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Bachelor In Blue Jeans
Lauren Nichols


HOMETOWN HUNK SOLD TO EX-GIRLFRIEND!At the charity auction, Kristin Chase outbid Wisdom's gossip circle for a date with Zach Davis - the only man she'd ever loved. She told herself she pitied him, standing on that stage and facing the leering crowd.No, he had no effect on her whatsoever, not even when he came to her rescue as her livelihood went up in smoke - or now, the way he whisked her to his beach house and made hot love to her under a starry sky.She and Zach had a bitter history, but history repeated itself for a reason. This time, Kristin had to find out just what the handsome bachelor had in mind !









“As Scarlett O’Hara said, ‘Tomorrow’s another day.’”


Resolved, Kristin reached around him to grab her purse. Zach caught her hand.

Kristin stopped breathing as he moved closer, his gray eyes telegraphing his intent and giving her ample time to refuse the kiss she knew was coming. Her heart banged against her rib cage as he slid his hands inside her open jacket and coaxed her to him.

Why wasn’t she pushing him away? Why wasn’t she telling him that he had no right to touch her anymore?

She had no answers. Because she was suddenly too involved in the texture and feel of him to care. It had been so long since she’d felt like this. She’d been sure that a normal physical response was dead to her forever. And yet, here it was…that nervous quiver, that breathless tremble, that downward whoosh of the Ferris wheel.

Then instinct took over, memories took over, and they came together in a hard, hungry kiss that was an explosion of heat and hormones.


Dear Reader,

July is a sizzling month both outside and in, and once again we’ve rounded up six exciting titles to keep your temperature rising. It all starts with the latest addition to Marilyn Pappano’s HEARTBREAK CANYON miniseries, Lawman’s Redemption, in which a brooding man needs help connecting with the lonely young girl who just might be his daughter—and he finds it in the form of a woman with similar scars in her romantic past. Don’t miss this emotional, suspenseful read.

Eileen Wilks provides the next installment in our twelve-book miniseries, ROMANCING THE CROWN, with Her Lord Protector. Fireworks ensue when a Montebellan lord has to investigate a beautiful commoner who may be a friend—or a foe!—of the royal family. This miniseries just gets more and more intriguing. And Kathleen Creighton finishes up her latest installment of her INTO THE HEARTLAND miniseries with The Black Sheep’s Baby. A freewheeling photojournalist who left town years ago returns—with a little pink bundle strapped to his chest, and a beautiful attorney in hot pursuit. In Marilyn Tracy’s Cowboy Under Cover, a grief-stricken widow who has set up a haven for children in need of rescue finds herself with that same need—and her rescuer is a handsome federal marshal posing as a cowboy. Nina Bruhns is back with Sweet Revenge, the story of a straitlaced woman posing as her wild identical twin—and now missing—sister to learn of her fate, who in the process hooks up with the seductive detective who is also searching for her. And in Bachelor in Blue Jeans by Lauren Nichols, during a bachelor auction, a woman inexplicably bids on the man who once spurned her, and wins—or does she? This reunion romance will break your heart.

So get a cold drink, sit down, put your feet up and enjoy them all—and don’t forget to come back next month for more of the most exciting romance reading around…only in Silhouette Intimate Moments.

Yours,

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor




Bachelor in Blue Jeans

Lauren Nichols










LAUREN NICHOLS


Lauren Nichols started writing by accident, so it seems fitting that the word accidental appears in her first three titles for Silhouette. Once eager to illustrate children’s books, she tried to get her foot in that door, only to learn that most publishing houses use their own artists. Then one publisher offered to look at her sketches if she also wrote the tale. During the penning of that story, Lauren fell head over heels in love with writing fiction.

In addition to writing novels, Lauren’s romance and mystery short stories have appeared in several leading magazines. She counts her family and friends as her greatest treasures, and strongly believes in the Beatles’ philosophy, “All You Need Is Love.” When this Pennsylvania author isn’t writing or trying unsuccessfully to give up French vanilla cappuccino, she’s traveling or hanging out with her very best friend—her husband, Mike.


This book is for my brother Bill and my aunt Buckey,

who have left this world for a better one.

I love and miss you both.

And for my good friend and always-smiling

cappuccino buddy, Jeanne Hassleman.

And last but not least, for Taylor Nicole Haight,

the newest addition to our family.

Welcome to the world, little sweetheart.




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue




Chapter 1


Zach Davis scowled, his humiliation building as shrieking women beyond the velvet curtain nearly drowned out the bump-and-grind music blasting from a speaker somewhere.

God help him.

God help every bachelor on the auction block this evening.

Releasing an exasperated breath, he glared down at his tiny great-aunt as she continued to fuss with the boutonniere on his tux. The tux some other poor sap should’ve been wearing.

“Aunt Etta, I swear, if I’d known why you wanted me to come over here tonight, I would’ve packed my truck and headed straight back to Nags Head.”

Etta Gardner sent him a delighted smile, her sweet, musical voice fueling his irritation. “Nonsense, dear. You’d never leave my porches in the sorry state they’re in. Why, however would I sell my house?”

She reached high to pat his cheek. “I know you’re distressed about this, but who was I to call? The bachelor who cancelled was very tall and quite brawny. You were the only person I could think of who could wear his tuxedo.”

Zach yanked down his shirt cuffs. “Lucky me.”

“Gracious, no! Lucky us that you were back in town!” Etta winced then, and quickly lowered her voice—presumably so she wasn’t overheard in the lavish country club’s crowded dining room.

She needn’t have worried. Though the foyer-turned-staging area where they stood was adjacent to the dining room, it was like Mardi Gras in there—loud and frenzied. Zach doubted the women could even hear each other.

“Just remember that tonight’s proceeds will give our needy children a lovely Christmas this year,” Etta continued, “and you’ll do just fine.”

The tag “needy children” hit home, conjuring thoughts Zach didn’t like to think about. He willed them away as Etta took a step back to assess him through her rimless bifocals.

Zach regarded her at the same time, his heart warming despite the untenable spot she’d put him in. The skinny little woman who’d shown him what love was and saved him from foster care wore a filmy-looking pink and blue flowered dress and sensible white shoes. The blue tips on her carnation corsage nearly matched the tint in her cap-cut hair.

“Very nice, dear,” she gushed. “Of course, it’s too bad you didn’t have time for a shave and a trim before you came over, but I’ve heard that some young women go for that lumberjack look. Now, how does the tux feel?”

“Frustrated and manipulated, just like the guy wearing it.”

Zach hooked an index finger inside his collar, gritting his teeth when his fingernail scraped his Adam’s apple. “And why does this collar have to be so tight? I probably have ligature marks on my neck.”

Etta shooed his hands away. “It’s not tight, it’s perfect. Don’t you dare spoil the lovely line of your bow tie.” In a flash, her smile returned, mischief brimming in her blue eyes. “Mark my words. You’ll thank me for this one day.”

“Right,” he grumbled. “What man wouldn’t want to look like an idiot in front of a bunch of people he hasn’t seen in thirteen years?”

Just then, the rowdy female auctioneer behind the curtain bellowed out a number, and Etta’s interest in turning him into something he wasn’t, fled. Scurrying to the ramp leading to the curtained-off runway, she beckoned to the bachelor who was next in line. Chad Hollister bent to hear Etta’s instructions.

Zach sent Hollister another cold once-over. He and Hollister had exchanged greetings when Zach arrived a few minutes ago, but they both knew it was all for show. They’d never liked each other. Not in high school, and not now. Blond, polished Chad had been the antithesis of everything Zach had been and still was—Joe College to Zach’s school of hard knocks. The town’s golden boy to Zach’s working stiff. Girls had flocked to Hollister like gulls to French fries. He’d had it all…expensive clothes, a flashy car and moneyed parents.

He and Zach wouldn’t have had a reason in the world to say hello to each other, much less cross swords, except they’d both fallen hard for the same girl.

Kristin.

Zach glanced back at Etta, who was wrapping up her speech in a loud stage whisper. “As soon as you’re sold, go directly to the woman who bought you, and sit at her table. And be charming, Chad. We want these ladies to bid high.”

Hollister sent her a sly wink and a sexy drawl. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Gardner. I’ll get every dime they have left in their pocketbooks.” Then the auctioneer called Hollister’s name, and Wisdom, Pennsylvania’s handsome young police chief burst through the red velvet curtain with a killer attitude and a cocky grin.

The shrieking in the dining room reached new heights.

Zach turned away in disgust, digging inside his collar again. What was it people said? The more things changed, the more they remained the same? Being fresh meat at this charity freak show didn’t seem to bother Hollister at all. But then, the jerk had always loved the limelight.

Unbidden, an image flashed of Kristin and Chad being crowned king and queen of their junior prom, but Zach shoved it away, just as he’d beaten back that disturbing reminder of his childhood. There was no reason to dwell on those thoughts anymore. He was a success now. He’d never have to feel ashamed again.

An explosion of applause and unladylike whistles signaled that Hollister had been sold, and suddenly Etta was nudging him up the ramp. “Your turn, dear. Now, will you kindly smile when you get out there?”

No, he wouldn’t. He’d be too busy praying for a power failure that would empty the damn building.

