2aa9550cda25),

In one of my romantic suspense trilogies—Inside, In Seconds and In Close—I created a character named Rex McCready who was a good friend to Virgil Skinner (the lead character in Inside). Rex had a tragic past, one that led him into trouble early on. And sadly, it was the kind of trouble that doesn’t disappear easily. That made him, at least on the surface, appear to be less than the kind of man most people would admire, but I always saw him as a diamond in the rough. I wanted him to have his own happily-ever-after, but I wasn’t sure my readers would agree that he deserved it—until I started receiving so many letters and emails requesting his story. Ever since then, I’ve been looking for just the right home and situation for this particular character, the place where he can finally shed his old skin completely, be the man he was destined to be and find peace. I discovered that place in Whiskey Creek, so you’ll get to meet him in this book (if you don’t already know him from Inside, In Seconds and In Close).

Those of you who’ve been following the Whiskey Creek series will be happy to learn that this is also Eve’s story. Not only does Eve find the right man for her in a very unlikely stranger, she also learns the answer to the 1870s mystery that has plagued her B & B since her parents bought it when she was a child.

I would like to extend a special thanks to my Aunt Channie for purchasing the chance to name a character in this book via my annual online auction for diabetes research. She chose the name of one of her best friends, Marilyn Burrows, whom you’ll see in the story as Rex’s assistant. Like every other person who’s helped me raise money for this important cause, my Aunt Channie (Ruth Carlson) is a hero to me.

I love to hear from my readers. Please feel free to visit my website at www.brendanovak.com (http://www.brendanovak.com), where you can use the contact button, enter various monthly giveaways, learn more about this novel as well as all my others (I’ve now written fifty books!) or get involved in my online auctions for diabetes research. Thanks to everyone who has gotten involved so far, we’ve been able to raise $2.4 million. My youngest son has this disease, as well as 350 million people worldwide, so here’s to finding a cure.

Happy reading!

Brenda Novak


Whiskey Creek Cast of Characters

Major Characters

Aaron Amos: Second-oldest Amos brother (one of the “Fearsome Five”); works with Dylan and brothers at their auto-body shop. Had a relationship with Presley Christensen some years earlier and is now engaged to her.

Cheyenne Christensen (now Amos): Helps Eve Harmon run Little Mary’s B & B (formerly the Gold Nugget). Married to Dylan Amos, who owns Amos Auto Body.

Sophia DeBussi: Jilted Ted Dixon years ago to marry investment guru Skip DeBussi—later revealed as a fraud. Mother of Alexa. Reconnected with Ted and is now married to him.

Gail DeMarco: Owns a public relations firm in LA. Married to movie star Simon O’Neal.

Ted Dixon: Bestselling thriller writer.

Eve Harmon: Manages Little Mary’s B & B, which is owned by her family.

Kyle Houseman: Owns a solar panel business. Formerly married to Noelle Arnold.

Rex McCready (aka Brent Taylor): New to town.

Baxter North: Stockbroker in San Francisco.

Presley Christensen: Former “bad girl” who left town and recently returned. Mother of Wyatt.

Noah Rackham: Professional cyclist. Owns Crank It Up bike shop. Married to Adelaide Davies, chef and manager of Just Like Mom’s restaurant, owned by her grandmother.

Riley Stinson: Contractor.

Callie Vanetta: Photographer. Married to Levi McCloud/Pendleton, veteran of Afghanistan.

Other Recurring Characters

The Amos Brothers: Dylan, Aaron, Rodney, Grady and Mack.

Olivia Arnold: Kyle Houseman’s true love but married to Brandon Lucero, Kyle’s stepbrother.

Joe DeMarco: Gail DeMarco’s older brother, owns the Whiskey Creek Gas-n-Go.

Phoenix Fuller: In prison. Mother of Jacob Stinson, being raised by his father, Riley.


Contents

Cover (#u32a7d543-fd62-5bc1-82fe-d1ce5da84d69)

Back Cover Text (#udff10897-d546-5566-a48d-2efc01a63e3e)

Praise (#u03f27eb4-9ca9-5f08-9d5c-d852bdcc3183)

Title Page (#u9b4a9b45-4443-53b8-90ac-7d16ebcc025d)

Dedication (#ub6895309-e6ae-5a1d-86d7-4e102c3ed7b6)

Dear Reader (#ulink_e742944d-d906-5e62-b29b-7c7e62af1151)

Cast of Characters (#uc4da7cb5-d98d-5127-9d77-ab72675bdfaf)

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1 (#ulink_6f9c021e-c53a-59c6-a3fb-4af76096aa6f)

There was a naked man in her bed.

Eve Harmon’s stomach tensed, and her heart skipped a beat—but she was pretty sure she’d invited him. From the way their clothes were strewn carelessly around the room, it was obvious that, not long ago, she’d been happy to have him with her.

She nearly groaned as her eyes swept over him. What had she done? She didn’t have a boyfriend and she never slept around. She hadn’t been with anyone since Ted Dixon—an old friend who had briefly turned into more a year ago. And before him, it had been much longer. Most people, at least those younger than her parents, would consider her extended periods of celibacy rather pathetic for a woman her age. But she lived in a small town, cared about her reputation and had been holding out for the kind of love that came with a white picket fence.

She just hadn’t found the right guy, and she was beginning to think maybe she never would. The odds weren’t in her favor. Now that most of her friends were married, she didn’t get out all that often.

But she had a lot to be grateful for in spite of her dismal love life, she quickly reminded herself. Although she’d never been the type who wanted work to become her sole focus in life, she liked her job. She ran Little Mary’s, a B and B in a converted Victorian owned by her retired parents. They lived in the house a hundred yards in front of her own small bungalow—when they weren’t traveling in their RV like they were at the moment. Thanks to them, and the quaint, bucolic area where she’d been raised, her life had always been pleasant and safe—and predictable. Absolutely predictable.

Until now.

God, she hadn’t even slept with someone she knew. And since there were only about two thousand people in Whiskey Creek, it was hard to find someone she didn’t.

Shifting carefully so she wouldn’t wake the man lying next to her—she needed to regain her bearings before confronting him—she tried to get a look at his face, but a thunderous headache made it difficult to sit up. That headache also explained how she’d ended up in this predicament. Last night she’d made the mistake of going out to celebrate her thirty-fifth birthday even though her friends weren’t available until tonight, and she’d drunk too much. She’d been determined to do something wild and fun and completely out of character before reaching such a significant age, the age at which some doctors advised against getting pregnant.

Now she was paying the price for her out-of-control evening.

Had they even used birth control?

Briefly squeezing her eyes shut, she sent up a silent prayer that she’d had the presence of mind for that at least. It would be entirely too ironic for someone like her—someone so cautious—to get pregnant because of a one-night stand.

What have you done? And what should she do now? Should she wake him? What would she say when he was looking back at her? She’d never been in this situation before. But she couldn’t let him sleep much longer. She needed to get rid of him so she could shower for work.

Thank goodness her parents had had engine trouble and hadn’t made it home from her brother’s house yet. She’d lamented that yesterday, when she’d been bored and lonely while setting up her little Christmas tree. Today she was glad.

Moving slowly to compensate for her hangover, she managed to prop herself against the headboard and, once there, frowned at her bedmate.

Who the heck was he?

She had no idea, but she was relieved to see that he was no bum off the street. He wasn’t even one of those “he looked a lot more attractive last night” kind of pickups everyone joked about. This guy was so far above average that she began to wonder why he wasn’t already taken. Heaven forbid that was the case! She didn’t see a ring on his left hand, which rested on the pillow above his head. But he had to have some story. If he looked this good sleep-tousled, she could only imagine what he’d be like once he had a chance to clean up.

It was his bone structure, she decided. Those pronounced cheekbones. The narrow bridge across his nicely shaped nose. The distinct ridge of his upper eye sockets. He also had a strong chin and a manly jaw, which certainly didn’t detract.

So maybe she couldn’t point to just one or two features. With his long, sandy-colored hair spread across his pillow, he resembled a fallen angel—and his body further enhanced that image. Although bedding covered his lower half—thank goodness—she could see his torso. He was built like a greyhound or panther, lean and sinewy and ideally proportioned with very little body hair. What body hair he did have was golden and downy, as appealing as his tanned skin.

He’d make a nice subject for a painter, she mused, someone looking for refined masculine beauty—a man who could even be called elegant.

But not everything about him was elegant. When she looked closer, she could see that he had some very unusual scars....

What types of injuries could’ve caused those? she wondered. It seemed to her that he’d been shot, and more than once. Several round, bullet-size marks dotted his chest. Then there was a long, jagged scar on his side that must’ve come from something else....

Out of nowhere—he didn’t open his eyes first, so she had no warning—he grabbed her wrists in a crushing grip and slammed her onto her back.

Eve gasped as she stared up at him. Gone was the image of an angel, fallen or otherwise. Shocked at being so easily and unexpectedly overpowered, she couldn’t even scream. His fierce expression, as if he was intent on causing her bodily harm, made it worse.

Had she brought home a homicidal maniac? Was he about to kill her?

The terror that surged up must’ve shown on her face because he suddenly came to his senses. He gave his head a shake. His expression cleared and, letting go, he eased off her and slid back onto his side of the bed.

“Sorry about that. I thought...” His words trailed off, and he covered his eyes with one arm as if he needed a moment to pull himself together.

Her heart was now pounding in unison with her head. But once she could speak somewhat normally, she prompted him to finish his sentence. “Thought what?”

His lips turned down. “Never mind. I was dreaming.”

She pressed a hand to her chest as though she could slow her galloping pulse. “It couldn’t have been a pleasant dream.”

“They never are,” he muttered.

He dropped his arm and looked over at her, and—intriguing as that statement was—she was too concerned about her nudity to pursue more of an explanation. She drew up the blankets, but he didn’t seem interested in ogling her. His gaze circled the room, taking in the gauzy fabric that wound around the top of her canopy bed, the Christmas gifts she’d already wrapped and stacked in the corner, the many photographs of friends and family scattered across her dresser and the plantation shutters she’d recently had installed. He seemed to be taking stock of everything, weighing it, evaluating it—especially the closet and the door leading into the hall—as if he might encounter some threat.

“Where am I?” His voice, although more commanding than before, hadn’t quite lost the rasp that came from having just awakened.

“Whiskey Creek.”

He held three fingers to his forehead. She guessed he had a headache, too, although, suddenly, she could scarcely feel hers, thanks to that recent burst of adrenaline.

“I can remember the town,” he said wryly. “It’s not like I think I’m in China.”

Fortunately, he sounded as normal as he looked. “Really? Whiskey Creek is where you’re supposed to be? Because I’ve lived here my whole my life, and I don’t ever remember seeing you.”

“You say that like you know everyone.”

“I do. Or just about.”

As he proceeded to rub his face, she wished he’d cover up. The bedding had fallen away when he rolled on top of her. She could see far more of him than she wanted to—at least now that she was sober. But he didn’t seem to notice or care about his state of undress.

“I’m new here,” he said.

“When did you move in?” she asked.

“I didn’t. I should’ve said I’m visiting.”

A lot of tourists came through. The quaint shops beyond the graveyard next door to her B and B catered to them, particularly in the summer. So an unfamiliar face in town, even in the first part of winter, wasn’t remarkable enough for anyone to make a fuss.

“Where are you staying?”

He hesitated. “I don’t remember the name of the place,” he muttered. He had to be at her competitor’s or one of the small inns or B and Bs out in the country. She hadn’t seen him at her place. “How long will you be in town?”

“A short time.”

His answers were clipped, terse and noticeably skimpy on the details. She might’ve asked what had brought him here. But he was being so evasive she didn’t see the point. Was he putting her on notice not to expect any follow-up to their night together?

Eve told herself she didn’t care that the first romantic encounter she’d had since her big mistake with Ted Dixon wasn’t shaping up to be any more promising than the false starts she’d experienced before. She just wanted to make sure that her “no way am I going to stay home and watch TV on my birthday” mutiny hadn’t left her with an STD. As soon as she felt reasonably assured that she hadn’t ruined her life, they could part ways—and she’d try to forget that she’d felt desperate enough to sleep with a stranger.

“I don’t see anything in here that belongs to a man,” he said.

She gave him a curious look. “A man?”

“I’m safe to assume you’re not married? You aren’t wearing a ring, but not everyone does.”

Particularly a woman hoping to pick up a guy in a bar. Now she understood. She’d been too busy berating herself to clue in, or his meaning would’ve been clear from the beginning. “Do you make a habit of sleeping with married women?”

“Not when I can think straight. But last night I wasn’t using a great deal of discretion. I don’t even remember how I got here.” He lifted a hand. “Wait, yes, I do. There was some waitress from that hole-in-the-wall honkytonk who—”

“Sexy Sadie’s.”

“What?”

When his eyes flicked to her, she noticed that they were a startling shade of green, far lighter than the more common hazel. His eyelashes and eyebrows matched the darker streaks in his hair.

“That’s the name of the bar,” she clarified.

He shrugged. Apparently he found that information irrelevant—as though a bar was a bar and he’d frequented many. “Anyway, I have this vision of some waitress driving us over here and dumping us on what appeared to be a very long driveway, and that’s about it.”

When Eve’s mind conjured up the same memory, she barely managed to stifle a groan. “Noelle Arnold.” That Noelle, of all people, would know what they’d done made it so much worse....

“You don’t like her?”

Her tone had revealed more than she’d intended. “Not a great deal. Not since she seduced her sister’s boyfriend, then claimed she was pregnant so he’d marry her.”

“Small towns...”

She didn’t like the way he said that. It seemed to imply that they were too backward to behave with as much sophistication as city folk. “I happen to be close friends with Kyle, the man she duped. Of course I’d feel defensive.”