“Zachary?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” he muttered. Then, with a last impatient look at his aunt, he stepped through the curtain and onto an elevated runway lined with twinkle lights—and the room went wild.

He nearly bolted when the buxom auctioneer with the flame-red hair screeched over the melee, “My heavens, ladies, get out your checkbooks! Look what we have here! Welcome home, Zach Davis!”



Kristin’s heart stopped and she jerked her gaze up from her coffee cup to stare at the man coming down the runway. For an instant, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. It couldn’t be.

But it was.

Maybelle Parker’s boisterous voice grated over the continued applause and randy music. “We’ve got prime cut, grade-A stuff here! Zach’s a thirty-three-year-old contractor with his own business in North Carolina’s Outer Banks. And aren’t we lucky that he’s here visiting his aunt for a few weeks! We can gawk at him even after the auction!”

Someone started dinging a glass with a spoon, and half the room followed suit.

“I don’t have to tell you he’s gorgeous,” Maybelle yelled into the mike. “You can see that for yourselves. Now let’s show our hometown boy how much we appreciate his help with our local charity!”

“Twenty-five dollars!” someone shrieked from across the room.

“Thirty!” Grace Thornberry shouted from Kristin’s own table.

Feeling faintly sick, Kristin tried to block out the bidding in five-dollar increments that would keep him on the runway forever. But she couldn’t block him out. Zach seemed to come forward in slow motion.

This was no boy, she thought, despite Maybelle’s description. He was nothing like the gangly nineteen-year-old she’d loved. His teenage good looks had ripened and matured into broad shoulders, a rugged, angular face and a sexy shag of coal-black hair.

One thing hadn’t changed, though, she realized, seeing the trapped look beneath his brooding expression. He’d never liked being the center of attention—preferred to stay in the shadows where people couldn’t look too closely and make comparisons between him and his father.

So why was he parading himself this way? What could possibly make him want to stand up there in front of a hundred women who’d left responsibility and good taste at the door?

The shouts kept coming. “Zach! Open your jacket!”

“Turn around!”

“Shake your booty!”

He stood stone still.

Suddenly a rush of compassion washed through Kristin and she felt every ounce of his humiliation. He’d hurt her more terribly than she could ever describe. He’d betrayed her and he’d lied to her, and it had been months before she’d been able to breathe again without pain.

Yet in spite of that, she was recalling a time when he’d held her in the loft of his aunt Etta’s barn and murmured that she was everything to him. Every dream he’d ever had…every wish he’d ever made.

“I—three hundred dollars!”

A hush settled over the room, and every lined, shadowed and mascaraed eye turned to Kristin. Panic nearly immobilized her. Had she said that? How could she have said that?

Maybelle gaped in shock. “Did you say three hundred dollars, Kristin?”

Kristin nodded numbly, utterly mortified by her outburst. “Yes, I… Is that enough?” Dear God, how was she going to get out of this with even a shred of dignity?

Maybelle’s rowdy laughter ricocheted off the walls, and to Kristin’s chagrin, was joined by everyone else’s. “Well, I don’t know! I think so! Ladies, I have three hundred once! Twice! Come on, if he’s worth three, he’s got to be worth four!” Then, “Sold to Ms. Kristin Chase for three hundred dollars!”

“Three hundred dollars, Kristin?” Grace Thornberry called laughingly from across the table. “My goodness, it’s been a long time for you, hasn’t it?”

With a red-faced smile for her teasing tablemates, Kristin grabbed her black beaded bag and walked quickly to the podium to give Maybelle a check. She was ruined. Anyone who knew her past with Zach would label her a doormat. Especially Chad.

She slanted a veiled glance at him as she handed the check to Maybelle. Chad was angry and he wasn’t trying to hide it—not a very chivalrous thing to do with Mary Alice Hampton draped all over him. Kristin regretted his disappointment, but she hadn’t bid on him for a purpose. She wanted him to find someone to love—someone wonderful who could love him back.

“Thank you, dear!” Maybelle gushed effusively. “Now scoot on back to your table and grab that handsome man!”

Kristin blanched at the thought. No way. She had no idea what she was going to say to him, and she wouldn’t have her embarrassment and fumbling witnessed by Grace and the others.

Scraping together what remained of her poise, Kristin strode to the back of the room. She hadn’t wanted to come here tonight, had always considered these kinds of things tacky and dehumanizing. But as the director of Wisdom’s Small Business Association, one of the auction’s sponsors, she was almost obligated to attend.

Now she wished she’d insisted that someone else take her place this evening.

Fighting the urge to finger-comb her short auburn hair, she watched Zach walk toward her, stop to accept Maybelle’s over-the-top thanks, then continue forward with slow, deliberate strides.

It disturbed her to realize that seeing him again could electrify her nerve endings, harden her heart and shatter it, all at the same time.

He stopped several feet from her. “Hello, Kristin,” he said politely.

She managed to keep her voice from trembling. “Hello, Zach. You’re looking well.”

“You, too.”

“Thank you.” Apparently, they were going to be civil.

He’d only been back a few times since her mother’s death nine years ago, generally during the holidays to visit his aunt Etta. But this was the first time she’d seen him since the funeral. She was unprepared for the changes that years of working outdoors had created. Though it was barely June, his rugged face was deeply tanned, with faint lines bracketing his mouth and creasing the skin beside his gray eyes. And though he’d always been tall, he now had a powerfully built body that not even the classic lines of a tuxedo could hide.

Like warning buoys, those old feelings of hurt and resentment tipped and bobbed in the wide gulf between them. And impossibly, beneath those emotions, the undertow of attraction still pulled. Kristin read the look in his eyes and knew he felt it, too. But he didn’t welcome it.

“Why me?” he asked after the silence had stretched out as long as either of them could tolerate it. “God knows there were enough other men you could’ve bid on. Even good old Chad.” His mouth thinned. “Or was there something you neglected to say the last time we spoke?”

No, she’d said every harsh, hurtful thing that was in her heart the day of her mother’s funeral. It had been wrong, but seeing him at the cemetery after two devastating weeks at the hospital watching her mother slowly slip away was more than she could take. His presence had only made her feel worse.

“Actually, I’d planned to bid on someone else,” she lied, unwilling to let him know he still got to her. “Unfortunately, I was in the ladies’ room when he was auctioned off. You were my last chance to donate to the Children’s Christmas Fund.”

He eyed her skeptically. “The people running this shindig wouldn’t accept a straight donation? No charity I know operates that way.”

Kristin released a sigh. She’d never been good at lying. That was his talent. “All right. I felt sorry for you, too.”

A nerve leapt in his jaw. “You felt sorry for me?”

“Yes.” She knew how he felt about pity, but the truth wouldn’t have been necessary if he’d been gentleman enough to accept her first answer. “I saw how uncomfortable you were, and for a second, I remembered that we were friends once. I wanted you off the runway.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” She wouldn’t let him think all was forgiven when nothing was further from the truth. “It was just a knee-jerk reaction. If I had it to do over again, I probably wouldn’t have.”

His gray gaze went flat. “I’ll send you a check in the morning to cover your bid.”

“There’s no need to do that.”

“Yes, there is. If you remember anything about me, you know I don’t like owing people. I had enough of that when I was putting off bill collectors for my old man.”

“This isn’t a debt, Zach.”

“It feels like one. After all, you did get me off the runway—and you didn’t get the man you wanted. I’ll mail the check to your shop.”

“I’ll send it right back,” she said, and started away.

Zach grabbed her hand. He released it quickly when a shock jolted them both.

Kristin’s heart raced as they stared at each other. It’s just static, she told herself. Just static electricity from the carpet.

The moment stretched out on tenterhooks. Then Zach’s voice softened, reminding her that they hadn’t always been distant with each other. “It never changes between us, does it, Kris? Even after all these years, sparks still fly the second we—”

She couldn’t listen to this. “I have to go. Goodbye, Zach.”

Then she strode back toward the table groupings, her stomach quaking, and every nerve ending in her body wound like a steel spring. It was illogical, irrational and unbelievable, but as much as she despised what he’d done, the chemistry they’d surrendered to the summer of their senior year was still strong, still fierce, still dangerously tempting.

And she resented it.



Zach watched her wave and smile to friends as she hurried toward the opposite end of the room, then stopped to talk to three women who’d risen to corral her. He was finally free to take a good long look. His gaze slid appreciatively over her narrow back, over the flare of her hips in the sleeveless black dress she wore, then slipped down her long, shapely legs. He took in her hair again. It was short now—not much longer than his—but silky bangs still fell below her brows, framing her wide, beautiful brown eyes. They were the confident eyes of a woman now, he decided. Clear, intelligent…and unforgiving.

He jammed his hands into his trouser pockets. He’d thought his mood couldn’t get any blacker when Etta met him at the door with the damn tux. He’d been wrong.

“Well,” Etta said wistfully, magically appearing as though he’d conjured her up. “That certainly didn’t go as well as I’d planned.”

With difficulty, Zach pulled his gaze from Kristin and glanced down at his great-aunt’s rueful expression. “What didn’t go well? The auction?”