“You can feel defensive all you want, but this Noelle person did us a favor. She could easily have left us to our own devices. I certainly deserved it. I haven’t gotten that wasted in—” without bothering to ask, he rummaged on the nightstand and helped himself to one of her elastic ties so he could pull back his hair “—a couple of years.”

She could’ve pointed out that if Noelle had really been looking out for her, she would’ve seen to it that she got home safe and alone. But then she remembered making out with this man in the backseat of Noelle’s car. No wonder Noelle had dropped them off together. Now she was probably running around, telling everyone she could think of that Eve Harmon, of all people, had picked up a stranger and taken him home to bed.

His eyes narrowed. Something about her had caught his interest. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

She combed her fingers through her hair in an attempt to untangle it. While she had far bigger concerns than her appearance, she couldn’t entirely resist her female vanity. Because her hair was jet black and her eyes blue, people often told her that she reminded them of the Disney version of Snow White. Some red lipstick added to the effect; she’d often capitalized on that when she needed a costume.

But maybe he didn’t find Snow White all that appealing. He didn’t seem too impressed.

“Nothing. Why?”

“You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You absolutely are,” he said. “Did I say something to embarrass you?”

She stopped trying to act as if discovering him in her bed was no big deal. “This whole situation embarrasses me,” she admitted. “I’ve never taken anyone home from a bar before and, unlike you, I won’t be leaving this town any time soon. That means I’ll have to face all the people who witnessed my licentious behavior.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Licentious?”

“Promiscuous, debauched. Whatever you want to call it. Waking up with a total stranger isn’t something that’s normal for me.”

He studied her, his gaze...thoughtful. “Last night you told me it was your birthday.”

“And?”

“Quit being so hard on yourself. From what I could gather, it was a rough one. And with the holidays coming up, and knowing you’re going to spend another year alone, you said it wasn’t likely to get any easier.”

Damn. She’d shared that? Hadn’t she revealed enough when she took off her clothes? “My birthday was fine. Spending another Christmas as a single woman is fine. Everything’s fine.” How could she complain when she’d always had it so good?

She could hear the scrape of his beard growth as he ran a hand over his chin. “What’s that saying about protesting too much?”

“I’m not protesting.”

“If you say so.”

Holding the sheet in place, she slid a few more inches away from him, but she couldn’t go far. She was about to fall out of bed. He wasn’t bulky, but he had wide shoulders and he didn’t seem to be concerned about giving her space. “If you know it was my birthday, you remember more than getting dropped off here,” she said.

“It’s coming back to me.”

Bits and pieces were coming back to her, too. How she’d noticed him watching her from where he sat alone at the bar. How she’d danced for him in such a seductive manner, reveling in the appreciation she kindled in his eyes. How he’d eventually gotten up and walked over to join her. How he’d danced with her, so cautiously and respectfully even though the sparks between them felt like they were about to burn the place down.

How she’d slipped through the crush of bodies on the dance floor to catch her breath outside and he’d followed....

There were still things she couldn’t recall, however, and his name was one of them. Had he ever told her what it was?

“Who are you?” she asked.

Without even a stretch or a concluding peck on the cheek, he climbed out of bed and started to dress.

At least she wouldn’t have to ask him to leave, she told herself. It looked as if he planned on walking into the sunset—or sunrise since it was early—as soon as possible. But this wasn’t New York or Los Angeles. He couldn’t just hail a taxi. She lived in the Sierra Nevada foothills of Northern California in one of the many mining towns along Highway 49 that had sprung up when gold was discovered a century and a half ago. It was a community that hadn’t changed as much as one might expect in such a modern, technologically advanced world. And if the lack of urban conveniences in Whiskey Creek wasn’t enough of an obstacle, she lived several miles outside town. There was very little traffic out here and no buses or other public transit.

He’d have a long hike if he intended to make his way back to Whiskey Creek without catching a ride from her.

Or maybe he planned to call someone. He had a cell phone and, for the most part, there was service.

“You won’t answer?” she asked.

“What difference does my name make?” he finally responded.

That set off alarm bells, since one of the other things she couldn’t recall was whether they’d used any birth control. He wasn’t one of those weirdoes who went around purposely infecting people with HIV, was he?

“You don’t want me to know who you are?”

Having donned his boxers, he jammed one leg and then the other into a pair of well-worn jeans. “I don’t see any purpose in exchanging personal information.”

So he’d already decided he wasn’t going to see her again. She hadn’t been entirely sure she wanted to see him. He hadn’t been that friendly so far, but she felt a measure of disappointment all the same. She had enjoyed what she could remember of last night—and what she remembered more than anything else was the way he kissed. It was so good, so completely bone-melting, that she grew warm just thinking about it. A man who really knew how to kiss a woman seemed like a nice place to start a love affair.

“What if I need to reach you?” she asked. To tell him he’d given her herpes, for instance.

He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, but last night...I shouldn’t have let it go the way it did. I knew better and...I wasn’t going to, but...God, you can dance.”

“So you do have one nice thing to say....”

“I told you not to take what we were doing seriously, but...I’m sure that’s all forgotten. So I’ll say it again. I’m not interested in a relationship.”

He couldn’t even take her to dinner before calling it quits?

Obviously her luck with men wasn’t improving—even when she opened herself up to a random encounter.

“Why?” she asked. “Are you married?” At this point, his rejection was so unequivocal she almost hoped he was. Then she wouldn’t have to credit it to some failing on her part.

“No.” He didn’t even look over when he responded.

“You have a girlfriend, then?” Jared. She was almost certain he’d said his name was Jared....

“No. I might be a lot of things, but I’ve never been a cheater.”

Great. She must’ve acted like a desperate idiot last night. Or maybe she wasn’t nearly as good at kissing—or other activities—as she was at dancing.

“Was it something I did?” Normally, she wouldn’t have asked. It was difficult to lower her pride. But if he was going to brush her off anyway, what could it hurt to learn the reason? Maybe that information would help her know why she couldn’t seem to find Mr. Right.

“No.”

That was it? That was all the feedback he was willing to give her? “You’re far too generous. Thanks for the reassurance.”

He glanced up at her sarcasm. “At least I meant what I said. It’s not you. It has nothing to do with you.”

But he still wasn’t interested. Why? “Just tell me we used some protection, Jared,” she said. “Then you can take off.”

“Of course we used protection.” He scowled, but she couldn’t tell if that was in reaction to her remembering his name or the nature of her question. “I wouldn’t leave either of us vulnerable to what could happen without it.”

She clutched the sheet tighter. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Condom wrapper’s on the floor. I’ll leave it for you to throw away, if that makes you feel any more secure. And just to reassure you, I’m clean.”

Seeing the wrapper he’d mentioned peeking out from under her nightstand, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Not that you seem worried but...just in case, so am I.”

“What?” He was searching for the rest of his clothes.

“Clean. Well, to be totally honest I’ve never been tested. I wouldn’t even know where to go to get tested. But I’ve only been with three other guys, and one of them was clear back in high school, when we were both virgins.”

He got down to peer under the bed and came up with a missing sock. “Going by what you told me last night, they were all from around here.”

“What difference does that make?”

“This place doesn’t strike me as a hotbed for venereal disease.”

She watched as he sat down and pulled on his hiking-style boots. He stood without lacing them. “Don’t tell me I gave you my whole sexual history,” she said.

“Why? You don’t have much of one. It didn’t take long.”

“Sounds as if I was a bit of a blabbermouth.” That wasn’t appealing. She probably wasn’t experienced enough for him.

“You were trying to explain why you were so hungry for a man.”

There was no judgment or accusation in his tone. It sounded as though he was merely trying to jog her memory. But she didn’t want to be perceived as sexually aggressive. Most people didn’t consider that a positive trait, especially when it was associated with a woman. “I’m sorry if I was too...uninhibited or—or overeager.”

“You were honest about your needs, which is why I thought I could fulfill them. Our exchange was simple. Straightforward. Nothing wrong with that.”

“I’m glad you’re satisfied.”

He reached for his shirt. “You’re not?”

She knew he was referring to the many orgasms he’d given her and changed the subject. “Why are you here? In Whiskey Creek, I mean. What brought you to this area?”

“I wanted a change of pace. Heard it was pretty up this way.”

“So it’s not because of your job.”

“I’m taking some time off.”

She noticed another scar, this one on his back. “Were you in a car accident or something?”

He didn’t seem surprised by the question. She could only assume he heard it every time he bared his upper body. “No.”

“What happened?”

“Shark attack.”

What she saw didn’t look like a shark bite. It looked like he’d been cut by a knife, or maybe he’d been caught in barbed wire. “Really?”

“No.”

For whatever reason, he didn’t want her to know anything about him. “Are you like this with all women—or is it just me?”

He didn’t answer. After shrugging into his shirt, he buttoned it and then paused at the foot of the bed. “Last night was—” he seemed to be putting some effort into choosing the right words “—a welcome diversion. Thank you.”

“And thank you for making me feel like a worthless piece of trash you tossed aside.” Those words rushed out of her mouth before she could stop them. She was offended that he wouldn’t even tell her his name, that she’d had to remember it without any help from him, but she could only blame herself for this situation. She was the one who’d extended the invitation. Actually, she’d done more than that. She’d enticed him. She’d never acted so wanton in her life.

She thought he’d walk out on her. But he didn’t. As he stood there, staring at her, a muscle moved in his cheek. “Do you ever have any thoughts that don’t come out of your mouth?”

She raised her chin to let him know she didn’t care if he approved of her or not. The fact that last night really hadn’t meant anything to him, not even enough that he’d want to have a cup of coffee together, stung and she’d reacted. She wasn’t going to beat herself up over it. “Not often. Why, does my frank approach wound your sensitive nature?”

“Some things are better left unsaid.”

The disappointment and anger he inspired bubbled to the surface again. “If I was as good at feeling nothing as you seem to be, I wouldn’t have any trouble divorcing my mouth from my heart. Maybe not caring is something you get better at with practice.”

“This isn’t my fault,” he said. “You needed an escape last night as badly as I did.”

“Says you.”

As his gaze moved over her, she got the impression he was speculating on whether she needed another escape now. There was a flutter in her stomach, her breath caught in her throat and it seemed as though time stood still. As though...she wasn’t sure what. She didn’t like him, resented how he’d treated her this morning, and yet...the sizzling attraction that had brought them together in the first place hadn’t disappeared. That was suddenly obvious.

The intensity on his face made her think he might return to the bed. But then he reined himself in, hard, and that hungry expression was hidden by a stoic mask. “Just because I don’t say everything you want me to doesn’t mean I feel nothing.”

It took a moment for her to collect herself, but as he started down the hall, she called out, “It’s a long walk to town. And it’s December. Are you sure you don’t want me to give you a ride?”

“No, I’ll make my own way back,” he replied.


2 (#ulink_4385abc3-48e8-5d48-b0e6-42f2c76ab3b9)

That was a mistake. Rex McCready knew better than to let himself get involved with a woman like the one he’d just slept with. But last night he’d been craving more than a perfunctory encounter. He’d been hoping to assuage the aching loneliness that plagued him, to finally connect on an emotionally honest and intimate level.

It’d been so long since he’d felt close to anyone. To make matters worse, he’d been traveling from town to town for over a week, which meant he’d spent Thanksgiving in a hotel room, alone. The holidays were always rough, regardless of where he happened to be.

But if he wasn’t careful, he’d drag another innocent party into the mess he’d created. And he couldn’t do that. Four years ago, he’d almost lost the only woman he’d ever loved to the men who were looking for him. Allowing himself to care about someone else merely threw him back into the same situation, a situation that left him vulnerable—and made anyone he cared about vulnerable, too.

Last night he’d acted selfishly and he’d gotten drunk to give himself the excuse. But he had a sneaking suspicion that even without the whiskey, it would’ve been impossible to resist the beautiful woman who’d singled him out at the bar.

Eve. That was her name. He’d heard the waitress who drove them back to her place call her that, and he’d found it as ironic then as he did now. She’d tempted him and he’d fallen, although she wasn’t the kind of woman he should be with. She was far too innocent, too trusting, too conservative in her ideals. She hung on to the people in her life; he could tell that from the little she’d told him.

He glanced back at her bungalow with a regret he didn’t want to feel. If he could’ve stayed a bit longer, made love to her when they were both sober—that would’ve done a lot more to fill the gaping hole inside him. But he was only driving himself crazy by dwelling on what he couldn’t have. He didn’t want to be responsible for bringing danger into anyone’s life—and if he’d learned anything since being released from prison, it was that associating with him could be dangerous.

At least the hours they’d been together had given him a much-needed escape, even if it was far too brief.

A truck came rumbling up from behind. He stuck out his thumb, hoping to catch a ride, but the driver squinted at him through the dirty windshield as if he couldn’t imagine any normal person hitchhiking these back roads in the chilly dawn, and drove on.

So much for people in the country being more trusting than those in the city, Rex thought. In his travels, he’d discovered that it was often the opposite. But he wasn’t worried about having to make the long trek to town on foot. He could travel five miles in an hour. According to his smartphone, Whiskey Creek was 4.1 miles due north. Besides, he enjoyed being in motion. There was a cathartic quality about covering the ground with a quick, purposeful stride. It appeased the restless wanderer inside him who never seemed to be content, never seemed to be comfortable coming to a complete stop. Even when he remained in one place, he found himself jiggling his knee to siphon off excess energy.

But if he didn’t make good time, he’d leave his assistant hanging around the park where he was supposed to meet her, and he didn’t want her to panic, thinking something had happened to him. He’d never had to go into hiding like this before, not since she’d come to work for him, so she was already a little freaked out.