She slipped an arm through his. “No, dear, your meeting with Kristin. I’d hoped it would be a little friendlier, but I suppose with all that’s between you, it was too much to hope for. Maybe you should stop by her shop tomorrow and try again.”

Everything in Zach stilled as he stared down at his elfin aunt, and his mind took him on a slow, sure path to trickery and deceit. “Aunt Etta, what did you do?”

“Come dear,” she said, patting his arm. “Let’s have some dessert.”

Zach stood his ground. “I don’t want dessert, I want an explanation. What did you do?”

But she was already walking toward a table where blueberry cheesecake and coffee sat untouched in front of six empty chairs. Swearing beneath his breath, Zach followed, seated her, then took the chair next to her. “You set me up! There was no sick bachelor. That’s why you wanted me here a day early.”

Without a trace of apology, Etta placed a white linen napkin on her lap. “Honestly, Zachary, we should all be grateful you decided to go into the construction business. You’d have made a dreadful detective. Didn’t you wonder why your tuxedo fit so well? The jacket, the trousers—the size fourteen shoes?”

No, he hadn’t, but then, he’d never expected Etta to bamboozle him, either. “Could we forget my deductive powers for the moment? Why in hell would you feel the need to drag me down here and put me through this?”

“Because I’ve waited years for you to marry a nice girl and bring some children into this world before I’m gone, and I’m running out of patience. When you offered to come home and get the farmhouse ready to sell, I decided that a bit of meddling was justified if it got you and Kristin talking again. It’s time.”

Zach narrowed his eyes, trying his best to follow Etta’s reasoning. “You expect me to marry Kris?” He’d have to be certifiable to want a woman who’d put his heart through a Cuisinart not once, but twice.

“Good heavens, no! She’s still mad, and I don’t blame her.” Etta shook her fork at him. “You need closure, young man. That’s what they say on the talk shows. Kristin does, too, if that three-hundred-dollar bid is any indication. The two of you need to resolve this unfinished business between you so you can get on with your lives.”

“Aunt Etta, I don’t need closure, I need ten more hours in the day. And I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t have the time or the inclination to marry and start a family right now. I’ve got a construction business to run. As a matter of fact,” he added, glancing toward the exit, “I—”

He stopped abruptly as a couple separated from the small crowd that had gathered at the front of the room. Then, as he watched, Chad Hollister escorted Kristin though the wide archway and out of sight.

The words she’d said not ten minutes ago came back to him. This time he gave them more credence. Actually, I’d planned to bid on someone else, but I was in the ladies’ room when he was auctioned off.

Chad Hollister was “someone else?” Chad Hollister?

“As a matter of fact, you what?” Etta prompted.

Zach sent her a grim look and pushed to his feet. “As a matter of fact, I do have unfinished business. I was tearing off the front porch when you phoned with this trumped up emergency of yours. I need to get back to it.”

“Zachary, it’s dark, and the power and water won’t be turned on until Monday. What are you planning to use for light? Fireflies?”

He smiled. “No, Aunt Smarty-pants, I brought a generator with me. You’re catching a ride back to the high-rise with your friends, right?”

“Yes, and I wish you’d reconsider staying there with me. At least until the utilities are reconnected.”

“Again, thank you for the offer, but I’m fine where I am. With my work habits, you don’t need me stomping through your apartment in the middle of the night disrupting your sleep.”

He bent to kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening for dinner. We’ll drive into Lancaster—maybe go to that Amish farmhouse restaurant with the great chicken.”

“Go see Kristin,” Etta said ignoring his invitation. “She bought the souvenir shop on Main Street where she worked in high school and turned it into a lovely place—Forget Me Not Antiques.”

“Aunt Etta—”

“It’s not often a person gets a chance to right the wrongs from their past.”

Zach met her eyes candidly. “If I had any wrongs to right, I’d do it. I don’t. See you tomorrow for dinner.”



Ten minutes later, he’d left the tux behind and was striding across the parking lot beneath a starry summer sky, and feeling damn good to be in jeans again.

He wasn’t a tux man. He was a sweat and calluses, hammer and nails man. Now, Hollister—he was a tux man. Hollister with his fake smile, military bearing and swaggering attitude. Good God, what did Kris see in that jerk? Position? Education? It sure as hell couldn’t be personality. Hollister had been mean-spirited and cocky from the day they’d met in the same tenth grade homeroom—a kid with money who’d enjoyed lording it over the kids without. Not that Zach gave a fat fig who she dated. He’d just always thought she’d be more selective when she hooked up with someone else.

Climbing inside his truck and firing the engine, he drove toward Etta’s old farmhouse on the outskirts of town.

Though he tried to ignore it, his past swung hard at him from every bend in the road. He approached the tiny stone church Kristin had coaxed him into attending, back when he’d decided to change his bad boy image and do whatever it took to keep her. He’d taken some serious heat from his friends for that, but he hadn’t cared. The sign out front evoked a near-smile. Come In. We’re Prayer Conditioned.

Traffic got heavier when he reached the brightly lit shopping plaza that hadn’t been there in his youth, then tapered off again when he turned down a secondary road toward the “poor end” of town. He passed four houses that needed work, then slowed the truck when he got to the empty lot where the hovel he’d once lived in had stood.

There’d been no flowers on the table in that place, no clean sheets on the beds, no mother with hot meals after school. She’d cut and run when he was seven and they were living somewhere in New Mexico. A long string of different states and different flophouses had come after that, and somewhere along the line, he’d missed two whole years of school.

By the time they’d finally made their way back here—back home, his father had called it, though no brass band had shown up to meet them—Zach was fifteen and understood clearly why his mother took off. But by then, he’d built up a dandy kiss-my-ass attitude. He’d been way too cool to let anyone know how it shamed him to be Hap Davis’s son, and fifteen—not thirteen—in the eighth grade.

He saw his father again, sitting in the recliner in their pan-gray living room, empty beer bottles lined up on the floor beside him. He was glad someone had torn down the old shack. Otherwise, he might’ve been tempted to buy it and rip it down himself.

Zach clicked on a country music station and rolled down the window to let in the night air.

His usual expectations upon returning home had been met. He’d only been back a few hours, and he was already primed to leave.




Chapter 2


Kristin stepped out of the shower, wrapped herself in a white terry robe, then with a vengeance, rubbed a towel over her short hair. She was so churned up, she didn’t know what to do with herself. Flinging the towel over the shower curtain rod, she strode barefoot into her pretty oak kitchen where her teakettle was screaming its spout off. She turned off the gas.

How could she have let him get to her like that?

What had possessed her to bid three hundred dollars on a man who’d crushed her spirit, and for months, had her gobbling chocolate like a child on Halloween?

She fixed her tea, grabbed the cookie jar from the countertop and carried it to the sofa in her living room. After a moment, she picked up the phone to call Rachel in Flagstaff. She hung up before she’d finished dialing the area code.

The second she told Rachel that she’d seen Zach again, her psychologist-sister would either counsel Kristin to death over the phone or catch the next plane home and do it in person.

Kristin couldn’t handle any more preaching tonight. Not after Chad’s well-meaning diatribe when he walked her to her car. He’d pretended concern, but his underlying feelings were easy to read. He was hurt, and he couldn’t understand how she could have bid on a man she supposedly despised. He hadn’t been in the best of moods when she’d sent him back to Mary Alice.

Kristin reached inside the cookie jar and grabbed a handful of Oreos. She needed to forget that Zach Davis ever existed. She needed to drink tea and eat cookies and watch mindless TV and forget.

It was simply mind over matter. She’d done it before, and she could do it again.



The next morning as she said goodbye to Mildred Arnett and hung up the phone in her shop, Kristin was teeming with energy. This mind over matter thing was easy. All she’d needed to do was focus directly on the work she loved, and she’d been doing that nonstop for an hour—ever since she came in at seven-thirty.

Pushing to her feet, Kristin grabbed the shipping manifest from her clipboard and strode into the small stockroom off her sales floor to finish checking in the previous day’s delivery. Two dozen cartons were stacked beside the metal door leading to the alley.

Pulling a stool close, she opened the boxes, checking each one to see that the description and number of items agreed with the manifest, then noting it on the sheet and boxing the items back up to be shelved later.

The very last carton was a case of jelly-jar candles she’d received from a new vendor. Kristin took more time with them, removing the lids to check the quality and strength of the fragrances. The second she opened the strawberry candle with the pretty red-speckled label, she knew it was a mistake.

One whiff had tears filling her eyes and that cruel videotape in her mind clicking on again.

Suddenly she was driving up the bumpy dirt driveway to Etta Gardner’s farmhouse again…guiding her mother’s car to the end, then back behind the big, white clapboard house where the strawberry fields opened and a small campfire blazed orange in the darkness.

The scent of strawberries filled her mind and lungs, and Kristin’s chest began to ache. Because there was Zach in the car’s headlights again, shattering her heart in a million pieces.

The bell over the entry door jerked Kristin out of her thoughts, and blinking rapidly, she blessed the interruption. She didn’t need this anymore, didn’t want it.

Smoothing her pearl-gray jacket over her white camisole and gray skirt, she summoned a smile and returned to her sales floor where antiques and pretty collectibles shared space with Amish baked goods, silk flowers and more candles.