He phoned her at home, hoping he could catch her before she left.

“Marilyn?”

“How’s the prospecting?”

A lot of people came to this area to look for gold in the rivers and streams of the Sierra Nevada foothills. Some did quite well. Although that was ostensibly his reason for choosing this particular spot for his “vacation,” it was too cold in December and he didn’t really know what he was doing. “I tried it once.” And nearly froze his nuts off. “Found nothing. About this morning—”

“I’m glad you called,” she broke in. “I’m running late. My husband left the interior light on in my car, and it wouldn’t start, even after a jump. He’s putting in a new battery.”

She sounded frustrated. She liked coming to work early so she could head home at three-thirty. But the fact that she was behind schedule suited him fine. “No worries, since I can’t make our original meeting time, either.”

“Why not? Is everything okay?”

She knew he wouldn’t have stepped away from the helm of his company, especially in such a hurry, unless he had no choice. She just didn’t know the nature of the threat he faced. Working in personal security for several years, he’d come up against some pretty bad dudes, any one of whom could want to even the score. Marilyn probably assumed he was dealing with a situation like that. But this particular problem was much bigger than anything he’d ever encountered with a client and it stemmed from before he’d started All About Security, Inc. This went all the way back to a time when he’d been a different sort of man.

“It’s fine—for the moment.” He grimaced at the ribbon of road winding through the hills in front of him and blew on his hands to warm them. There was no snow on the ground, but there was plenty of frost. “So when will you get here?”

“That’ll depend on whether or not a new battery does the trick.”

“Fine. Text me when you leave.” Since she was coming from the Bay Area, where his office was located, he’d have two hours from that point.

“I will.”

“Perfect.”

“Are we still meeting in the little park you told me about?” she asked before he could end the call.

“Yes. Right next to the giant gold-panning statue.” He preferred public places in case she’d been followed. That was for her safety and his; he didn’t like the idea of someone kicking in the door to his room and shooting him before he could draw his own weapon. Although it wasn’t legal for an ex-con to own a firearm in California, let alone carry concealed, he wasn’t nearly as afraid of the cops as he was of the other side. He disregarded that no-firearms stipulation whenever he felt the situation warranted it. He’d been fighting to preserve his own life so long that he simply did what he had to do.

But, as vulnerable as it made him feel, he didn’t have his gun with him now. He’d certainly known not to take it into a bar. These days a lot of places screened patrons before letting them in and, last night, he’d needed a break badly enough to go unarmed.

“I’m sure I won’t miss it,” she said. “I’ll see you soon.”

He was just putting his phone away when he heard the approach of another vehicle. This one slowed before he could stick out his thumb, and the driver, an old man, leaned across the seat and lowered the window.

“Hey, you need a ride?”

“I do.” Flashing the guy a grateful smile, Rex climbed in.

* * *

“Why didn’t you come to coffee this morning?”

Eve turned to see Cheyenne, her very pregnant best friend, waddle into the small office at the back of the B and B and bend down to put her purse under the desk. Although Cheyenne had cut back on her hours, first when she got married and then when her sister returned to town so she could help out by babysitting her toddler nephew, she still came in four days a week. Her schedule would change again, however, once she had the baby. As much as Eve hated the thought, she would probably have to find a replacement, at least temporarily. She was already working all the hours she could to compensate.

“I woke up late.” She feigned more interest than she really had in the bill-paying process she’d started as soon as she arrived. Ever since her competitor, A Room with a View, opened up down the street, it had been a struggle to remain solvent. But she’d fought long and hard and wasn’t about to give up any time soon. Not only would this B and B one day be her inheritance, it felt like a member of the family. And since her siblings, two brothers, were nearly fifteen years older and had lived in Texas since they both joined the air force, she didn’t feel she had any family members to spare.

“It wasn’t the same without you,” Cheyenne commented.

“Who came?”

“Dylan, of course.”

Chey’s husband had joined them ever since the two started dating.

“Then there were Ted and Sophia,” Chey went on, glossing over those two names as she always did since Eve had dated Ted last Christmas. “Brandon and Olivia, Callie and Levi, Noah and Addy.”

All couples. In the past few years, the dynamic of the whole group had changed.

“Oh, and Presley stopped by,” Cheyenne added. “She was passing out invites to her wedding. I have yours in my purse.”

Eve swiveled her chair around to accept it. Another wedding. Presley wasn’t a member of their original clique. She was Cheyenne’s older sister by two years. But that didn’t matter. Eve felt she’d soon be the only single person in Whiskey Creek, other than their friends Kyle and Riley. Thank God neither of them had tied the knot. Actually, Kyle had been married briefly to Noelle, the waitress who’d given her and her mystery lover a ride home last night. And Riley had once been engaged.

Eve hadn’t even gotten that close to the altar.

“Where were they?” she asked, setting Presley’s wedding invitation aside. “They’re almost as regular as I am.”

“I don’t know, but we thought it was strange that all three of you didn’t show up.”

All three of you singles. Crazy how quickly they’d become the minority....

“I don’t miss often.” Eve was one of the driving forces behind their weekly coffee date. She looked forward to catching up with the people she’d hung out with since forever—although, more and more, visiting with them made her feel she was being left behind. These days, instead of who was seeing whom and what they had planned for next weekend, the conversation revolved around babies and purchasing houses and the ups and downs of marriage.

Eve had nothing to contribute to that.

Still, she would’ve attended but she could all too easily imagine everyone wishing her a happy birthday and asking what she did last night, and she didn’t want to be reminded of it. This evening the whole gang was taking her to San Francisco for dinner, in a limo no less. She preferred to start the celebration fresh, as if she’d never gone to Sexy Sadie’s.

“I’ll see everyone later. I’m sorry I missed out, but...I was feeling pressure to get caught up around here.”

Cheyenne frowned at her. “Is there a problem?”

Was she acting unusual? “No, just the day-to-day stuff,” she said. “You know how tough it is to survive the off-season.”

“But I thought you were feeling encouraged. We’ve been full almost every weekend, and we were full last night, on a Thursday. That’s better than a year ago. Offering afternoon tea has definitely improved our occupancy rate.”

The tea had been Eve’s idea. Besides the boost it gave her business, she enjoyed going to secondhand shops looking for vintage items she could use in unexpected ways. Most recently she’d been collecting old plates and fastening them to various candleholders and other bases to make elegant stacking trays or elevated dishes.

“With luck, word will spread and our tea will really bring in some business when spring hits,” she said. As Cheyenne had mentioned, they’d already noticed a spike. “But we have to get by until then.”

Fortunately, A Room with a View was no longer undercutting her prices. For months after it first opened, the owners—a European couple relatively new to the area—had tried to drive her out of business. They’d finally given up, but she wasn’t under the illusion that they’d backed off out of kindness or compassion. They must not have had deep enough pockets to continue.

Thank God. She couldn’t have hung on much longer. As it was, only the nineteenth-century mystery of Little Mary’s murder, and the rumor that her ghost might be haunting the place, had saved the inn from foreclosure. Unsolved Mysteries had come out to film an episode, and the publicity from that had enabled Eve to continue to pay the mortgage.

“How’s Deb getting on with breakfast?” Cheyenne asked.

Hungover and sleep-deprived, Eve hid a yawn. “She was doing okay when I checked on her a few minutes ago.” Fortunately, their “new” cook had been with them for nearly six months, so she was well accustomed to the demands of the job.

Cheyenne’s chair creaked as she settled in. “I can’t remember—what’s on the menu?” She sniffed. “Whatever it is smells great.”

“Ricotta pancakes with lemon curd and fresh raspberries. A fruit and yogurt parfait with handmade granola. Two sausages and fresh-squeezed orange juice.”

“Oh, right.” Cheyenne gave an exasperated laugh at her forgetfulness. She was the one who’d planned this particular meal; she’d chosen the ricotta pancakes last week. “I take it the taste-test went well yesterday?”

“Those pancakes are delicious!”

“I can’t wait to try them.”

Eve glanced at her watch. “Most of our guests signed up for a nine-thirty breakfast. We should go to the kitchen in another twenty minutes or so to help Deb.” They had only seven rooms, but with such a small staff—three of them to cook, handle the food and clean during the day and two people who traded off as night manager and covered for Eve when she was gone—it could be tricky to get everyone served at once.

“Are most of them eating in the dining room?” Chey asked.

“All but 1 and 5.” Room 1 was the smallest. Located at the back of the inn, it overlooked the garden, arbor and hot tub. Room 5 was their wedding suite, or could be turned into one if they had a bride and groom.

“Maybe we should do a sign-up sheet with two slots for each half hour so that the most we’ll ever serve at one time is—”

The buzz of Cheyenne’s phone interrupted. When she looked down at it and fell silent, Eve twisted around to see why.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Kyle texted me.”

“Where was he this morning?”

“He says he had to give Noelle her spousal maintenance.”

Eve froze at the mention of Noelle. She didn’t want Kyle coming into contact with his ex-wife. Not so soon after last night. She was hoping that, with the passage of time, Noelle might forget what she’d witnessed—or forget to say anything about it. “His spousal maintenance isn’t due until the middle of the month. He’s told us that more than once.”

“She always tries to get it out of him early. That’s why we know when it’s due. We’ve heard him complain that he’s supposed to have until the fifteenth. Anyway, this time she told him the utility company was going to shut off her electricity.”

“He fell for that old trick?”

“Kyle’s a big softie. And he still feels guilty for getting involved with her in the first place.” She took a moment to text him back.

Hoping Cheyenne and Kyle’s conversation would end there, Eve entered a few more checks in her electronic register, but heard Cheyenne say her name a few seconds later.

“Eve?”

She curved her fingernails into her palms. “Yes?”

“Noelle’s been telling Kyle some crazy stuff.”

A knot formed in Eve’s stomach, but she had to answer. “Like what?”

Eve could hear the change in Cheyenne’s voice, even though she wasn’t facing in that direction. “You didn’t go out last night, did you?”

“For a while,” she hedged, and then did what she could to take control of the conversation. “But if Kyle wants to know what I did for my birthday, why isn’t he texting me?”

“He says he tried and got no response. It has him worried.”

After surveying her desk, she realized she must’ve left her phone in her car.

“He wanted to know if you were at coffee this morning. Wants to make sure you’re okay.”

“You can tell him I’m fine.” And to butt out. But she knew that wasn’t going to happen when Cheyenne gave a cry of surprise.

“Noelle is claiming you took some guy home from Sexy Sadie’s!” With her extended abdomen, it was a struggle for Cheyenne to get to her feet. “Is that true?”

Damn Noelle! Eve had suspected she wouldn’t keep her mouth shut, not while she was privy to such a delicious secret. And now that she’d blabbed, everyone in town would hear about Eve’s mistake.

“Is it?” Cheyenne asked.

Letting her breath go in a sigh, Eve stopped pretending to work and turned. “I’m afraid I had a little too much to drink.”

“Who were you with?”

“Jared Somebody.”

“Somebody? You don’t know his last name?”

“We didn’t get that far,” Eve said with a shrug. “It was just a...a quick encounter. He left almost right away.”

“But not before...”

Eve was tempted to lie. But this was Chey. If she couldn’t tell her best friend when she screwed up, who could she tell? “No.”

“Wow, that’s so unlike you.” Eyes wide with shock, she sank back into her seat. “I don’t think you’ve ever done anything like that in your life.”

“I haven’t.”

“What made you do it last night?”

“That’s hard to explain.” She rubbed her temples.

“Give it a try.”

“You know how I feel about turning thirty-five.”

“I do. And I understand why. But lots of women are marrying later in life. And they’re having children, too.” She touched her belly. “Look at me.”

True. However, Chey’s situation was anything but typical. If not for the fact that Aaron, her brother-in-law, had donated sperm for an artificial insemination, which had happened in secret, she would be childless. Her husband didn’t know he wasn’t really the father. Eve wouldn’t know, either, if Cheyenne hadn’t broken down and told her during a brief scare when she began to spot at three months and feared she was about to have a miscarriage.

“I was determined not to spend my birthday alone, so—”

“I feel terrible,” Cheyenne broke in. “I should’ve been there for you.”

“You couldn’t. You have a husband and other responsibilities now.” Not that it made the loss of her best friend’s time and attention any easier. Eve was more alone than she’d ever been. With her parents traveling so much, and her friends busy with their own lives, all she had to devote herself to was the B and B. Since she’d dated Ted last year, and he’d broken up with her for Sophia, she’d been even lonelier.

“It wasn’t Dylan who pulled me away,” Cheyenne clarified. “His brothers were arguing with their father and stepmother, and we were trying to act as intermediaries.”

“Well, helping in that situation was more important than hanging out with me last night,” Eve said. “Trust me, what I did wasn’t your fault. It was mine. As I said, I was drinking. And this guy was...”

Worry creased Cheyenne’s forehead. “Pushy? He didn’t press you too hard or...or make you feel you had no choice....”

“Not at all,” she said. “The moment I noticed him, I wanted him—more than I’ve ever wanted anyone else. It had to be the booze. I’m not usually like that, not with a stranger. But everything—my mood, the alcohol, the fact that I was alone and the handsomest guy I’d ever seen was sitting at the bar... It all sort of undermined my good sense.”

Cheyenne bit her lip. “So you invited him over?”

“More or less. We wound up together. Let’s just say that.”

“I’m happy you met someone you were attracted to. But taking a stranger home... That’s so dangerous, Eve. He could’ve hurt you or...worse.”

Eve had swallowed two ibuprofen tablets to help her recover from her hangover. She’d been feeling better since then, but the tension of having to confess to something she’d much rather forget was bringing back the pain. “He didn’t do anything I didn’t want him to, so there’s nothing to worry about there. I made a mistake. It’s that simple. I was stupid and foolhardy, but it’s over now, and I can’t take it back.”

She returned to her computer, hoping the discussion was now at an end. But Cheyenne didn’t go back to work.

“So you’re okay?”

“As okay as I can be when I’m embarrassed and humiliated,” Eve replied. “I’m hoping my parents won’t hear about it once they’re home. They’d be just as embarrassed. And disappointed. They don’t need that at their age.”

“Did they get the RV fixed?”

“Not yet. They had to order one of the parts.”

“Lucky for you. Hopefully, this will blow over before they return.”

“From your lips to God’s ears.”

Cheyenne groaned as she stretched. Then, obviously attempting to be nonchalant about it, she asked, “Do you think you’ll be seeing this guy again?”

“No. He’s only in town temporarily.” She didn’t want to add that he’d also made clear he wasn’t interested, which was hitting her hard after Ted’s defection. Until the past few years, she’d been the one to call the shots with the men she dated. But maybe she’d been too picky for too long and deserved the reversal. Maybe karma was coming back to bite her. It certainly seemed that way, because there’d been Joe DeMarco, who’d dated her just once—by his choice—and Ted, who’d done more than date her, only to break it off right when she’d decided she was finally falling in love.

Counting this guy, she was zero for three.

“What brought him here?”

Eve felt herself flush. “We didn’t do much talking.”

“Apparently not.” Cheyenne seemed to be fighting a smile.

“Stop!” Eve scowled at her. “This isn’t funny. Let’s just...pretend it never happened.”

“We can do that. And I’m confident we can convince Kyle to keep his mouth shut. He knows what it’s like to make that kind of mistake. But Noelle? If you take someone home with you, don’t ever do it in front of her.”

Eve didn’t volunteer that Noelle was the one who’d given them a ride. “If I’d had any brain cells that were still functioning, we wouldn’t be having this conversation!”

Cheyenne came up behind her and began to massage her shoulders. “Everything will be okay. Try not to let it ruin your birthday.”

Turning thirty-five had already done that. But she had more to worry about than the memory of a birthday gone sour. Even if she could forget what she’d done, she couldn’t escape what had caused her to act that way in the first place. There was a void in her life and she was trying to fill it with something meaningful. Last night hadn’t helped, however. If anything, it’d made things worse because it had highlighted, once again, the companionship she was missing, as if watching her friends move on with their lives wasn’t difficult enough. “I never saw this coming.”

“Neither did I,” Cheyenne admitted. “But...maybe you needed to cut loose.”

“Thanks for looking on the bright side.” Eve took a moment to smile gratefully. Then she shoved last night into the back of her mind. They needed to get through the most challenging part of the day—and for any B and B that was pulling off a fabulous breakfast. “We’d better go help Deb.”

Cheyenne gave her a final squeeze and they headed to the kitchen, where Eve insisted on being the one to deliver the meal trays to the guests who’d requested breakfast in their rooms. She didn’t want Cheyenne climbing such a long flight of stairs if she didn’t have to.

Trying not to obsess about who else Noelle might be telling about her faux pas of last night, Eve hurried to Room 1 with a single tray for a Brent Taylor. B and Bs primarily hosted couples, but that wasn’t necessarily the case in Whiskey Creek. Because there were no regular motels, she rented to anyone who needed a room, and that sometimes included a husband or wife who’d been kicked out of the house or had stormed off for whatever reason, people who came to pan for gold, business travelers and others who were passing through for one reason or another.

With her mind on returning to the kitchen for the other two trays she had to deliver to the couple in Room 5, she donned a polite expression as soon as the door opened. But the words she was about to utter—“Good morning. I hope you enjoy your breakfast”—never passed her lips.

There, looking like he’d just stepped out of the shower, was the man who’d shared her bed last night.


3 (#ulink_131d9096-fb5f-5b4f-87bd-8b3e5ef1b2ca)

“How’d you find me?”

When she heard the accusation in his voice, Eve realized her mouth was hanging open and closed it. She was so used to being associated with Little Mary’s it took her aback that he thought she was the one out of place. “What?”

“I said, how did you find me? Did you follow me?”

Judging by the impatience on his face, he wasn’t happy about that idea. Perhaps he’d connected with other women who hadn’t understood the meaning of “I’m not interested.”

“Of course not! I would never force my attentions on you or any man.”

His gaze shifted to the tray she was carrying. “Then how come you’re here, bringing me breakfast?”

“I own this place! I serve a lot of people breakfast,” she said. “I had no idea you were one of my guests, Mr. Taylor. If you’ll remember, you told me your name was Jared.” She met most of the people who stayed at Little Mary’s. She bumped into them as they wandered around the property, enjoying the garden, walking to or from the private hot tub, sitting in the alcoves where they could watch the sunset or having breakfast or tea in the dining room. But the only place she’d ever seen Mr. Taylor was at the bar once she’d left work. She’d assumed he was at A Room with a View if he was in town. “When did you check in?”

“Last night around seven.”

That explained it. He’d come when Cecelia was on duty. “Meeting up again like this is...is merely an unfortunate coincidence,” she said. “But there’s a second B and B in Whiskey Creek, so you have another option. It’s called A Room with a View and it’s just down the street. You might want to move there.” She handed him his tray. “Come downstairs when you’re done and I’ll get you checked out.”

When his eyes widened, she could tell she’d managed to surprise him, but she didn’t care. She meant what she’d said. She wanted him gone. Losing his business would cost her a few bucks, but at least she’d be able to avoid him.

“Wait, are you kicking me out?” he called after her.

She’d started for the stairs, but she turned and lowered her voice so their exchange wouldn’t be heard by any guests who might be in nearby rooms. Staying at Little Mary’s was all about peace and beauty and tranquility. For most people, anyway. The rumor that the place was haunted brought others. But she sold an experience, and she was determined to make that experience one her clientele could rely on.

“I wouldn’t state it quite that strongly,” she whispered, tossing a worried glance at the closest door. Hopefully, the couple staying in Room 3 was at breakfast. That was where they should be, since they’d signed up for the nine-thirty sitting. “I’m just suggesting you find other accommodations.”

“Because...”

“I wouldn’t want to ruin your stay by fawning over you the way you obviously assume I will.” She manufactured an exaggerated wink. “This is your chance to escape another man-hungry woman.”

He raised his eyebrows, but she didn’t stick around to witness any more of his reaction. She wanted to get away as quickly as possible. She had things to do. And the faster he ate and packed, the faster she could put last night behind her and go on with life as usual. She didn’t need a love interest. She’d find other worthwhile things to fill her life. Things like—

“Eve...”

He was standing at the top of the stairs when she turned back.

“I’ll be waiting whenever you’re ready,” she responded. Then she was too far away for him to say more.

But when he appeared a half hour later, he wasn’t carrying any luggage—not even a duffel bag. And he didn’t approach her to check out. He cut through the dining room, nodding to Deb when she wished him a good morning and strode out the front door.

What the heck?

Eve started after him. She’d been serious when she suggested he go elsewhere. But he was walking so fast, she’d have to run to catch up with him—and she wasn’t prepared to go that far. The last thing she wanted was to cause a scene.

Maybe he had plans. Maybe he’d move later.

Cheyenne came up beside her as she hesitated at the front desk, wondering whether he would or wouldn’t check out—and what she could do to make her life feel more complete.

“I’m going to start cleaning the downstairs rooms,” she said. “Deb’s tackling the upstairs.”

“Sounds good.”

“Did you meet the people in Room 1? Do you think we’ll be able to get in there soon to make the bed and straighten up?”

She could’ve explained to Cheyenne that the bed hadn’t been slept in, that there was only one occupant and it was the stranger she’d taken home last night. But she didn’t. Since she preferred to let it all fade away, she figured she might as well let that process begin now.

“Eve? Did you hear me?” Cheyenne asked.

She’d been too preoccupied to answer. “Room 1 is empty,” she said.

“Okay. I’ll have Deb do that room while she’s up there.”

“That’d be great,” Eve mumbled. But then she called Cheyenne back. “Never mind. I’ll do it myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it.” If Mr. Taylor wasn’t going to leave, as she’d requested, she’d start her new lease on life by satisfying what she could of her curiosity.

* * *

“You’re going to go crazy here.”

Rex looked up from the picnic table where he was signing the payroll checks for All About Security, Inc. “Why?”

His middle-aged assistant—a wife and mother of three who reminded him of Melissa McCarthy with her big red hair and the pound of hairspray that shellacked it—smirked as she gazed around. She’d worked for him since he first opened his doors three years ago and always took good care of him. But he’d never appreciated her more than he did now that he’d been flushed out of his comfort zone. Although she had an opinion about everything and generally felt free to voice it, she could also use discretion when necessary. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “So Christmassy, with all the lights on the old-fashioned shops and stuff. But you like the city, and you normally work 24/7. If this hiding-out thing goes on much longer, you won’t know what to do with yourself.”

He gave her a sardonic smile. “Hiding out? Come on. This is my dream vacation. Loads of people would love to get away and enjoy nature as they pan for gold.”

“Dream vacation, my ass,” she muttered.

Her choice of words shocked him a little when she swore, but he found her language kind of funny, too, coming from someone who looked like a 1950s housewife with her floral button-up shirts and ankle pants.

“For you, this is hell,” she added with even more conviction. “You’ve been traveling from one town to the next for more than a week. And it’s been too cold to do much outside.”

“At least I’m still in one piece.” So far, he’d whiled away the hours by working on his laptop. After posting a help-wanted ad on Craigslist, he’d been poring through résumés—pondering each one much longer than usual. He needed to fill the open slot Eric James left when he got stabbed in the shoulder and his wife insisted he find safer work. But it was difficult to do any meaningful evaluation when he couldn’t meet the applicants face-to-face. He had to refer the candidates who had promise to Marilyn. She interviewed them, then called him to report.

He’d also been dealing with his accountant, at long last getting caught up on his books, something he rarely took the time to do when living his normal life. He preferred to be on the phone or answering email queries, booking jobs for himself and the six bodyguards he employed. Business had never been better, which was part of the reason he was dying to get back to it. There were times he felt so much like a regular person, like a regular businessman, he could almost forget the past.

Almost but not quite. There were some incidents he could never forget and people who wouldn’t let him forget others.

“You could take up mountain biking,” she suggested. “My two sons love it.”

“That’s outdoors, too.”

“But you don’t do it standing in a river. And if you ride hard enough, you stay warm. They bike year-round. We live in California, after all.”

He moved the check he’d just signed to the bottom of the stack. “I won’t be vacationing long enough to take up a new sport.”

She looked across the park toward the maple and dogwood trees that lined one side. Those trees blocked the sight of the Victorian where he was staying, but Marilyn had no idea. He wasn’t telling anyone where he slept at night—for their safety as well as his.

Not that he’d actually spent the night at Little Mary’s... And he wouldn’t. Eve had asked him to leave.

“How do you know?” Marilyn asked.

Finished with the payroll, he tapped the edges of the checks on the table to even the stack. “What do you mean?”

“How do you know how long you’ll be here? You weren’t planning to be gone in the first place, just up and left in the middle of the night. Yet we’re both here in this park. Something must be wrong. Are you sure you’ll be able to fix it?”

Maybe not. He’d been fighting the same battle for years; he’d thought things had finally settled down—until he heard otherwise from an old friend. In a different time, a different place, he would’ve closed down his business, sold his house and moved. Anything less was gambling with his life.

But he wasn’t about to sacrifice everything he’d created now that he’d hit his stride. At thirty-six, he was getting too old to be constantly starting over. Not only that, but he was afraid of what another uprooting would do to him. Afraid he’d no longer have the determination or the energy to keep plowing forward.

No way could he allow the gang he’d joined in prison to cost him the ground he’d already gained. He just had to lie low for a while, make sure The Crew never found him. With luck, he’d stay one step ahead, and they’d never get the revenge they were after.

“I’m hoping for the best,” he said.

She sent him a “give me a break” look, what he guessed her adult sons saw when they tried to put one over on her. “I wish that assured me,” she said, but then concern pushed aside the skepticism. “I know you won’t tell me what’s going on, but I’m getting the impression you’re really in a mess this time.”

He’d been in a mess since long before he knew her. It’d started when he’d been a lost and confused teenager and then spiraled out of control. But the men who wanted him dead also had a business to run—several businesses. Prostitution. Gun and drug smuggling. Money laundering. Theft. Whatever would make them a buck. Although killing him would give the banger who did it ultimate bragging rights, chasing him around didn’t net The Crew any money. If he continued to elude them, they’d eventually quit, wouldn’t they?

It was possible. But the opposite was more likely. The longer he lived, the more of a legend he became, and that only increased their desire to put him in a body bag. As far as they were concerned, he and his best friend, Virgil Skinner, had done the unpardonable when they defected and then assisted the authorities—and that demanded retribution. The member who accomplished it would be a hero, at least in their small, sordid world.

“Depends,” he said. “Has anyone come by the office, asking for me? Any strange calls?”

“There are always strange calls,” she said. “You own a personal security firm. Some of our clients are delusional as well as paranoid.”

“So nothing out of the ordinary.”

She studied him for several seconds. “It would help if I understood what you were dealing with. Maybe then I could figure out what to look for.”

“You know I can’t tell you. Some people are after me. That’s all.”

“There’ve been no red flags on my end.”

He took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds and let it go. He’d stay away from his usual haunts for another week, see if there was any sign of his former “brothers.” If all remained quiet, he’d head home. Mona Livingston, the friend who’d warned him that several members of The Crew claimed to have new information on his whereabouts, was still using drugs, so he wasn’t sure her information was all that reliable. She could’ve imagined what she’d heard. Or maybe it was nothing but a bunch of street soldiers trying to impress everyone else by vowing they were going to bring him down. There was always that chance, since putting a bullet in him or Virgil, who now lived on the east coast with his wife and kids, would make them the envy of all they admired.