Her face froze when she saw who’d entered. Then she reminded herself that she was a professional, drew a steadying breath and walked out to greet Zach, just as she would greet any other customer who walked through her door.

“Good morning, Kris.”

“Good morning.” She would not get upset again. She would not run trembling to the cookie jar ever again because of him. She stepped behind the glass showcase that served as a sales counter to stand beside the hulking old-fashioned silver cash register. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing. I’m here to do something for you.” He was dressed in snug, faded jeans and a white knit polo shirt with an open collar that showcased his broad shoulders and tanned arms. His steady gaze held hers as he reached for his wallet, withdrew a check, and laid it on the counter.

She knew without looking that it was made out to her in the amount of three hundred dollars. “I told you last night that I didn’t want it.”

“And I told you that I don’t like owing people. Take it.”

“No.”

He shoved it under the cash register. “All right, then add it to your donation or use it for a bookmark.”

She paused for a moment, then nodded, knowing that if she kept refusing, they’d be at this all day. “Thank you. I’ll see that the hospital auxiliary gets it. Now, if there’s nothing else, I need to get back to work.”

“There is something else.”

Kristin waited.

“Before we spoke last night, Maybelle Parker collared me.”

“Yes, I know. I saw her.”

“She said we were expected to join the other bachelors and their dates for a dinner cruise on Lake Edward in two weeks. Are you planning to go?”

She was stunned that he would even ask. “With you?”

“You did buy me.”

Kristin kept her tone even. “I did not buy you, I made a donation to the Children’s Christmas Fund. I thought you understood that.”

“So you said. But it was a pretty hefty donation. Are you sure you didn’t expect something more?”

This time she couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice. “I have no expectations where you’re concerned. I’m not going on the cruise. But if you’re interested, by all means, feel free to ask someone else.”

“I’m not interested.” Zach returned his wallet to his back pocket. “I’ll only be here for a few weeks, and I’ll need most of that time to get my aunt’s house in shape for a Realtor. I don’t have time for cruises.”

“Really?” she asked, irked again. “Would you have answered the same way if I’d said I wanted to attend?”

“Looking for a fight, Kris?” he asked curiously. “We used to be pretty good at it.”

The arrival of another customer stopped her reply, and for the second time in minutes, Kristin was glad for the interruption. She was even happier to see Chad, but probably for all the wrong reasons.

“Hi,” she called, smiling.

“Hi,” Chad called back cheerfully. “You look pretty this morning. How’s my best girl?”

“Full of energy,” she answered, letting the “best girl” thing slide.

Zach watched Hollister amble toward them, happy to return the jerk’s frigid nod as he carried a take-out bag to the sales counter. He eased as close to Kristin as the counter allowed, an intimate smile on his lips as he unloaded coffee in foam cups, stir sticks and creamers.

This morning, the chief was all decked out in his uniform—dark gray shirt with black epaulets and pocket flaps, black pants, and lots of shiny silver buttons. There was more crime-fighting paraphernalia hanging from his utility belt than Batman’s.

Zach found himself disliking Hollister more with every passing second. Maybe because he’d figuratively elbowed Zach out of the way. Or maybe because Chad was fixing Kristin’s coffee from memory.

Hollister spoke cordially to Zach as he stirred cream into Kristin’s cup, though there was no mistaking the “get lost” message in his green eyes. “Sorry, but I didn’t bring enough for company. If I’d known you were here, I’d have ordered another cup.”

Sure he would have. “Thanks just the same, but I’ve already had my quota for the day.”

“Early riser, are you?”

The question sounded like an accusation. In fact, everything he said sounded like an accusation. Zach’s edginess increased.

Kristin cleared her throat. “I had an interesting call from Anna Mae’s cousin a few minutes ago, Chad. Apparently, all the legal issues have been wrapped up, and Mrs. Arnett’s now free to sell the house and its contents.”

Hollister handed her a foam cup. “Bet she’s relieved to get on with it. She and her son have been back and forth a lot in the past few weeks.” He frowned wryly. “Weird people, those two.”

Zach stilled. How many Anna Maes could there be in a town this size? “Are you talking about Anna Mae Kimble?”

Chad took a cautious sip of hot coffee, then favored Zach with his attention again. “She was the department’s secretary for years,” he said sympathetically. “She passed away last month.”

Zach felt a stab of regret as a childhood memory of Anna Mae moved through his mind, and once again he was grateful for her kindness. “What happened?”

“It was an accident,” Chad said. “I don’t like speaking ill of the dead, particularly when the deceased was a good friend. But apparently Anna Mae had a little too much sherry the night she died. She fell in her home. Struck her head on a coffee table.”

The entry bell chimed again, and a solemn, bow-tied, older man Zach recognized entered the shop. Harlan Greene was the town’s perennial tax collector, having served in that position for decades. According to Etta, he still held the job.

Harlan waved to them, then frowning, perused the selection of Amish baked goods.

Chad continued in a lower voice. “According to the coroner, Anna Mae died instantly.”

“I’m sorry,” Zach murmured, meaning it. “She was a nice woman.” Nicer than a cocky teenage kid had deserved.

Harlan carried a package of cinnamon rolls to the counter and handed Kristin several bills. The sadness in his eyes was unmistakable. “She was the salt of the earth,” he said. “Guess that Arnett woman will be sellin’ off her things any day now.”

“Looks that way,” Chad replied, then glanced at Kristin. “I take it that’s why Mrs. Arnett phoned you this morning?”

Kristin counted out Harlan’s change, then nodded hesitantly, wishing Chad had waited until Harlan had gone to bring that up. “She wondered if I might be interested in buying a few of Anna Mae’s pieces. I’m meeting her at the house this evening.”

“Won’t find anything of value over there,” Harlan said huskily, pocketing his coins. “Leastwise, nothing that would work in your shop.” He picked up his rolls. “She liked frogs, was all. Frogs on her switch plates, frogs on the canister set, frogs all over the damn house.” As he turned to leave, a bitter tone entered his voice. “No, you won’t find anything worthwhile over there.”

Kristin watched the door close behind him, then followed Harlan’s path past her multipaned bay window until he disappeared. Touched, she turned to Chad. “Did you know about Anna Mae and Harlan?”

He nodded. “She liked him, but she didn’t like his gambling. Gave him his walking papers shortly before she died.” Chad glanced at the cuckoo clock on the wall. “Well, I’d better get to work. Dinner tonight?”

Kristin stared blankly at him. Where had that invitation come from? She also wondered at the offhanded way he’d asked—as if they dined together often, which wasn’t the case.

She felt Zach’s gaze on her, heavy and curious. Suddenly she was uneasy. “I’m sorry, but my plans with Mrs. Arnett aren’t firm. I’ll be touring the house at her convenience.”

“Okay,” Chad replied, shrugging. “I’ll probably see you a little later anyhow. Maybe we can grab some ice cream or something.”

“I…okay,” she answered, still feeling off balance. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“My pleasure. Always.” But instead of leaving, Chad eased back against the counter to finish his coffee and sort through his keys. When he finally glanced up again, both his expression and tone had hardened.

“Why don’t I walk you out, Davis? The sun’s shining. Too beautiful a day to be stuck indoors if you don’t have to be.”

Zach’s eyes were gray steel. “Why don’t you walk yourself out, Hollister? I’m not ready to leave yet.”

Startled, utterly bewildered, Kristin cast about for something to say, then hit the release lever on her cash register. The drawer dinged open, the tinny ring momentarily breaking their face-off. Whatever was going on here—idiotic male muscle flexing or a burst of rivalry from their past—it made her uncomfortable, and she wanted no part of it.

“You two do what you want,” she said briskly and closed the cash drawer. “Stay or leave. I need to get some change from my safe and make a phone call.”

Neither man commented, but Zach watched her go, shamelessly enjoying the view until she’d closed the door behind her. A sweet, wild wind stirred inside him.

“Pull your eyes back in their sockets, hotshot. You had your chance thirteen years ago, and you screwed it up.”

Slowly, Zach turned to face Hollister again. “So you’re the guy now?”

“That’s right, I’m the guy.”

“Fine with me,” he replied, shrugging. “But I’ve noticed that she’s not wearing a ring. I keep wondering what that means.”

A nerve leapt in Hollister’s jaw. “It means that Kristin and I have an understanding. For you, it means that you’d better observe all posted speed limits and put money in the parking meters. It also wouldn’t be prudent to cross the street anywhere but at a crosswalk.”

He glanced toward the door, then offered Zach a nasty smile. “You know, as I came inside, I noticed a black truck with Carolina tags parked out front. Think I’ll run a check on the license plate—make sure the owner has no outstanding warrants. I might even glance at the inspection sticker.”

“What’s this?” Zach asked, trying not to laugh. “Police harassment?”

“Not at all. It’s just a warning to an out-of-state visitor that when laws are broken in this town…I act.”

This time Zach couldn’t stop a smile. “And I’ll bet you do a damn fine job of it.”

Hollister’s face turned crimson. “Just watch your step,” he said coldly. “You don’t want me for an enemy.” Then he was stalking out of the shop, leaving Zach to wonder if Chad’s blustering was a territory-marking thing…or insecurity because he had no hold on Kristin.