“So how’d it go with Frick?” he asked.

“That’s Jason, right? For the job? Physically, he’s perfect. He’s an absolute Goliath! But mentally?” She made a clicking sound with her tongue. “He seems a little trigger-happy to me. I’d worry about him shooting someone without a legitimate reason.”

Rex had sensed that same reckless element when they’d chatted briefly on the phone, but he’d wanted to give the guy the benefit of the doubt. It wasn’t easy to come by someone who was six-six and built like a Mack truck. “What about the others? Anyone else a good fit?”

“Peter Viselli seems like he has the right temperament.”

He grimaced. “Peter’s what...five-eleven?”

“Yes, but that’s just a couple of inches shorter than you. You also weigh less than every other man in our company—and yet no one’s better at security than you are.”

Size wasn’t a man’s only weapon. Rex found speed, agility, experience and intelligence to be more important. But appearance counted, too. Size gave All About Security, Inc., the intimidation factor, and enough of an intimidation factor could head off problems before they started. Being surrounded by a couple of muscle-bound giants also helped foster client confidence.

Still...

“I don’t want any loose cannons on my team.” Besides the moral implications of having someone use a firearm without sufficient provocation, there were liability issues. Rex preferred to avoid both. “Set up a second interview with Peter for when I get back next week—say, Friday?”

“You think you might be back that soon?”

“Yes. I’ll call you if anything changes.”

Lips pursed, she slipped the checks he’d signed into a file and put them in her oversize bag. “We definitely need you. You’re what makes us successful.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

“The question is...will you be safe?”

He nodded to placate her, but he hadn’t been safe in years.

* * *

Brent Taylor didn’t have much luggage. A leather satchel lay open on the bed. From what Eve could tell without digging through it, he’d packed jeans, T-shirts and at least one sweatshirt.

The bed was made, as she’d known it would be. The shower was damp. She also found wet towels in the bathroom, where she could smell his deodorant and the shampoo she provided for her guests.

Now that she was here, she felt silly taking careful note of such mundane things—the same things she saw when she cleaned other clients’ rooms. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to learn or why any of it would matter. If he hadn’t been so secretive and standoffish, she probably wouldn’t have bothered.

There was nothing that revealed a great deal about him, but a few clues gave her more information than she’d had. The type of pan used for prospecting sat on his nightstand. That told her what he was likely doing in Gold Country. On the small desk by the window overlooking the backyard was a laptop, and on the Little Mary’s writing pad by the phone, he’d jotted down some names and numbers.

He wrote like a typical guy, she decided. He printed, but it wasn’t particularly legible. The name Jason Frick topped the short list. His area code suggested he was from the Bay Area, which was just a couple of hours away. She recognized it because so many of her patrons came from there.

Was Frick a friend of Mr. Taylor’s, or a business associate? The other names were male, too, also from the Bay Area. Peter Viselli and Dom Chandler—although Dom’s name was crossed out.

Eve “accidentally” ran her finger over the mouse section of the laptop while dusting, hoping his screensaver would dissolve into whatever he’d been working on, but it didn’t. The demand for a password popped up instead.

She didn’t protect her own computers with a password, even the one she worked on here at the B and B. But there was hardly any crime in Whiskey Creek, and she had nothing to hide.

So who was this Mr. Taylor?

Obviously someone who lived in the city.

Knowing she didn’t have long before Cheyenne or Deb came to find her—or Brent Taylor returned—she replaced his towels and minicontainers of soap, shampoo and conditioner and threw away the ones he’d used. Then she ran a vacuum over the carpet.

When she was finished, she could hear Deb speaking to some guests in the hall. The usual morning sounds made her feel a bit embarrassed for poking around Mr. Taylor’s room. Had she crossed the line? Was she acting like a stalker?

She really needed to get a life, she told herself, and, for the first time ever, considered hiring someone to run the inn for a few months so she could try something else before settling down for good and letting her life harden like cement.

Maybe last night was a sign that she needed to broaden her horizons, embrace change, try new things.

Maybe if she didn’t, she’d regret it later. Cheyenne would be having her baby soon. It wasn’t as if they’d get to work together after that, anyway. Or at least not for a while—

“Hey.”

Eve jumped and turned to see the very person she’d been thinking about standing at the door. “What are you doing up here?” she asked. “You’re not supposed to be climbing the stairs.”

“Who said? The exercise is good for me, as long as I don’t fall.”

“Falling’s what I’m worried about.” After trying for two years to get this baby, and resorting to what she’d resorted to, Cheyenne would be devastated if she lost it.

“I’m being careful. I just wanted to let you know...” She winced as if what she had to say wouldn’t be welcome news.

“What?” Eve prompted.

“Your parents are back.”

Eve’s hand flew to her mouth and she spoke through her fingers. “No!”

“Yes. They’re waiting downstairs in the small parlor. They feel terrible that they didn’t make it in time for your birthday, so they had the part for the RV flown in, which cost them a lot more, and now they’re anxious to give you their present.”

Her parents were too good. They had to be the best, most supportive people in the world, which was partly why Eve felt so embarrassed about her recent behavior.

“You don’t think they’ll hear about last night....”

“No! Of course not! Who’d tell them?” Cheyenne plastered a reassuring smile on her face, but Eve could see right through it.

“You do think they’ll hear.”

She let her smile wilt. “I’m afraid they might. We are talking about Noelle. When Kyle dropped by to give her his spousal maintenance, she had that other waitress over—Casey? He said they were talking and laughing about...the situation.”

Casey hadn’t even been working on Thursday night.

Eve closed her eyes as she pinched the bridge of her nose. She had to get out of this town. She felt trapped, stifled. As much as she loved Little Mary’s and Whiskey Creek and all the people she’d grown up with, she needed something new. But it seemed odd that this realization had burst upon her so suddenly. Did other people question where they were in life at only thirty-five? Was she having a midlife crisis before she ever hit midlife?

Maybe she should take whatever money she’d saved and travel across Europe....

“I’ll finish up,” Cheyenne said. “What’s left?”

“Nothing.” As Eve wound up the vacuum cord, she thought once more about telling Cheyenne that Brent Taylor was the man she’d slept with, but changed her mind. She didn’t want Cheyenne to find out that he’d lied to her about his name. And even if he didn’t check out today, he wouldn’t be in Whiskey Creek for long.

“Want me to go down with you?” Cheyenne asked. “Would that help you face them?”

“No. I’ve got to put the vacuum away first—and I’m not going to let you carry it down those stairs so don’t even offer. Just tell them I’m coming.”

Cheyenne gave her a quick hug. “You’re in your thirties. If they do hear about last night, they probably won’t say anything.”

Of course they wouldn’t. They weren’t intrusive. It was what they’d think that troubled Eve.

Again, she felt a desperate need for more space, a change of scenery, a chance to figure out if the person she’d become was the person she wanted to be. Maybe she’d been treading water, hoping for the kind of love some of her friends had found, but it didn’t look as though that was going to happen for her. At least not here... Maybe it took her thirty-fifth birthday to make her realize she had to go in a different direction.

She listened to Cheyenne’s footsteps recede. Then she lifted up the vacuum. But before she could collect her cleaning bucket, she noticed the luggage tag on Brent Taylor’s suitcase and set the vacuum down.

There was his personal information. She should make a note of it in case there was some reason he didn’t want to give it out. Say...if the FBI happened to be looking for him. If she was going to be stupid enough to sleep with a stranger, a possible fugitive from the law, she should do what she could to point the police in the right direction if they came knocking at her door.

But the tag didn’t say the suitcase belonged to a Brent Taylor, or even a Jared. Taylor Jackson was written in the same handwriting as the names on the pad. There was no address. Just a number, which she keyed into the notes section of her phone.

Had he borrowed someone else’s luggage?

It was possible. But the fact that he’d used two names already gave her the feeling it was more significant than that.

What was going on with this guy? Last night he’d been the perfect lover. Attentive and responsive. The more she remembered about being with him, the more convinced she became that he’d provided the best sex she’d ever had. He’d seemed to enjoy himself, too. Yet this morning, after everything they’d done, he would scarcely give her the time of day, had acted particularly odd when she asked for his full name and, even though he’d said he was Jared, he’d checked in as Brent Taylor and his bag indicated it belonged to a Taylor Jackson.

Knowing she had to go and greet her parents, she grabbed her cleaning stuff and hurried out, closing the door behind her. But as she descended the stairs, she figured she was probably lucky that Jared or Brent or Taylor—whoever he was—didn’t want anything more to do with her.


4 (#ulink_bf210bb1-3323-5684-9ec0-b24a99992ead)

“Honey, we’re so sorry we missed your birthday. I can’t believe we had engine trouble!” Eve’s mother looked genuinely distraught as she pulled Eve in for a hug. “We got back as soon as we could.”

“You shouldn’t have gone to the extra expense of having that engine part flown in,” Eve said. “I can’t believe you did. I assumed we’d just celebrate whenever you could get back.”

Her father embraced her as soon as her mother let go. “Your birthday’s in December, so that means it can get swallowed up by the holidays. We try not to let that happen. You’re too important to us.”

She cringed as she thought of Noelle and the pleasure she was likely taking in ruining Eve’s reputation. “Thanks, Dad.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and jingled his change. “The B and B looks great, by the way. You’ve done an outstanding job, created the very picture of a Victorian Christmas.”

They’d been in Texas for three weeks, having Thanksgiving with her brothers, who now owned a bar together in Austin. “Better than usual?”

“I’d say so,” he replied.

“It’s the new icicle lights,” she told him. “They’re pretty hanging from such a steeply pitched roof.” She’d hired a company to hang those lights, and all the others on the exterior. But she and Cheyenne had done everything else. The tree alone had taken one full day—the Sunday after Thanksgiving, when they traditionally made the switch from harvest decor to evergreen and holly. The day after that, she’d added wreaths with red ribbon at every window, garland above each door, on every mantel and around every banister and mistletoe hanging over the tables in the dining room. This was usually Eve’s favorite time of year. The entire town waited to see what she’d do with the inn, and she took great pride in making it stand out like a beacon of hope for the weary traveler—or even just the weary of heart.

“It’s everything,” he said. “We drove past A Room with A View. It can’t even compare.”

Because the owners didn’t understand how the beauty she created encouraged the whole town to stop and reflect. Her competitor gave the season a passing nod by putting up a bunch of plastic Santas and reindeer and hanging giant ornaments from the tree in the front yard, all of which looked tacky rather than elegant. But as Eve followed her father’s eye to the candles she’d placed so they could be seen from the street, she didn’t feel the wonder and magic she used to feel. She was afraid she might be going through the exact same motions for the rest of her life—only without Cheyenne, because she knew that Cheyenne wouldn’t work at the inn forever.

“You told us you’re planning to go to San Francisco with your friends tonight,” her mother said, “so I was hoping we could have you over for dinner tomorrow after you get off work. I’ll make your favorite cake, the carrot one, and get some ice cream.”

“Of course,” Eve said. “Thank you. That sounds delicious.”

“And...” Her mother rummaged in her huge purse and finally pulled out a small, wrapped gift. “I’d like you to open your present right now, since you couldn’t do it yesterday.”

Guilt for behaving in a manner that would reflect poorly on her parents once again swept over Eve. What had she been thinking last night? She’d acted no better than Noelle....

“Go ahead,” her father urged as her mother handed her a small box.

Eve hoped it wasn’t expensive. Her parents often tried to do too much. But as soon as she tore off the wrapping and opened the gift, she could see that it was pricy. A gold watch, with diamonds around the face. “Wow,” she breathed.

“Do you like it?” The twinkle in her mother’s eye showed how excited she was to give her daughter such a wonderful gift.

“I love it,” Eve said, “but...it’s too generous. You guys have to be careful now that you’re retired, especially with what we’ve been through trying to save the inn. You don’t have the savings you used to—”

“Don’t worry about that,” her father interrupted. “You deserve whatever we can give you. You’ve worked so hard, been the perfect daughter.”

Perfect. That word pricked her conscience, and she went over and closed the door. “I really love the watch. It’s beautiful.”

Her mother and father exchanged a look. “But...”

They’d heard the resignation in her tone.

“I’m definitely not perfect. As a matter of fact, I’ve done something I need to tell you about before you hear it from someone else.”

She felt bad about the fear that entered their faces, and the way they sank slowly onto the sofa. “Good. I was going to suggest you sit down.”

“Is it that bad?” her mother asked.

“It’s nothing to be proud of.”

Her father seemed baffled. “What could it be? We know you. We know who you are.”

“You don’t know this. I went out last night...by myself and...and got a little drunk.”

They sat blinking at her, saying nothing. No doubt they could tell there was more coming.

“And I met someone,” she continued. “A...a stranger. He was handsome and charming and he’d also had too much to drink.”

“You’ve met someone?” her mother echoed.

The hope in that question didn’t make this any easier. Her parents wanted her to marry and start a family almost as much as she wanted the same thing. Grandchildren had been mentioned on a number of occasions. Since her brothers were fifty and fifty-two, one an avowed bachelor and the other divorced without children, her parents probably wouldn’t have any grandkids unless they came from her—although they viewed Cheyenne as a daughter and were excited to welcome her first child into the world.

“No. Not really,” Eve said. “It’s not what you might think.”

“Then what is it?” her father asked.

Throwing back her shoulders, she blurted out the truth. “I took him home with me.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. Then her father cleared his throat. “Eve, we’ve never gotten involved in your personal life. I mean, in that part of your personal life. This isn’t something you have to report to us, especially at thirty-five. In fact, I’d prefer not to know, and I think I can speak for your mother on that, as well.”