Not that he cared, either way.



Kristin said goodbye to Mildred Arnett, drew a tentative breath, then slowly opened the door to her office and looked around. The silence was an enormous relief.

Grateful that they’d gone, she added change to her cash drawer, retrieved her glass cleaner and paper towels from beneath a counter, then walked to her bay window. There, dolls in Victorian costumes sat at a mock tea party, flanked by a profusion of plumed hats, Bavarian china, flowers and silk. She stepped up into the display, squirted a few tiny glass panes, and started to wipe.

A low deep voice shattered her composure.

“What’s this? A jewelry box?”

Kristin turned around slowly to see Zach standing beside a tall armoire with his back to her. An unwelcome warmth flowed through her as he reached for an antique music box on a high shelf, and she watched the subtle play of muscle and sinew beneath his shirt.

“It…it can be,” she replied, swallowing. Setting her cleaner and paper towels aside, she stepped down from the display. He was a customer, she told herself again. She would show him what he wanted to see—then she would show him the door.

Zach raised the footed box’s filigreed silver lid, then closed it and turned it over in his hands.

Kristin took it from him, slid the hidden key from a slot, then wound the mechanism. A haunting, old-fashioned melody began to play…an unnerving, awareness-building melody that captured the shop’s cozy ambiance and heightened her awareness of the man beside her. She handed the box back to him.

“Pretty,” he said.

“I think so, too.”

Maybe the music was to blame for the moody shift in the air. Or maybe the shop was too warm. Or maybe old lovers with good memories shouldn’t risk being alone in quiet places. Whatever the reason, Kristin felt herself grow jittery as the box continued to chime out a tender minuet, and the stirring smells of warm man and musky aftershave filled her nostrils.

He’d hurt her badly. Yet as her gaze fell from his eyes to his mouth, she was suddenly remembering kisses that tasted like sun-ripened strawberries and the smell of summer hay. Remembering the tingling touch of a boy who’d become a man in his aunt’s hayloft…

Kristin reached out and slammed the lid, silencing the music and widening Zach’s gray eyes. “That should give you some idea,” she blurted, thankful she hadn’t knocked the box out of his hands. “Actually, it’s one of my favorite pieces—nineteenth century English sterling. Which also makes it very expensive.”

Zach assessed her for a long beat, then glanced at the price tag and gave the box back to her. “I’ll take it. Do you gift wrap?”

Surprise joined her flustered emotions. “Business must be good.”

“I do all right.”

Apparently so, she thought, moving to her register. She retrieved a gift box, tissue paper and ribbon from under the counter, suddenly all thumbs. What in the world was wrong with her? Chemistry again? Need? It had been a long time since she’d been with a man, but that was no reason to fall apart at the first sign of sexual interest.

She worked quickly, wanting to hurry, acutely aware of Zach’s gaze on her. But pride wouldn’t allow her to do a less-than-perfect job on the package. Finally, she was slipping it into a white bag printed with a watercolor of an old mill, annoyed with herself for wondering who would receive it.

She was about to take his credit card from the counter when Zach trapped her hand beneath his. It was warm, firm, and had her heart beating fast again. “Etta thinks we should talk,” he said soberly. “She said we need ‘closure.’”

The memory of that June night rushed back, crystal clear, wiping away those jittery feelings of awareness.

Kristin yanked her hand away, snared his credit card and started the transaction. It was amazing how easy it was to remain sensible when she recalled the pain, not the pleasure.

“Your aunt’s a sweet woman, but maybe you should tell her that we’ve had closure for a long time.” She handed him the receipt and a pen for his signature, waited for him to comply, then tossed his copy into the bag and handed it to him. “Now, I really do have to get busy.”

If her shortness struck a chord in him, it didn’t show.

“Me, too. The sooner I get Etta’s house repaired and on the market, the sooner I can get back home.”

Zach’s inscrutable gaze moved over her face and hair, noted the small silver-and-turquoise posts in her earlobes, then slid down the front of her gray suit to her waist. “You look good, Kris,” he said simply, meeting her eyes once more. Then without another word, he pushed away from the counter and walked out of her life again. Which suited Kristin just fine.




Chapter 3


At eight that evening, Kristin pulled her van into Anna Mae’s driveway and parked beside a dark blue sedan. Angry voices drew her attention before she even shut off the engine. Sighing, she glanced through her open window. Her luck was certainly holding. Zach had made it a stressful day, and apparently, it was going to be a stressful night.

Standing beside a front lawn overrun by pinwheels, ceramic frogs, skunks and other lawn ornaments, Mildred Arnett and her middle-aged son were in the middle of an argument.

Kristin got out and slammed her door to alert them to her presence. But the short, plump woman with the Einstein frizz of hair and pink polyester pantsuit either didn’t hear it or didn’t care. Neither, it seemed, did her tall, heavyset son.

Will Arnett looked nothing like his mother. Where Mildred’s complexion was powder-pale, Will’s olive skin, thinning black hair and brushy mustache hinted at Greek or Italian ancestry. His khakis and yellow polo shirt looked expensive.

Dredging up a smile, Kristin called out a hello as she closed the distance between them. “Mrs. Arnett?”

Anna Mae’s elderly cousin came forward and stretched out a hand. But as Kristin attempted to shake it, the woman slapped a set of keys into her palm. “Call me Mildred,” she said, her sharp bird eyes taking in Kristin’s white sweatshirt and jeans. “Just go on inside and do whatever it is that you do.”

Kristin hesitated. “You aren’t going with me?”

Will Arnett answered irritably, “Mother refuses to go inside Anna Mae’s home after dark, and of course, it will be dark soon.” He sent Kristin a deadpan expression and wiggled his fingers in the air. “Ghosts, you know.”

Mildred scowled at her son, then spoke to Kristin. “I don’t like thinking of Anna Mae dying in that house all alone, without someone to guide her spirit to the next level. I—I hear things in there.” She cast a brief, nervous eye at the stately maples close to the house. “I’ve been trying to contact Ellysa all day, but I haven’t been able to reach her. She’d know what the sounds mean.”

Mildred seemed to expect a reply, so Kristin ventured, “Ellysa?”

Will rolled his eyes. “Ellysa Spectral, Mother’s voodoo medium from the psychic hotli—”

“Ellysa is my spiritual advisor,” Mildred cut in sharply.

“And she’s draining your bank account. Every time you consult with her it’s $5.95 a minute. What a colossal waste of money!”

“You’d know all about wasting money, wouldn’t you? Maybe you should worry about getting a job instead of watching my bank balance!” Mildred swung a look at Kristin. “If there’s anything you want to buy, let me know. I’ve already tagged the things I want. As I said on the phone, the rest will be auctioned off and the house put in the hands of a Realtor.”

The mention of auctions brought back the compelling image of Zach in a tux, but Kristin quickly and determinedly chased it away. “Thank you for your trust. Shall I bring the keys to the motel when I’ve finished?”

“Yes, I’m in 103 and William’s in 104—but bring the keys to me.”

Kristin murmured her agreement, not daring to look at Will. “I’ll see you in an hour or two. I’d like to take a good look.”

“Whatever.” Mildred jutted her chin skyward. “Come, William. I’d like to take a nap before that police show I like comes on the TV.”

His face livid, Will Arnett nodded curtly at Kristin, then seated his mother in the blue sedan. She could hear them starting up again as they backed out of the driveway and roared off.

Kristin blew out a ragged breath. Chad hadn’t exaggerated. They really were a strange twosome.



Not surprisingly, the inside of Anna Mae’s house was clean, but cluttered—primarily because the rooms were small, but partly because the woman had been a pack rat. Downstairs, Kristin found several pots and vases that interested her, along with a bookcase full of classic literature, two of them, first editions. As Harlan had mentioned, frogs in all sizes were scattered from the kitchen to the upstairs bedrooms.

It was upstairs that she made her best finds, though the condition of the bedrooms disturbed her. The Arnetts hadn’t taken much care as they’d gone through Anna Mae’s things. Dresser drawers hung open, and most of the photos on the walls were askew. She tagged a pair of hurricane lamps and an old chest whose contents had also been tossed, then moved into the hallway to label a lovely old chair and occasional table before opening the door to the attic.

Several pairs of shoes sat just inside, and metal curtain rods that had never made it to the upper repository stood upright in the corner. Kristin snapped on the dim light and ascended the narrow staircase. She glanced around as she neared the top, smiling when she spied a dressmaker’s dummy and several iron pipes hanging heavy with dated coats and dresses.

Suddenly glass smashed and the attic went dark. Kristin screamed as someone pushed past her and she tumbled midway down the stairs. She grasped for purchase, found the handrail, her mind on fire as footsteps banged down the remaining steps. The attic door slammed shut.

Afraid to move, afraid to breathe, Kristin crouched, nerves rioting, in the stairwell.

Something banged and bumped in the hall. Terrified, she backpedaled her way up several steps. She drew a trembling breath. He was moving furniture.

The thin strip of light beneath the attic door went out.