Eve couldn’t help smiling at his response. “I wouldn’t have said anything except...I’m afraid you’ll hear it around town in the next few days, and I didn’t want you to be blindsided. Or disappointed,” she added, “but there’s no way to avoid that now.”

“I see,” he said. “And why would someone tell us? Why is it any of their business?”

“It’s not. But Noelle Arnold works at Sexy Sadie’s and—”

“Ah, I see,” her mother piped up. “Olivia’s sister is spreading the news.”

“Yes.”

Her mother frowned. “I’ve never thought very highly of her.”

That was a scathing rebuke, coming from her sweet mother. “You’re in good company,” Eve responded.

“So...that’s it?” her father asked. “That’s what has you so upset?” He studied her carefully. “It doesn’t get any worse, does it?”

“Isn’t that enough?” she said, surprised that they weren’t more upset themselves.

“Honey, everybody makes a mistake now and then,” he said. “It’s not up to us to judge you or to...to tell you how to run your life. We had our chance to guide you when you were little, and we did our best. Now you’re in charge, and while I can’t say I’m happy about what you did last night, I can understand how it happened and why.”

“It’s not as if your father was a virgin when he met me,” her mother said. “He slept with loads of women.”

“Adele!” her father snapped, obviously appalled. Then Eve had to laugh and, once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop. She recognized how her parents felt about her confession, because she felt the same about what her mother had just revealed. She didn’t want to view either one of them as sexual in any way, not even with each other.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she wiped away the tears streaming down her face. “I don’t mean to laugh, and I don’t want you to think I’m not taking what I did seriously, but—”

Her mother got up to hug her again. “I’m glad you can laugh. Let it go, honey. We know it hasn’t been easy watching all your friends get married. We were as disappointed as you were last year when things didn’t work out between you and Ted. He’s a good man. But there’ll be someone else, someone very special.”

She caught hold of her mother’s arm before Adele could release her. “What do you think about me...going somewhere else and...trying something new?”

“You mean leave Whiskey Creek?” her dad asked.

“I love it here, but...I’m not sure it’s the only life I want to know.”

This seemed to sadden them more than the news of how she’d spent last night. Her brothers had gone to Texas A&M on football scholarships, then joined the air force and never returned to California. Her parents often lamented how little they saw of Darren and Dusty.

“We would certainly miss you,” her father said. “But we don’t want to hold you here if it’s not where you want to be. We don’t want Little Mary’s to hold you here, either.”

She glanced around. She loved the B and B almost as much as she loved them. But there had to be some way to vanquish the dissatisfaction that had crept into her life and seemed to be growing stronger by the day. She didn’t want to wake up one morning when she was sixty-five and wonder why she’d never made a change.

“You’re not saying... Should we put the inn on the market?” her mother asked.

“No, no. Nothing that drastic,” she said. “I’m just thinking of hiring someone to run it for a year so I can try something else before I settle down, you know?”

Her parents wore somber expressions as they nodded. “We understand. And we want whatever will make you happy,” her father said.

Eve couldn’t imagine she’d be happy leaving Whiskey Creek. Besides her parents, she had so many good friends here—and she’d be the godmother to Chey’s baby, which would bring a great deal of joy into her life. But would that be enough? Suddenly, it felt as if she was living off the crumbs of other people’s lives and trying to tell herself that she would be content with that indefinitely. “We can talk more about it after the holidays.”

Her mother managed a smile. “So there’s no hurry?”

“None whatsoever.” Eve held up the watch. “Thanks for this. I’ve never seen anything quite so lovely.”

“You’re ten times as lovely,” her mother said.

She made a face. “Oh, yeah? Be prepared for the rumors that are swirling around town.”

“No one can change our opinion of you,” her father insisted.

Cheyenne walked into the parlor almost as soon as Eve’s parents left. The Christmas music playing in the dining room grew louder when the door opened, causing Eve to look up. She was sitting on the antique Eastlake chair she’d purchased from an estate sale in Sacramento last year. She’d been gazing down at her new watch, thinking about how lucky she was to have such wonderful parents and wondering if she’d be doing the right thing by leaving them. She had a responsibility to herself but, since her brothers seemed to feel no obligation to their aging parents, she had to make sure they were happy and well cared for, too.

They had their RV, however. They could come and see her....

“How’d it go?” Cheyenne asked.

“I told them I slept with a stranger,” Eve said.

Her friend stopped in her tracks. “Are you kidding?”

“No. I figured it would be better for them to hear it from me.”

“But they might never have heard it at all!”

“I didn’t want to take that chance.”

“I see,” Cheyenne said slowly. “That was probably wise. How did they take the news?”

“Much better than I expected. I guess I underestimated them.”

“Or you set even higher standards for yourself than they do.”

Cheyenne took the seat opposite her. “Is that your present?”

Eve handed over the watch so Chey could take a closer look. “Stunning, isn’t it?”

“Gorgeous!”

“They’re such great parents.”

“You just made a mistake, Eve. We all know what you’re really like,” Cheyenne said, giving back the watch.

Eve smiled at the compliment. Her friends and family all thought they knew her, but she wasn’t sure she knew herself anymore. Who was the woman who’d let go of all inhibition and thrown everything she had into making love with a complete stranger?

* * *

Rex was in his room, packing up his stuff, when he received a call from Marilyn. He thought maybe he’d accidentally skipped a check he was supposed to sign, and hoped it wasn’t because she’d run into trouble with her car. Her engine had started fine when she gave him a ride to Sexy Sadie’s to pick up his Land Rover....

Pausing to sit on the edge of the bed, he hit the answer button. “’Lo?”

“You’re never going to believe this,” she said.

After what he’d been through in his life, he could believe just about anything. But he tensed, wondering if she’d run across proof that The Crew was indeed coming after him. “What is it?”

“I got a call from Scarlet Jones, the photographer from San Francisco.”

He let his breath slowly seep out. “I provided security for her some time ago.”

“You remember.”

“Of course.” After splitting off from Virgil back east, where they’d run the same kind of business, he’d hung out his own shingle here in the west and she’d been one of his first clients. “She was getting some strange mail, felt she was being followed. What’s going on with her now?” He knew everything had been okay after his contract ended because he’d checked in with her periodically, although not in the past year.

“Apparently she’s being harassed again. The first incident happened a few months ago, in September, when she received an email containing a picture of a man’s penis.”

“So this guy’s another Anthony Weiner? That’s not particularly creative.”

“She forwarded it to me. What he sent wasn’t particularly impressive, either.”

Rex had to chuckle. “Sounds like he should have stolen more than Anthony’s idea, maybe something from a porn site. But if this happened in September, why’d Scarlet wait so long to contact us?”

“The threats she got before never amounted to anything. She thought if she ignored it, this would go away, too.”

“Let me guess—it hasn’t.”

“No. It’s getting worse. But what I don’t understand is why whoever it was stopped in the first place.”

“Maybe the guy went to prison.”

“That would explain it. Because he’s taking up where he left off, except the letters she’s receiving are even more personal,” Marilyn said. “One mentioned a mole on her, um...”

“Breast? Ass? What? You’re seldom at a loss for words.”

“It’s somewhere even more intimate.”

“So whoever is doing this has been quite close to her.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Or talked to someone who has.”

“That’s just...creepy.”

“At least it narrows the list of potentials. She still has no idea who it might be?”

“No. She says that none of her past lovers would do anything like this.” She cleared her throat. “You, uh, weren’t aware of the mole?”

“I don’t get sexually involved with our clients. You know that.”

“I do. But I thought this client might be an exception. She’s extremely attractive. And she’s not married.”

He had a soft spot for Scarlet, but she was more like a younger sister to him. When he’d watched over her before, he’d still been in love with Laurel, Virgil’s sister, but he wasn’t remotely tempted to change his relationship with Scarlet, even now. “You said it was getting worse. What else has happened?”

“Yesterday someone broke into her house and urinated on her bed. That’s why she finally called.”

“Was anything taken?”

“Several pairs of underwear.”

What he’d just learned made Rex itch to get back to work. It had always bothered him that the police hadn’t been able to find the guy who’d tormented Scarlet. “What’d you tell her?”

“I said I’d be happy to arrange for a bodyguard until the police can find out who’s behind it, but when she realized the bodyguard wouldn’t be you, she started to cry.”

This type of security was very up close and personal. He could see why she’d want somebody she already knew and trusted.

He wished he could help her, but he couldn’t ask her to sit tight and wait until he felt safe to return to the Bay Area. He couldn’t drag her around the Sierra Nevada foothills with him while he tried to keep a low profile, either. He was about to say he was sorry but there was nothing he could do when a flyer he’d found pinned to the public message board at the local coffee shop popped into his mind. It had advertised rooms for rent in a private residence....

Why not answer that ad? He could hunker down in this quaint town and have Scarlet join him. That would remove them both from their usual circles—take them out of the flow of motel life, too, which added a degree of security. He might not come up with such a perfect solution, at least not such a perfect and immediate solution, anywhere else, especially during the holidays.

“Text me her number. Given these latest problems, I’m guessing she’s changed it since I spoke to her last.”

“What are you going to do?” Marilyn asked, sounding surprised.

“I’m going to take the job.”

“How?”

“By inviting her to come and spend some time with me here in Whiskey Creek.”

“You think she’ll do that?”

“If she’s truly scared, I don’t see that she has a better choice.”

“But how can you ask her to leave her home with Christmas coming?”

“If the police do their job, she should be able to return by the big day.”

She harrumphed. Then she said, “Whiskey Creek, huh?”

“Why not? Getting her away from her usual routine should give us an advantage. Maybe her stalker will get frustrated when he can’t torment her and then he’ll do something that’ll give him away.”

“But I thought you were moving on, that moving on is what keeps you safe.”

He turned to frown at his packed bags. This latest move wasn’t about that. This move was more about what he’d done last night. He didn’t want to fall back into bed with Eve Whoever She Was—well, actually, he did want to fall back into bed with her. That was the problem. What he didn’t want was to get her hopes up, make her think they might have a future together. Considering his limitations, he knew that wasn’t fair.

But if he moved out of the B and B and into a house or some other situation with his client—a client he enjoyed as a friend—surely he’d be able to avoid Eve, maybe forget about her, too. His work had always been enough for him before.


5 (#ulink_0d47a8b5-a071-5e2c-a107-60add31fa72c)

Meeting with Ted was awkward. After their failed attempt at romance, Eve had grown accustomed to coping with the strain in their relationship when she saw him and the rest of their friends on Fridays at Black Gold Coffee. She just directed her comments to the group in general, when she could, and avoided sitting too close to him and Sophia. But there was no getting around a direct confrontation now. He’d asked if he could come over. He wanted to write a book about the mysterious murder of the child who had died in the basement in 1871.

But he was already a successful suspense writer. Eve couldn’t understand why he didn’t stick with fiction and leave her alone.

“I’m not sure a book about Mary will be worth your time,” she said as she sat across from him in the parlor where she’d spoken to her parents earlier.

He’d been fiddling with his phone, trying to find the record app. “Why not?” he asked, glancing up. “I’ve been intrigued by it since I was a kid.”

“Because you’re doing so well with your fiction,” she explained. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to put out another serial-killer book or something in the time it would take you to write this?”

“I’m not doing it for pay. The proceeds will go to the historical society so they can preserve more buildings like this one.”

He was donating the money?

Damn, she couldn’t even feel justified in remaining mad at him. That was always the problem. He was too nice.

He gave her a look that told her he was suspicious of her resistance. “Don’t tell me you’re still holding a grudge.”

“You say that as if I’d have no right to.”

“You’re not the kind of person who hangs on to resentment.”

That was true. And he’d already apologized several times. He’d also tried very hard to maintain their friendship. But she couldn’t help feeling like an old shoe that had been cast aside. Maybe if she’d been able to move on like he had, or if the guy she’d been with last night hadn’t treated her the same way, it wouldn’t be a problem.

“Of course. I’m happy for you and Sophia.” Part of her really was. She’d known Ted since childhood. And she had to take partial responsibility for getting romantically involved with him. On some level, she’d realized he still had a thing for Sophia. She’d just chosen to ignore her instincts hoping that she would indeed find a good husband.

“When I walked in and hugged you, you were stiff as a board,” he pointed out.

“So I’m having a bad day.”

Some of the suspicion disappeared, replaced by concern. “Is there something serious going on?”

“Not really.” She tried to wave his question away. “I’m always under a lot of pressure around the holidays.”

“You love the holidays.”

She said nothing. She wasn’t enjoying them this year.

“Do you want me to come back in January?” he asked.

Why? Why not get this out of the way? He’d already explained that he’d turned in his latest book and didn’t need to start the next one until January. It was the fact that he had time during the Christmas period that made him want to get moving with this—and it was all for charity. His gift to the town they both loved. “No. I’m sorry. I’ll give you what you need.”

“Suffer through it, huh?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that even Unsolved Mysteries, and all the crime analysts they brought to town, couldn’t figure out who murdered Little Mary, so I’m not sure what more you’ll be able to do.”

“This isn’t so much about solving the crime as chronicling the mystery and suggesting possible scenarios.” He tilted his head as he studied her. “It should be good publicity for the B and B,” he said by way of enticement.

But he’d been talking about doing a book on Little Mary for several years. Did he really have to come and talk to her right now? The day after she’d slept with a total stranger? Make her worry that he might have heard the news? Make her wonder if he found what she’d done as pathetic as she did?

Mr. Taylor had returned earlier. Eve had watched him come in. But he didn’t look at her or acknowledge her. He’d walked right past her and marched up the stairs. Then he’d gone out again shortly after—without his bags. Since checkout was at noon and it was after two, she could only assume that he planned on staying another night.