Kristin’s pulse hammered so loudly in her ears it was nearly impossible to pick out other sounds. But after several long minutes, she sensed that the intruder had gone. Could she leave now? Did she dare tiptoe from the stairwell and call the police? What if he came back? What if he thought she’d seen him—could recognize him—and came back for her?

Dear God, he had to have been inside the entire time she was tagging merchandise!

Kristin felt her way down the last few steps, then located the light switch and prayed that the intruder had merely turned the light off upstairs and the sound she’d heard hadn’t been the bulb smashing. But it had been.

She tried the door. Her heart sank when she realized he must have wedged the antique chair under the knob.

Frantic now, she pushed against it, shoved and pushed again—reared back and put her shoulder into it, banging until her arm ached. She dropped to the bottom step and thrust both feet against the door, again and again, harder, faster, harder.

Kristin screamed as the vibration sent a shower of curtain rods clattering down on her head.

They were a godsend.

Quickly, she maneuvered one of the flat metal rods under the door and rammed it hard against a chair leg. The chair flew out from under the knob and fell to the floor. Kristin burst into the hallway, fumbled shakily for the light switch, then raced downstairs and out of the house to use her car phone.



Patrolman Larry McIntyre was on the scene in less than five minutes, sirens wailing and lights flashing. After taking Kristin’s statement and asking if she needed medical attention, he disappeared inside Anna Mae’s little colonial home. Kristin was still sitting in her van when more headlights pierced the darkness and Chad brought his truck to a skidding stop behind the prowl car. He was in “civvies”—a gray sweatshirt bearing a police academy emblem, jeans and sneakers.

“What happened?” he asked tensely as he hurried to her open window. Lights strobed over his face. “Are you all right? I heard the call as I was getting out of the shower.”

“I’m okay,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “I’ll probably have a few bruises from my graceful tumble down the steps, but I’m fine.” Although, now that the crazy adrenaline rush had ceased, she was aware that her shoulder ached, and her right cheekbone felt tender.

“Thank God. Did you get a look at the guy?”

“No. To be honest, I can’t even say for sure that it was a man. Everything happened too fast.” She paused. “Larry thinks someone read the obituaries and decided to help himself while the house was still empty. He said he wouldn’t be surprised if whoever broke in was looking for valuables to sell for drug money.”

A deep scowl marred Chad’s features. “We can’t know that for sure, but it’s possible. We’re close enough to a major city to have our share of problems.”

Kristin understood his anger. Everyone had their own causes. For Chad, it was drugs. From the day he’d apprehended a bucket-toting drug dealer collecting money for Anti-Drug Education outside a supermarket, that had been Chad’s focus. Now he was tireless in his fight, speaking annually to school kids about the dangers of drug use. He believed that if he could reach them before the dealers did, they had a better chance of staying clean. He was still angry that a recent sting by state and tri-county police departments had failed because someone warned the dealers they were coming. Someone with inside information.

Chad sighed and looked toward the house. “Will you be okay while I see if Larry’s come up with anything?”

“I’ll be fine. Do your job.”

“You’re sure?” he said backing away.

“I’m sure. Go.”

Kristin stared after him, wishing she could feel more than friendship for him. He truly did care about the town he protected and served. No one she knew would dispute that. At the same time, occasionally he did things that made her feel less kindly disposed to him. He was her friend. But he never passed up an opportunity to be photographed for the papers. Being a prime player in a major drug bust would’ve been a huge feather in his cap.

Minutes later, the lights went out in Anna Mae’s home except for a lamp in the front window, and the two men came back out. With a wave, Larry climbed inside the prowl car, turned off the strobing lights and left. She’d given Larry the keys to Anna Mae’s house when he arrived. Now Chad handed them back to her.

“I phoned the Arnetts,” he said. “It’s obvious from the splintering along the door frame that someone gained entry through the kitchen—probably after 5:00 p.m. and before eight o’clock when the Arnetts met you here. Mrs. Arnett’s coming by tomorrow to see if anything’s missing.”

Chad paused, staring at the keys she held. “Why don’t you let me return those for you? You should go home and rest.”

“Thanks, but I can do it.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

She smiled. “Don’t hover.”

A ragged sigh escaped him. “Okay, then I’ll help Larry knock on some doors—see if the neighbors saw anyone hanging around here tonight. To be honest, I suspect he’s long gone, but…that’s the job.” Chad’s gaze softened, and he reached inside to touch her hair.

It made her a little sad. “Chad…”

“Yeah, I know,” he murmured. “But if you ever change your mind, I could give you a good life.” He smiled. “And we’d have great-looking kids.”

“Thanks for coming by,” was all she could say. Then he stepped away from the car and Kristin backed out of the driveway, wondering if the day would ever end.



The Wisdom Inn was a one-story, U-shaped series of units that opened directly onto a courtyard. It didn’t have a presidential suite, but it was clean, well kept and, according to the neon sign near the road, offered a continental breakfast. But, Kristin thought as she walked in the cool darkness up to unit 103, she’d never stay here, particularly after tonight. Spotty, outdoor lighting and a door chain wasn’t her idea of security.

She cringed as harsh words came through 103’s wooden door.

“Ellysa knew something terrible would happen tonight!” Mildred shouted. “She says the person who broke in is someone I know.”

“Oh yes, Mother,” Will bellowed dramatically. “The great and powerful Ellysa Spectral knows all.”

“She knows plenty. Where did you go while I napped tonight?”

Feeling herself pale, Kristin knocked loudly while Mildred continued to rail at her son. It couldn’t have been Will Arnett who’d knocked her down those stairs tonight, could it? How could he have entered the house and made his way to the attic without her knowledge? More to the point, why would he take a chance like that?

Will yanked open the door and greeted her wearily. “Hello, Ms. Chase.”

“Hello. I’m just dropping off the—”

“Yes, I know, the keys. I’m so sorry for the trouble you ran into tonight. Is there anything we can do? Offer you some tea—a glass of wine, perhaps?”

Not in this lifetime. The last thing she needed was a drink at ringside. “That’s very kind of you, but I need to get home. Chief Hollister said that you and your mother were coming by to check the house in the morning. Would you mind if I met you there again? I’d still like to look through the attic.”

Mildred pushed forward, elbowing her son out of the way. “How about ten o’clock? I like to sleep in.”

Kristin felt a faint smile form on her lips. There was no “How are you dear?” from the strange little woman, no apologies for the scare she’d experienced tonight. “Ten o’clock will be fine,” Kristin said, backing away. “I’ll see you at the house.”

“Take care,” Will said tiredly.

“You, too,” she replied, meaning it. He probably needed all the care he could beg, borrow or steal to deal with his mother.

She couldn’t imagine living in such an explosive household. She’d grown up in a warm, loving home with warm, loving parents who treated each other and their children with respect. Nothing like the behavior she’d seen from the Arnetts. Even in the last days of her life, Lillian Chase had never stopped smiling and encouraging her daughters. And Kristin had never stopped missing the father she’d lost in a car accident five years earlier.

“Kris?” A deep, familiar male voice called her name over the sound of dispensing ice. From Zach’s tone, he was as surprised by their meeting as she was.

Kristin turned reluctantly toward the brightly lit alcove housing the soft drink machines. Dark sweatpants rode low on his hips, and the matching sweatshirt he wore was unzipped and hanging open. He was barefoot.

“Looking for me?” he asked, grinning faintly as he came forward. It was the closest he’d come to smiling since he’d returned—at least in his dealings with her—and for some ridiculous reason, that pleased her.

“No, I was returning Anna Mae’s keys to Mrs. Arnett.” Kristin kept her eyes above the dark, springy hair covering his chest. Thirteen years ago, only a strip of soft down had bisected his breastbone. “I thought you’d be staying at the farmhouse.”

“I will be as soon as the water and power are turned back on. How did it go at Anna Mae’s? Did you find some pieces for your shop?”

“A few. I was…I was interrupted and had to stop for a while. I’m going back tomorrow after church.”

Zach ambled closer.

Kristin glanced toward the office where her car was parked, nerves skittering beneath her skin. His thick black hair was wet, and a soapy fragrance wafted on the night air. He kept his voice low in deference to the hour.

“I passed the church we used to go to on my way back to the farmhouse last night. Hasn’t changed mu—”

Suddenly, his face went slack, and he set the ice bucket down. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” she replied, startled.

Reaching out, he turned her face toward the light. “Nothing? Your cheek’s swollen and there’s blood in your hair. Who did this?”

Blood? “No one. I fell.”

“Come on.” Grabbing her hand, he tugged her toward a unit several feet away. She cried out softly when the action jarred her aching shoulder.

Zach’s gaze hardened. “You fell?”

“I’m fine.”

“All right, you’re fine. Don’t tell me what happened. And don’t accept my help. But if you don’t get some ice on your cheek pretty damn soon, you’re going to look like a poster girl for domestic abuse.”

“All right!” Striding through the door, she moved past the disheveled bed with the plain blue coverlet, and entered his tiny bathroom. It seemed even smaller with shower mist and the intimate smells of soap and shampoo still hanging in the air. Butterflies battered her stomach as Zach reached past her to wipe the steam from the mirror, then stood behind her, staring at their reflections.

Kristin sighed. Blood was caked near her temple, and there was a reddish-blue bruise on her cheekbone.