She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that, whether she should do anything to enforce her request that he leave or just pretend, like he seemed to be doing, that last night had never happened. Their encounter was probably so meaningless to him that he didn’t care whether he ran into her every time he passed through the lobby.

“The B and B is doing better these days,” she told Ted. “The tea I’m offering is generating some interest. We’re getting groups of Red Hat Society ladies, and we’ve had an increase in couples ever since we started advertising in bridal magazines.”

“I’m glad to hear it, but advertising is expensive, and this will be free. If this book takes off, you could get a steady stream of visitors, curious to see whether this place really is haunted. That’s how it worked after Unsolved Mysteries aired, didn’t it?”

“For a while.” She supposed she should be grateful to him for taking an interest—on behalf of her and the town. She would have been if she didn’t already have so much on her mind.

“So...shall we get started?” he asked.

She sat back. “Of course. Ask away.”

“Why don’t we go over the basics, just to make sure I’ve got them straight?”

“You should know the basics. The whole town does.”

“I’m aware that Mary Hatfield was six when she was found strangled in the basement in December of 1871. Her birth and death are engraved on her headstone in the cemetery next door. But you lived here when you were little, too. I’m actually hoping you’ll tell me what that was like.”

“We were only here for a few years, until the first round of renovations were completed. Then my parents bought the property where we live today, and we moved out there.”

“I remember when that happened. We were still in grade school. But you didn’t move because of Mary’s ghost....”

“No, my parents wanted a regular family life, where they could be off work sometimes—and we could have some privacy as a family.”

“Are you glad they did that?”

She nodded. “I am. I love this place, and I did even then. But...it would’ve been difficult facing guests constantly with no break. And making sure three little kids were behaving perfectly at all times was too tall an order for any mother.”

“Can you tell me about some of your earliest memories of this place?”

“I remember the musty smell of it more than anything else. And I remember playing with the old stuff in the attic. Dressing up in the clothes I found in various trunks, taking my Barbie dolls up there, that sort of thing. Being in that space made me a bit uneasy, even back then, but it was the perfect size for a child and the only place I wouldn’t be bothered by my brothers. I could play for hours.”

“What about the basement?”

She shivered. “I never played here. But I remember my brothers locking me in once, just to frighten me.”

“That was where Mary’s body was found.”

“Yes. So you can imagine how terrified I was. They called through the door, telling me that her ghost was going to get me, and I was absolutely convinced they were right.”

“How’d you get out?”

“My mother heard me screaming and came to the rescue.”

A faint smile curved his lips. “I bet she was angry.”

“She was.”

“What happened to your brothers?”

“They were put on restriction.” She shook her head at the memory. They’d found her terror so funny.

Ted made a few quick notes. “Okay, so Mary’s parents built this place—and it wasn’t ever renovated until your parents took over. Is that correct?”

“It is.”

“How old was Mary when John and Harriett moved in?”

“She wasn’t born yet. But even after she was, she didn’t have any older brothers to torment her. She was an only child.”

“After her death, rumors circulated—and persisted—that her father might have killed her. Since he also discovered the body, and it was nearly Christmas, I always think of it as the nineteenth-century JonBenét Ramsey case.”

“Was there any evidence to suggest he did the deed?”

“Not really. He was known to have a violent temper and knocked her mother around a bit. He also didn’t seem to grieve much. But not all men show their pain.”

She’d left the doors to the parlor open. She almost always did that, so her staff would feel free to approach her, if necessary. But today it meant that when Brent Taylor came through the front door, returning for the second time, she happened to see him. He saw her, too, and paused as if he had something to say, so she stood up and hurried over.

“You’re late for checkout, but I can take care of that now, if you’re ready.”

His gaze shifted to Ted before coming back to her. “Would you mind if I stayed one more night?”

Couldn’t anything go her way? “A Room with a View has no openings?”

He frowned as if recognizing the disappointment in her voice. “I was just over there. They’re booked.”

Of course they would be—despite their cheesy decorations. Full occupancy seemed to come so easy for them. But they also spent a great deal more on advertising. They always had more to spend.

She wanted to refuse but Ted was looking on, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to come up with a good excuse for turning away business. Ted and the rest of her friends had been privy to her financial difficulties in the past few years. “That’s fine, I guess.”

“Thanks. Do you know a good place for dinner?”

“Just Like Mom’s has delicious home-style food, if you like that sort of thing. It’s down the street.”

He hesitated briefly. Then he took her elbow and pulled her close so he could whisper in her ear. “I could’ve handled this morning at your place a lot better. I’m sorry,” he said, then headed up the stairs to his room.

“What was that all about?” Ted asked.

Eve shut the doors in spite of her usual policy and resumed her seat. “Nothing. He’s just a...a patron.”

“Do all patrons whisper in your ear like that? It looked sort of intimate.”

“It wasn’t.” She considered admitting what she’d done, as she had with her parents, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. These days, Ted was happily married and the proud stepfather of a beautiful teenage girl. She didn’t want to be perceived as still struggling. Of course, he’d likely hear the rumor, so there was probably no way to prevent him from finding out. But she’d deal with that if and when it happened. She just hoped no one would bring it up or tease her tonight at her party or at their weekly coffee date. Her friends were wonderful, but they’d been so close for so long that nothing was off-limits.

“I only have a few more minutes,” she told him, “so we should get on with this.”

They talked about what Unsolved Mysteries had discovered when they came to town, which was virtually nothing as far as forensic evidence was concerned. Then they discussed the bits and pieces of information that had been recorded in the journals of various people who’d known the Hatfields at the time. These mostly contained venomous recriminations against John Hatfield, who was wealthy and austere and not particularly well liked. Although Eve couldn’t say there were any solid leads in those journals, she’d kept copies of everything she’d come across relating to the history of the B and B. She even had a laminated photocopy of a newspaper from the late 1800s that regurgitated the story, and a box of research material Unsolved Mysteries had given her when they were done with the shoot.

She went to her office to get the box but she couldn’t find it. So she’d brought back only the things she’d collected over the years.

“I can’t imagine where I put the stuff Unsolved Mysteries left,” she told Ted.

“But you’ll find it for me?”

“I will. I’ll check the attic when I have a minute.”

He accepted what she did have. “You seem to go back and forth on this, but, for the record, do you think the inn is haunted?” This had always been a difficult question for Eve. She didn’t want to commit herself because, crazy though it sounded, sometimes it did seem as if Mary’s spirit lingered. She told him about the drapes moving without being touched, about various doors closing and other noises she’d heard when there shouldn’t be anyone else about. One time, she was positive she’d heard someone moaning in the basement. That had been chilling. Unless there was something she absolutely had to get, she never went down there alone.

“I honestly don’t know. But I feel angry with whoever killed Mary and I hope justice will, somehow, some way, prevail, even at this late date,” she told him.

“Do you think the father did it?”

“I think Mary’s mother believed he did.”

His eyebrows shot up. “What makes you say that?”

“She wouldn’t speak a word after Mary’s death.”

Ted leaned forward. “I’ve never heard you or anyone else say that before.”

“I just found out about it. It was in an email I received a few days ago from a couple who come here every summer—a historian and his wife who once had family living in the area. He stumbled across a letter from his great-great-grandmother dated several years after Mary’s death. It refers to Harriett Hatfield and her enduring silence, and he thought I might be interested. According to this letter, Harriett became a hermit and would scarcely go out after that, which is probably why more people didn’t mention it. They didn’t really have any contact with her.”

“Her silence and withdrawal could be a reaction to her grief,” Ted suggested.

“True, but she could also have been an abused wife, rebelling in the only way she could without risking her own life.”

“It’s something to consider.” He stood and slipped his phone in his pocket. “That’s it for today. I’ll call if I need anything else.”

She gave him a weak smile. “You know where to find me.”

“Are you looking forward to going out for your birthday tonight?” he asked, changing the subject.

A trip to San Francisco didn’t sound as enjoyable as it had before last night. Although she’d get to see Baxter, who used to be part of their group but moved to the city two years ago, she’d had about as much of turning thirty-five as she could take. Still, she lied to protect his feelings. There was nothing to be gained from making her friends feel sorry for her. “I am.”

“You don’t sound too enthusiastic.” He stopped her as she opened the parlor doors. “Are you planning to tell me what’s going on?”

He knew her even better than the rest of their friends did, since they’d once been lovers. But that was exactly the reason she no longer felt comfortable confiding in him. “No. Thanks, anyway.”

“Regardless of what you might be feeling right now, Sophia and I care about you,” he said. “We all care about you.”

He was referring to their entire circle. “I appreciate you saying so.”

“Hmm...a polite dodge.” He retained his hold on her arm. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

“No. But answer me this. If you were going to leave Whiskey Creek, where would you go?”

He dropped his hand. “You’re thinking of moving away?”

“Probably not forever.”

“Probably? God, Eve, I hope this has nothing to do with me. I thought we’d gotten past last year, but...you seem angry again.”

She wasn’t angry so much as frustrated with her loneliness. And the Christmas season only made it worse. “This isn’t about you. It’s just time I figured out what to do with the rest of my life.”

“Has that been in question? I always thought you’d spend it here, with us.” He gestured at the B and B. “I can’t imagine anyone else running this place. You do such a good job.”

Cheyenne approached before Eve could respond, a look of wonder on her face. “The baby’s really active!” she said, and pressed their hands up against her belly.

Eve could feel the child’s foot. Or maybe that was an elbow jutting out. “Oh, wow,” she breathed. “That’s exciting, isn’t it?”

“I can’t wait to...” Ted’s words drifted off as she glanced up at him, but that sudden catch told her what he’d been about to say. He couldn’t wait to have a child with Sophia.

“This kid is strong.” Cheyenne filled the awkward silence. “Just like his daddy.”

She meant his daddy’s brother, who was also her sister’s fiancé, but she would never admit how she’d gotten pregnant. She didn’t want Dylan to face the fact that he couldn’t give her a child, which was why she’d performed the artificial insemination without his knowledge. Other than Eve, only Presley and Aaron knew how she’d gotten pregnant, because they’d helped facilitate it.

“You’ve been talking like it’s a boy the whole pregnancy,” Ted said, “but Dylan wants a girl. Do you know something you haven’t shared with us?”

“No,” Cheyenne said. “It’s just easier to refer to him as one or the other, and flip-flopping feels weird.”

Eve could have stood there indefinitely, marveling at the baby’s movements. Creating life was such a miracle, a miracle she longed to experience herself.

She wanted a baby—but she didn’t want to have one on her own. Suddenly she sucked in her breath.

“What is it?” Cheyenne asked.

Eve pulled her hand away, but she couldn’t answer immediately. Something was going through her mind, something that hadn’t struck her before and filled her with concern.

“Eve?” Ted said.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, but she wasn’t so sure. This morning Brent Taylor had pointed out the condom wrapper on the floor when he told her they’d used protection. But there’d only been one, and she was positive they’d made love more than once. She definitely remembered that much. And yet...when she’d thrown away that wrapper, she hadn’t noticed any others.


6 (#ulink_2ad6293a-b7c2-5f6b-877d-0f5ac829f3f1)

Eve’s heart was pounding in her throat when she knocked, rather timidly, at Brent Taylor’s door. She didn’t want to bother him again. He’d apologized for his rudeness this morning, and she preferred to leave it at that.

But if there was a possibility that she might be pregnant, she needed some way to notify him.

She was actually hoping he could tell her there’d been other condoms he’d somehow disposed of himself, by flushing them down the toilet or whatever. But that didn’t seem very likely. How many men carried more than one or two condoms in their wallets?

The door cracked open, and he peered out at her.

“It’s me.” Bracing herself for whatever reaction she was going to get, she drew a deep breath. “I need to speak with you for a minute.”

He said nothing, just swung the door wide enough to let her in, and stepped back.

She walked in and closed it behind her. Lord knew she didn’t want anyone else overhearing what she planned to discuss.

“What is it?” he asked, immediately defensive. “I can’t stay tonight? You want me to move out right now? What?”

“No.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “You’re fine here until...tomorrow. Or...whenever.”

His face cleared as he sat on the bed. “You seem nervous.”

“I am, a little,” she admitted.

He studied her closely. “If you’re here because...because you want more of what we shared last night, you don’t have to be nervous. The answer’s yes—as long as there are no strings attached. I have certain...limitations.”

Was he serious? From what Eve could tell, he was. But how could he believe she might come back for more after the way he’d tried to distance himself? And what made him think she’d settle for an offer like that?

The shock must’ve shown on her face, because a smile slanted his lips. “I guess your expression answers that question.”

“I’m not...coming on to you,” she explained. “I’m not a ‘no strings attached’ kind of girl.”

“You’re here for some reason.”

“Yes.” She wandered over to the window so she could break eye contact with him. “I’m here because...because I was wondering...”

The bed creaked as he got up. “About...”

She made herself turn to face him. “You know that condom wrapper?”

“We’re back to that?”

“Do you carry quite a few of those?”

“I can always get more,” he said, eyebrows raised.

She rubbed her hands on her thighs. “I’m wondering how many you had to begin with?”

It wasn’t difficult to discern the exact moment he clued in to what she was trying to establish. A distinct wariness entered his eyes. “Why?”

“Why do you think?” she asked. “I don’t know what you remember about last night, but I remember making love three different times.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes! Did you have that many condoms?”

When he didn’t respond, she added, “And if you did, did we use them? I mean...maybe you sleep around enough that you carry a whole box. But it wasn’t as if you had your vehicle, so...that means you had only what you were carrying on your person.”

He bowed his head as he leaned against the wall. “Shit.”