Zach grabbed a washcloth, dropped some ice into it, then put the pack in her hand. “Now,” he said gravely. “What went on tonight?”

She told him. He wasn’t much happier when she finished.

“Chad didn’t insist that you get checked out at the hospital? And why in hell didn’t he deliver the keys to the Arnetts so you could go home and take care of yourself? Or didn’t he even notice that you’d been hurt?”

“Zach, please,” she said, pressing the ice pack to her face. “I’m tired, and I don’t feel like defending Chad’s actions to you tonight. He did offer, but I refused. It was more important that he investigate the break-in. As for his not noticing, I was sitting in the dark, and my right side was turned away from him.”

“You were standing in a dark courtyard and I noticed.”

She shook her head. This was a mistake. She should never have let him bully her into coming in here. When he made sounds like a man who cared, it was too easy to forget that he’d nearly destroyed her, and too easy to remember that they’d once owned each other’s souls.

“I need to go,” she said, shoving the ice pack in his hands. “Thank you.”

“Wait. I want to see something.” Dropping the pack into the sink, he moved closer and turned her face up to his. After the ice, his hand was warm against her skin, and tiny nerve endings responded. “It’s still red,” he said quietly.

“Makeup will cover it.”

“Will it?”

“Yes, I’m sure it—” She stiffened. “What are you doing? Zach—?”

Warm breath fanned the hair at her temple as his lips brushed her cheekbone. “Just kissing it to make it better.”

Kristin rammed both palms into his chest and shoved him away. “How dare you?” she demanded shakily, more furious with herself for allowing the kiss than she was with him. “You gave up the right to do that the night you slept with Gretchen Wilder.”




Chapter 4


Zach’s gray eyes churned angrily as he looked down at her. He was a big man, and even the full force of her shove wasn’t enough to do more than shift his stance.

He reached for her shoulders, then suddenly seemed to remember her injury and backed off. But he was still so close, she could feel the heat of his body, could count every black whisker in his day-old beard, every eyelash fringing his accusing gaze.

“Still throwing all the blame in my lap? Well, you know what I think? I think you were glad I slept with Gretchen. No, not glad—ecstatic. It saved you from manufacturing even more reasons why you couldn’t marry me.”

Kristin bolted through the doorway, her sneakers punishing the walk as he followed her out. “I never manufactured anything. Everything I said was true.”

“Like hell! You never told me how sick your mother was!”

She whirled to face him. “The news was too new. I couldn’t. Not until you broke off our relationship. Then I realized that no matter how deeply into denial I was—no matter how frightened I was that saying the word ‘terminal’ would make it true—I had to tell you the truth before I lost you, too. And when I finally found the courage to say that word, where were you? Lying in the weeds with Gretchen. Four hours, Zach! Four lousy hours away from me, and you were making love to someone else!”

Nearby streetlights threw his face into bold relief, anger still burning in his eyes. “I didn’t make love to her, I had sex with her. They’re two different things.”

“Oh, yes, let’s split hairs.”

“I told you how sorry I was. It meant nothing!”

“It meant everything! It meant I had no one to hold me and help me through her illness! It meant I could never trust you again.”

Kristin brought her lips together, suddenly aware that their shouts were echoing in the courtyard. They had to stop before they had an audience, if people weren’t already peeping through the cracks in their drapes. She lowered her voice, and it trembled as she struggled for control. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It does matter, or you wouldn’t have brought it up.” Zach lowered his voice, too. “You knew how insecure I was about you. You knew about my life and my past, and you knew that a long string of excuses not to marry me would make me doubt your feelings.”

“What string of excuses?”

“First, you were afraid I’d always be on the road and you’d be alone in unfamiliar surroundings. When I told you I’d be working with the permanent crew in Durham, it barely made a difference. Then it was the scholarship that stood in the way, even though I told you we’d find a way to pay for your out-of-state schooling. By the time you told me that you were refusing the scholarship to stay with your mom, why wouldn’t I have had doubts? Especially when you let me think she was going to get better. When you couldn’t even look at me that day, I thought I had my answer, and it was no. No marriage, no me and you.” He expelled an impatient breath. “That’s why Gretchen happened.”

Kristin’s voice shook. “Don’t you dare try to justify what you did. Gretchen ‘happened’ because you let it happen. I’m sorry you had a lousy life. But I didn’t have time to wonder that day if what I said was what you heard.” Her voice broke. “My mother was dying, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.”

The night stilled around them, every molecule frozen in time and space as her words hung heavy in the air. For several very long seconds, neither of them moved, the hum of tires on the highway punctuating the long silence.

“If I’d known that,” he said finally, “things would’ve been different.”

Instead of making her feel better, his reply hurt her all over again. If he’d really loved her and thought their relationship was over, he would have been too devastated to want anyone else. That’s how she’d felt. Instead, he’d made love to his free-spirited, easy neighbor while Kristin was reeling from their breakup and trying to come to grips with her mother’s cancer. She’d had to handle it all without him. And she’d needed him more desperately then than she’d ever needed anyone or anything since.

Turning away, she headed toward the neon sign near the office where her van was parked.

Zach didn’t try to stop her, and she didn’t look back.

He did get in the last cold words. “I told you how sorry I was the night it happened and again at your mother’s funeral. I phoned you and wrote letters that came back unopened. I’m through groveling, Kris.”



Kristin managed to cling to her anger and keep her tears at bay until she pulled into the concrete drive beside her town house and entered her apartment. Then there was no holding back.

Dammit, she thought as the tears fell. She wasn’t responsible for their breakup! He was. His immaturity—not his insecurity—was to blame. And after thirteen years, why did she still care what he thought or didn’t think?

But minutes later as she stood in the kitchen holding more ice to her cheek, the scene outside Zach’s motel room came back to her.

Was there a kernel of truth in what he’d said? Had she, unknowingly, been looking for excuses to put off their wedding?

She’d been completely devoted to him—no one could tell her that she hadn’t been. But at eighteen, had she been ready to leave her home and family to start a new life in a new state? Could she have been making excuses that she wasn’t even aware of?

Kristin threw the ice into the sink and heated water for tea. The hold he still had on her was incomprehensible. Tonight, she’d been shoved down half a flight of steps, locked in an attic stairwell and frightened to the soles of her feet.

And still, all she could think of was Zach.



Zach jerked open his briefcase on the bed, shuffled through the copies of the strip mall estimates he’d brought along with him, then dropped to the bedspread and picked up the phone again. He cradled the receiver on his shoulder while he located the specs for the space they were converting to a popular toy franchise.

“Okay, Dan, I’m looking at the floor plan now,” he said to his foreman. “And yeah, that half wall has to come down. You know the drill. All the stores in the franchise have to look alike for easy shopping.”

“Can’t get even a little creative?”

“We save our creativity for the beach houses.”

“Fine by me, just thought I’d ask before we ripped it down.” He paused, his Carolina drawl growing slightly curious. “Things goin’ okay there? You don’t sound happy.”

“I’m so happy, I’m damn-near delirious,” he growled sarcastically. “It shouldn’t take me more than two weeks to finish here, then I’ll be home. In the meantime, call if you run into any problems, and I’ll continue to phone you daily for updates. Is the other crew ready to start the Hart’s beach house?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Good. Tell them to take special care with this one. Mrs. Hart has a lot of rich, influential friends. We want her endorsement.”

“They take special care on all the jobs,” Dan returned, chuckling. “They don’t want to end up in the unemployment line. Talk to you tomorrow.”

Zach hung up the phone, his nerves still thrumming. He’d told Kristin he wouldn’t grovel and he meant it. So why couldn’t he just put her out of his mind and go to sleep?

Grabbing some change from the top of the dresser, he went outside, then crossed the courtyard to the vending machines and bought another Pepsi. Angry voices came from a nearby unit, but he didn’t give a damn about their problems. He had enough of his own. He took a long drink and started back to his room.

He’d been acting like an idiot since he hit town, and it was all because of her. First he’d let Chad needle him into some kind of pseudo-high school rivalry, then he’d lost his focus and kissed Kris. He took another long swallow.

She was wrong, blaming him for all of it. If what she’d felt for him was love, she couldn’t have kept quiet about her mother’s illness. Not even for a minute. She would’ve needed to tell him—needed for him to hold her and tell her things would be all right. Instead…

Instead, Gretchen found him behind Etta’s barn that night, working on his second six-pack and wondering why his father thought booze could ease a man’s pain. And that time when she offered a different kind of remedy, he didn’t say no.

Crumpling the empty can, Zach went inside where the air conditioner was finally clearing away the shower mist, and tossed it into the wastebasket beside the bureau. It clattered against hard plastic.

All right, he thought, going to the bed and repacking his briefcase. He’d been a bastard. That was old news. But Kris wasn’t completely faultless. She’d known how insecure he was about her feelings, especially with Hollister champing at the bit to take her away. She should’ve told him the whole truth.

Stripping to his briefs, he flopped down on the bed, then grabbed the remote control from the nightstand and hit the on button. In a burst of color and canned laughter, the set sprang to life.

Tender kisses in motel rooms were for him and some other woman now—some other temporary woman. He didn’t have time to worry about old relationships or start new ones. He had a company to run, an empire to build. At thirty-three, he was finally earning respect and position, things that had been denied him from birth, and nothing was going to get in the way of that. His business was his chief priority. He didn’t need Kristin Chase in his life anymore.



Two days later, Zach grabbed a towel, swiped the sawdust and sweat from his arms and chest, then sank to the top step of Etta’s front porch and snatched up his cell phone. He frowned as indecision gripped him again. Then he swore and dialed Kristin’s number from memory. Overhead, the Monday afternoon sun beat down through the tall maples, relentless in its effort to burn every square inch of his exposed skin.

“Hi,” he said soberly when she picked up the phone at her shop.

The long pause on her end had Zach wondering if she was trying to place his voice.

“This is a surprise,” she said coolly.

He imagined it was, since they hadn’t parted on the best of terms Saturday night. “I had some time, so I thought I’d call and see if your cheek was okay.”

“It’s fine.”

“Your shoulder?”

“That’s fine, too.”

Zach reined in his impatience. All of her responses were tolerant and polite, but obviously, she was still angry. He damned the illogical compulsion that made him keep trying with her. “Any news on the intruder?” he asked, committed to make the best of it.

“Not yet, but I’m hoping Chad will have some information when he comes over later.”

Considering his aversion to Hollister, the jealous pinch he experienced was hardly unexpected. “Going out for dinner?”

“No, before the Arnetts went home yesterday, I bought a few of Anna Mae’s pieces and the contents of her attic. Half of it’s being delivered this afternoon. Chad’s helping me find room for it in my shop.”

“Nice of him,” Zach drawled.

“He is nice,” she replied. “And if you were a little more flexible in your thinking, you’d be able to see that.” She paused, and her tone softened. “I know he gave you a hard time in school. But he’s not the same person he was then.”

“Leopards don’t change their spots.”

“This one did.”

Right. The kid who’d never shown a shred of compassion to anyone below him in the social pecking order, had turned over a new leaf. Zach wouldn’t put money on it.

He’d been the son of the boozed-up school janitor—a job his dad was given only because Etta was on the school board and did some serious begging. Of course, her intervention hadn’t worked. Though she’d hoped her nephew would straighten out and support his teenage son when they returned to Wisdom, Hap Davis was out of a job in four months, and dead of cirrhosis a year later.

“Zach?”

Zach yanked himself out of the past, annoyed that he’d made the trip. He hadn’t allowed those thoughts into his mind for years. “I’m here,” he said into the receiver. “Just hoping there’s an arrest soon. You don’t have to go back to that house, do you?”

“No. I’ll have nearly everything I need by six o’clock tonight, and the rest will be here on Wednesday.”

Everything she needed. He resisted the urge to ask if Hollister was part of that package. “Well, I’d better get back to work on Etta’s porch.” Pushing to his feet, he crossed to the fringe of grass near the driveway where his table saw was set up. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he finished gruffly.

“Thank you. I am, too. Goodbye, Zach.”

“Bye.”

Frowning, Zach set the phone aside, turned the saw back on, and went back to work cutting floorboards for Etta’s porch. He was still keyed up and didn’t know why. The feeling was really beginning to aggravate him.



Kristin hung up the phone and pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to quiet her butterflies.

All right…this is good, she decided, willing her heartbeat to slow, willing herself to breathe normally. They were speaking civilly. That would be helpful if they bumped into each other again before he went back home. And in a town the size of Wisdom, it was a near certainty.

Tamping down the rush of nerves that thought evoked, she returned to her sales floor to ready it for her new acquisitions.

Kristin shoved a table full of lace doilies and votive cups closer to the wall, then carried a spinning wheel to the front and set it near a wooden barrel topped with potpourri. Standing back, she visually measured the space she’d cleared near the door to her stockroom. It wasn’t big enough.

Anna Mae’s attic had been pack-rat heaven, she thought, determined to concentrate on the job at hand—not the gray eyes that kept filling her mind. There’d never be enough room to store everything here in the shop. She needed to look into self-storage places.

Three hours later, Kristin stood near the side door and directed Chad and a deliveryman named Wayne where to stack the merchandise from Anna Mae’s home. In the dim light, it had been difficult to assess the worth of some of those attic pieces. Now she could see that she’d bargained well with the Arnetts. Some of the items were absolutely lovely—a fact that was totally lost on the heavy, middle-aged deliveryman with the ponytail, tattoos and multistudded earlobes.

He’d already dropped a carton of books and it had split open in the paved alley between her shop and Harlan’s tax office. She stepped back from the door as Chad carried an antique chair inside from the wide alley.

“Where do you want this?” His tone turned dry. “Is there room behind the cash register where Wayne put the books he dropped?”

She lowered her voice as she followed him inside. “Yes, just set it there. And thanks for helping. Especially since he’s not the most cautious person on the planet.”

“That’s an understatement. If there’d been breakables in that box you would have lost them all.”

Kristin put a fingertip to her lips as the deliveryman came back inside with another load. Only his boots and faded jeans were visible beneath a tall stack of boxes.

“I’ll tell him again to watch what he’s doing,” Chad muttered.

“No, don’t make waves. Nothing’s been damaged. There can’t be that much more to— Oh, no,” she groaned looking at one of the marked cartons. “He has glass this time.” And the boxes were piled so high, he could barely see around them.

Kristin hurried forward to take the top box from him, but Chad beat her to it.

“Buddy,” he said coldly as he snatched it away. “This lady’s going to give you the tongue lashing of your life if you drop one more thi—” Chad went stone still.

Because it was Zach’s face, not the deliveryman’s, behind the box.

A whisper of a smile touched Zach’s lips as he settled his gaze on Kristin. “In that case, maybe I should drop something on purpose.”

Fighting an embarrassed flush, she found her voice before Chad could start an argument. “I—I thought you were working on Etta’s porch.”

“I was, but I wanted to get to the mall before it closed. Now that the power is back on and I’m staying at the house, I decided to buy one of those cheap spongy futons. Etta’s hardwood floors aren’t the most comfortable.”

“No, I suppose they aren’t,” Kristin returned. Above those boots and faded jeans, he wore a navy blue T-shirt that hugged his shoulders and chest. And though it wasn’t fair to compare the two men, next to Chad’s fair skin and clean-shaven blondness, Zach was darkly intriguing.

He spoke again. “I saw the truck and remembered you said you were expecting a delivery today. Thought I’d give you a hand.”

Chad sent him a chilling look. “I’ve already given her both of mine. If you have work to do, feel free to get back to it.”

“Nah, I’ve been at it most of the day. I’ll just grab a few more boxes. The guy in the truck was shuffling them from the back to the tailgate so they’d be easier to unload. He’s probably finished by now.”

Zach smiled. “Want to bring both of your hands outside, Hollister? We can probably finish unloading the rest in just a few minutes.”

Chad’s face turned a deeper shade of crimson. He didn’t like being mocked, and it showed. “I intended to,” he said coldly, obviously trying to snatch back a little power. “Just watch your step carrying those boxes in here.”

Ten minutes later, the tension increased markedly when the deliveryman drove off, leaving the three of them alone. Between her taut nerves, Zach’s presence and Chad’s brooding silence, Kristin was so wired, it was difficult to keep her mind on arranging the new merchandise in the best possible order.

Zach’s deep voice carried to her from the front of the store where he was inventorying cartons and scrawling a list of contents on the sides of the boxes. “Your shop looks good, Kris.”

“Oh, it’s lovely,” she joked nervously, hoisting the broken box of books from the floor to the counter. “You must be a big fan of clutter.”

“I wasn’t talking about the clutter. I was talking about the changes you’ve made. It used to be a major tourist trap.”

Yes, it had been. Amish buggy key-chains, tiny cedar outhouses and cheap cardboard hex signs had abounded. But when Marian Grant put it up for sale seven years ago, it was exactly what Kristin had been looking for. She’d loved the prime location where faux Victorian gaslights lit the street and spills of petunias hung from double holders on the parking meters—where the bakery across the street filled the air with mouthwatering smells and Eli Elliott’s coffee bar and country bookstore drew patrons from all over. The street was so quaint, so warm and charming, that she knew it was the ideal place for the shop she wanted to open.

“You have good taste,” Zach finished.

“Thank you. I try.”

Chad sidled up to her as she delved into the small carton of first editions. Their hands tangled and their bodies brushed as he reached inside to help. Kristin inched away, feeling even more awkward.

“Actually, I think her taste has improved a lot over the years,” Chad remarked.

“How’s that?” Zach called.

“Oh, the company she keeps, for one thing. She hangs out with a classier group of people now.”

“Really?” Zach asked with a slow smile. “Compared to whom?”

Kristin glared at Chad, then fumbled with the books, feeling the temperature in the room rise. He and Zach were headed for a confrontation, sure as heat in July, and she had to diffuse it. “Chad, could you grab a—”

She’d intended to ask for a sturdier box in which to store the books. But as the words left her mouth, the other side of the damaged box split open and books tumbled from the glass counter and fell to the floor. With an exasperated sigh, she dropped to her knees to close the books that had opened before their pages could be creased and ruined.




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