She winced. “That’s a no, right?”

“I had just the one. And it was pretty old. But are you certain—”

“I’m positive. There was—” she lowered her voice “—the first time when we didn’t quite make it to the bedroom, remember? And then the second time, we did find the bed. After that, I’m pretty sure there was one more, when we woke up a couple of hours later.”

“That was when I had to move you down so you didn’t hit the headboard.”

She felt her face flush. “Yeah. So at least three.”

He nodded solemnly. “That’s when I used the condom.”

Her stomach knotted. “But you didn’t use anything before?”

“I couldn’t have.”

“And you didn’t know that?”

He threw up a hand. “Maybe I was mentally avoiding the possibility of...consequences by assuming they were all one time.”

She bit her lip. “Oh, boy.”

“So I take it you’re not on birth control or anything—” He cut himself off. “Never mind. I don’t even have to ask. If you haven’t been sleeping with anyone, you wouldn’t need to.”

He rubbed his forehead. “So where are you at with your...you know...your cycle? Is there any chance you might have been fertile?”

She’d already counted the days. She’d wanted to be prepared before she spoke with him. “I’m afraid we couldn’t have planned it any better if we’d been trying to conceive.”

At that, he went pale. “I see.”

“That doesn’t mean I am pregnant,” she said. “Chances are just as good that I’m not. We’ll hope for the best. But if I am...I won’t have an abortion or put the baby up for adoption.”

“Okay,” he said, as if that news was as unwelcome as the possibility of a pregnancy.

“I’m sorry that disappoints you.”

“I’m not sure it does. I just...I don’t know what to say to all this.”

“You don’t have to say anything until we find out. If I’m pregnant, I’ll have and raise the baby alone. But...since you’re in a situation where you’ll be leaving soon, I’d like to know exactly who I’m dealing with.”

He began to pace, head down. “I showed my ID when I checked in,” he muttered, but that was hardly convincing.

“So you’re Brent Taylor? Or are you Taylor Jackson?”

He stopped to look at her, his jaw hard. “You’ve been snooping through my things?”

“Not like you think. But someone had to clean your room, and I noticed the luggage tag.”

“I borrowed a suitcase from a friend.”

“Brent Taylor is your real name, then.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Can I get some contact information, too? Just in case.”

He rubbed his forehead again, as if he needed a moment to regroup, or didn’t like the thought of giving her what she’d asked. That was more than slightly off-putting.

“I promise I won’t contact you unless absolutely necessary,” she added, her voice showing her irritation.

“You don’t understand,” he started, but then he stopped. “Never mind. I don’t have any good contact information right now. I’m in a...transitional period. I’ll have to check back with you. But I’ll do my part. Don’t worry about that.”

Did he expect her to rely on his integrity when she didn’t even know if he had any? She opened her mouth to tell him that was asking a bit much, but he didn’t let her get that far.

“I realize that requires a great deal of trust,” he said. “But I’m hoping you can manage it if...if I’m also trusting you.”

Feeling a chill, although it wasn’t that cold in the room, she rubbed her arms. “In what way?”

He seemed to be thinking fast, trying to come up with an arrangement that would be fair. “Do you have medical insurance?”

“I do. I provide it for all my employees, too,” she said. That was partly what made it so difficult to stay afloat.

“The birth would be covered, then?”

“Yes.”

“There’s that, at least. But still...there’ll be plenty of other expenses. What if I leave you with some money? If you’re pregnant, you can keep it for the baby. And I’ll send more, of course. Like I said, I’m not trying to dodge my responsibilities.”

Eve hated that she’d screwed up so badly that her life, in a matter of twenty-four hours, had been reduced to this kind of negotiation. “Does that mean you wouldn’t want contact with the...um, child?”

He closed his eyes. “I can’t even think about, I mean that right now—what I want. I just need to take care of what you want. We’ll worry about the rest later, if there is a baby.”

“Then how much are you planning to leave?”

“Enough that you’ll feel confident, or optimistic if not quite confident, that I’ll follow up. You name the amount.”

She had no idea how much to request, but there was something very odd going on with Brent Taylor. This proved it, and made her raise the figure that came into her head by several grand. “Five thousand?”

To her surprise, he didn’t argue. He just got the money—stacks of hundred-dollar bills separated by paper clips—out of his duffel bag. After handing her two of those piles, he counted out the final thousand. “Here you go.”

“I can’t believe you happened to have this on hand!” She couldn’t begin to guess how he was going to explain that, but she stopped him before he could even try. “Never mind. I don’t want you to lie to me.” He had to be a drug dealer or something, not exactly the type of person she’d want as the father of her baby, so maybe it was a good thing he’d be leaving. She could only hope he wouldn’t want contact.

After she slipped out of his room, she hid the money under her waistband so no one would see it and hauled in a deep breath. She might be looking at an entirely different future than the one she’d been contemplating when she was thinking about traipsing off to Europe. But worrying about what might or might not be wasn’t going to change anything. She might as well go by the bank and deposit what he’d given her for safekeeping, then get ready for the trip to San Francisco. Because of her birthday celebration, she had the night manager coming in early. Once the evening got under way, maybe she’d be able to enjoy dinner and dancing and, at least for a few hours, forget Brent Taylor and the changes that might be taking place inside her own body.

If she was pregnant, she’d deal with it. She could be a single mother. She’d longed to move on to the next stage of life for some time now; she’d just never dreamed she might do it without a husband.

* * *

That night Rex was more restless than usual. He attempted to do some work on his computer. He’d made all the arrangements for Scarlet to join him tomorrow—rented them each a room at that house he’d seen advertised at Black Gold Coffee. Their new landlady, an elderly widow, was willing to let them move in right away. But, as the minutes ticked slowly by, tomorrow and his impending move across town seemed like a long way off. His mind kept straying back to Eve.

Could she be pregnant with his child? And what would he do if she was?

He’d send money, of course. Like he’d promised. But he couldn’t imagine having a son or daughter, especially when he wouldn’t be able to know that child—not without putting him or her in jeopardy.

Thirty minutes before Just Like Mom’s closed, he went over to grab a bite to eat. The gal who served him had a nametag on her shirt that read Tilly. She blushed every time he looked at her, but she was young. Too young for him. He guessed she was about...twenty-one.

“Where are you staying?” she asked, showing him her dimples when she brought his check.

“Little Mary’s.”

“Oh, Eve’s place. That’s a great B and B.”

He toyed with the salt and pepper shakers as he asked, “How well do you know Eve?”

“I didn’t go to school with her or anything. She’s ten years older than I am, but I often see her around town. She’s a supernice person.”

“Is she?”

“Definitely! I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like her. Have you met her?”

“I have.” He suddenly realized that Eve reminded him of Laurel, even though their coloring was opposite. And God knew how much he’d loved Virgil’s sister. That had to be the reason he’d been so attracted to Eve last night. “She seems like a good person.”

“She is.”

“Why do you think she hasn’t married?”

She twisted her mouth as she searched for an answer. Most people would consider this an odd question—too intrusive coming from a stranger—but she was trying too hard to be helpful to consider it critically. “I’m not sure. I think she’s the prettiest in that group.”

“Group?”

“She’s part of a tight-knit bunch of friends who grew up here. Most of them are married now so...I have no idea why she hasn’t found someone.”

“She could be difficult to get along with,” he suggested, just to see what kind of response he’d get.

Tilly shook her head firmly. “No way. If anything, I’m guessing it’s because she’s still stuck on Ted.”

“Ted’s an old boyfriend?”

“They dated last year, briefly. But he wasn’t over Sophia, a girlfriend he had years before. So after Eve got Sophia a job working for Ted—she was just trying to help—Ted decided he wanted Sophia instead.”

Rex had never met Sophia or Ted, but he couldn’t imagine anyone passing over Eve. He took a long drink of his Coke so his next question would seem as casual as he wanted it to. “Was she torn up about it?”

“She pretended she wasn’t, but everyone pretty much understood that he’d broken her heart.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Ted would’ve been quite a catch,” she said. “He’s a famous suspense writer, you know.”

“He is?”

“Has ten books out. Or maybe more. I’m losing track.” She noticed that he’d finished his Coke and picked up the glass. “Can I get you a refill?”

“No, thanks. I’m ready to go.”

She hesitated, shifted on her feet, then cleared her throat. “You new in town?”

“Just passing through.”

“I see. Well, if you’re looking for something to do tonight, I’m partying at the local bar with some girlfriends after I get off. You should join us.”

He wished she appealed to him half as much as Eve, but she didn’t. He had enough problems, anyway.

Smiling with a hint of regret so he could let her down easy, he said, “That sounds like fun, but I’m afraid I have to be up early.”

“Okay. No problem. If you change your mind, anyone can tell you how to get to Sexy Sadie’s. And if I don’t see you, I hope you enjoy your stay in Whiskey Creek. Come back soon.”

“Thanks.” He tossed a twenty on the table to cover his meal and her tip and walked out.

When he climbed into his Land Rover, Rex intended to head back to the B and B and get some sleep. But that wasn’t what he did. He drove past the turnoff and kept on driving, out into the country where he’d been that morning.


7 (#ulink_6c1f514d-b1a7-5fea-90b7-6bb23e2fc2eb)

Since Eve lived the farthest from town, the limo dropped her friends off first. It was raining by the time they pulled into her drive, but at midnight it was early yet, considering how late they used to stay out for special events.

A night on the town with the gang wasn’t what it used to be. Now that Cheyenne was pregnant and couldn’t stand for very long, Addy had a newborn she didn’t like to leave for more than a couple of hours and Ted and Sophia had a fifteen-year-old who was home alone, the fun ended a lot sooner than it would have a couple of years ago. Much to Baxter’s consternation, they’d left San Francisco before all the good parties had even started.

But Eve couldn’t blame her friends. If she were in their shoes, she’d want to get back, too. She just didn’t have anything to rush home for—unless she wanted to continue worrying about last night. And she really didn’t. She’d told herself she wouldn’t even think about it until she knew whether or not she was pregnant. But she’d thought of little else all evening.

Her phone pinged, signaling an incoming text message.



So much for your big birthday bash.



It was from Baxter. She’d texted him to thank him for the earrings he’d given her.

It’s fine, she wrote. We’re all getting older. Our lives are changing.

Screw that! The others can get old without us, he responded. Come stay with me next weekend. I’ll show you a good time.

He said that as if his life hadn’t changed, too, but he had a partner these days, and Eve got the impression that Scott wasn’t particularly interested in Baxter’s “old” friends. Bax had built a separate life in the city. But as sad as Eve was to lose so much of his time and focus, she was happy for him. He’d struggled to get over Noah, who didn’t have the slightest gay tendency and was now married to Addy. Eve hoped that with Scott, Baxter had found someone who could return his interest on all levels.

Weekends are hard during the holidays, she wrote. The B and B gets busy. But I’ll see you when you’re home for Christmas. I like Scott, by the way. You did well.



Scott likes you, too.



“Sure he does,” she grumbled. He’d barely acknowledged any of them....

A second text came immediately, and it sounded as if Bax was signing off, so she didn’t text him back. Happy birthday! it read. And call me if you need anything, even if it’s just to bitch about life.

She smiled at her phone. He’d clued in to how she was feeling, but she was pretty sure she’d fooled everyone else.

The limo driver put the transmission in Park and came around to open her door.

Her friends had tipped him when they got out—they said they didn’t want her paying for anything—so she merely thanked him and sighed as she watched him pull away. She was about to remove her high heels so she wouldn’t twist an ankle on the gravel drive when she noticed a Land Rover parked beside her parents’ RV.

“Whose is that?” No one she knew owned a Land Rover.

She’d worn only a light sweater to the Bay Area because it looked better with her dress than her big wool coat. She regretted that decision now that it was wet and cold, but she was too curious to let the weather drive her inside quite so soon. This Land Rover didn’t belong at her house....

She was making her way over when the driver’s-side door opened. Brent Taylor got out, but he didn’t come toward her. He didn’t even step away from the vehicle so he could close the door. He simply stood there, waiting to see if he’d be welcomed.

“What...what are you doing here?” she asked in surprise.

“I wish I knew exactly,” he replied.

“You must have some idea.”

He didn’t respond; he just gave her a look that said it should be obvious.

“You’re back for more....”

“Why not? We both enjoyed last night.”

“You were drunk. We both were. And I thought you didn’t want to see me again, that you wanted what happened between us to be over. You grabbed your clothes and ran out of my house this morning as if I might try to tie you to the bed.”

“I know. I did want it to be over.”

She thought he should be a little more contrite and embarrassed after making it so clear that he didn’t want her contacting him. This guy didn’t do contrite or embarrassed, though. He was far too bold for that. “But...” she prompted.

He rested one arm on the door and the other on the top of his vehicle. “I can’t quit thinking about you.”

She took off her shoes. The rocks cut into the bottoms of her feet, but at least she wouldn’t trip and fall. “We’re already worried about a possible pregnancy.”

“I’m prepared this time.”

“So...you want to be with me. You just don’t want it to mean anything.”

He glanced away and rubbed his forehead. “I won’t be around for long.”

No strings attached. He’d said that earlier. Would she never meet a man who was willing to fall in love?

The same old disappointment welled up, making her want to tell him what she thought of the meaningless encounters he seemed to prefer. But she didn’t have any right to judge him. She was the one who’d started this by bringing him home last night. They were different people who wanted different things. In any event, she was determined to continue to be polite. “Thanks for going to the trouble of coming all the way out here. I can see why you would. I probably sounded like a desperate fool last night when I was telling you about my birthday and...all of that. But there are other women who can give you what you’re looking for, and I think you’ll have a much better time.”

He straightened. “You’re saying I should seek out someone else?”




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