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The One Safe Place
Kathleen O'Brien
Faith Constable is not the kind of woman who runs from a fightIf it weren't for her orphaned nephew, she never would have left Manhattan for the sleepy little town of Firefly Glen. But now she's here–hunted by a madman and forced to live in fear.Reed Fairmont can help everyone but himselfReed knows Faith needs a safe place to hide, but he's beginning to wonder just what kind of protector he can be. His previous failure has already cost one life. Still, he can't back out now–Faith and her nephew have nowhere else to go.



Reed assumed that Faith would fall asleep early
To his surprise when he strolled onto the porch around ten o’clock, she was standing out there.
She didn’t hear him at first. It probably would have been wiser to turn around and leave her alone. But he wasn’t feeling wise. All evening he’d been feeling edgy, unable to settle in. He felt irrationally as if his life was on the verge of becoming completely different, though he had no idea how.
Maybe it was just the weird feeling of having other people in the house. No one but him had slept here since Melissa died.
He was careful to make enough noise to be sure she’d hear him. Given what she’d been through lately, the last thing he wanted was to startle her.
She turned around. “Hi,” she said, smiling.
“Hi,” he responded casually, but his senses were suddenly reeling. She smelled of soap and some kind of perfume that made him think of pink flowers and springtime. Her hair fell to mid-arm, curving against the tender spot where he’d earlier noticed a large white bandage. The bandage had been a brutal reminder that she wasn’t here for a social visit. She wasn’t even here to be his housekeeper.
She was a wounded, frightened woman. A refugee seeking asylum.
He felt a sudden flash of anger. How could anyone be trying to hurt someone so beautiful?
Dear Reader,
Once, when he was little, my son told me he was tired of all this fuss about rainbows. They weren’t anything special, he said. They were, in fact, kind of stupid.
I have to admit even I was shocked. He might as well have said he didn’t admire Mozart, or daffodils, or God. What kind of man could grow from a boy who didn’t like rainbows?
But as I watched him turn into a wonderful young man, full of kindness and imagination, I finally understood. That little boy hadn’t been insensitive. He had merely been young—and very lucky. He knew nothing of struggle or fear or loss. He had no need for symbols of hope. He didn’t need reassurance that, after pain, joy would rise again.
Most of us know those things all too well. And we are grateful for the rainbow’s reminder that life’s storms, however violent, are temporary—and that sometimes, in the most unlikely of places, beauty and love can suddenly reappear.
Faith Constable, the heroine of The One Safe Place, is caught in one of those storms. When she flees to Firefly Glen, she is seeking only safety. She never dreams of finding happiness and love.
But then she meets Reed Fairmont. Reed is a man who can heal anything…sick puppies, surly lizards, damaged kids and even terrified heroines. Anything, that is, except his own broken heart. For that, he’ll need an unexpected rainbow. For that, he’ll need Faith.
I hope you enjoy reading their story as much as I enjoyed writing it. And the next time your life gets a little too stormy, don’t forget to look up. There might be a rainbow waiting for you, too!
Warmly,
Kathleen O’Brien
P.S. I love to hear from readers! Please write me at P.O. Box 947633, Maitland, FL 32794-7633 or at KOBrien@aol.com.

The One Safe Place
Kathleen O’Brien


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

The One Safe Place

Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER ONE
FAITH CONSTABLE had never realized that getting shot with a .22 caliber rifle would make a person so damn angry.
But as she lay in the emergency room of St. Luke’s having her arm stitched up by a doctor who appeared to be a teenager, a bubbling fury was by far the strongest emotion she felt.
Stronger than fear, which actually might have been more logical. Stronger even than grief, which had colored her world dead black for the past four terrible weeks.
In a way, angry felt better. A frightened, grieving woman walked through life with her head down, incapable of action. But an angry woman was a force to be reckoned with.
As Detective James Bentley was about to find out.
“I said no, and I meant it,” Faith said. “I am not running away, and that’s final. I’m going to stay here and help you catch him.”
Detective Bentley had come to know Faith pretty well over the past month—intense emotion was a great social accelerator. He sat down in the guest chair, obviously recognizing that this might take a little longer than he’d expected.
“I think,” he said firmly, “you’d better leave the catching part to us.”
“I’ve been leaving it to you. Doug Lambert killed my sister more than four weeks ago, and he’s still out there.”
She had her back to the policeman, but she could imagine his face. He was fifty, lined and craggy and tough as nails. But his sad eyes were kind. The day she discovered Grace’s body, he’d held Faith like a daughter while she cried.
“We’re looking for him, Faith. We’ll find him. But it won’t help us if you get killed, too.”
Faith swallowed, shutting her eyes as the pimple-faced doctor dug another stitch into her torn flesh.
Killed. The word no longer seemed preposterous, alien, abstract. That was one more thing Doug Lambert had done to her life. He had introduced the reality of death—violent, wrongful death—and now it walked beside her always.
Just five hours ago, she had decided to go out jogging, hoping that the crisp late-September New York City morning would clear her head, maybe even lift her spirits. But she had, even then, been aware of the possibility of death. Any world that held Doug Lambert was a treacherous place.
And then out of nowhere, a noise. A sharp pain.
Death.
The bullet had skimmed across her upper arm, leaving a burning red path. Six inches to the right, and it would have hit her heart.
She remembered her breath misting in the chilly air as she cried out. And if the other joggers hadn’t stopped and gathered around, he could have pulled the trigger again, aiming a little more carefully this time.
Dead.
But wouldn’t that perhaps have been some dreadful kind of justice? After all, it should have been Faith who got killed in the first place. Doug Lambert hadn’t ever intended to murder Grace. In a fit of passion, coming up on her from behind, he had mistaken her for Faith.
Detective Bentley knew that as well as Faith did. But neither of them wanted to say it.
Faith tried not even to think it. If she started thinking about Grace right now, about how she had looked, lying there on her kitchen floor, her neck broken—then this hot, empowering anger might disappear in another flood of grief and guilt.
“I can’t,” she said. “I can’t let him chase me into a hole like a frightened mouse. What if you never do catch him? Am I going to live in that hole for the rest of my life?”
“We’ll catch him,” he repeated doggedly. “If it really is Doug Lambert, we’ll get him. And if it’s someone else, we’ll get him, too.”
“It’s Doug, damn it. It has to be. A millionaire who has been stalking me for months suddenly vanishes the day after my sister’s murder, and you think it’s a coincidence?”
“It might be. It’s my job to consider all the possibilities. I’ve told you that a thousand times, Faith.”
She felt her anger rising even higher. She was breathing fast, and the air tasted horribly of hospital, a bitter concoction of alcohol and sickness. She sensed her anger was irrational, maybe even artificially induced by shock and fear, and yet she was so filled with its roiling power that she could hardly lie still for the doctor to go on working.
Bentley’s attitude was frustrating to the point of madness. Doug had killed her sister. And now he was trying to kill her. She didn’t want a single hour wasted looking for other suspects.
“I saw him there that morning. And he knows it. He knows I am the only one who can place him at my apartment. That’s why he tried to shoot me today.”
“Maybe,” the detective agreed calmly. “And maybe not. Stray shootings aren’t exactly unheard of in this city, you know.”
“Bull.” She tried not to go any further with the profanity, though it was pushing at her throat, trying to explode through her fragile control. “That’s absurd. You’re not an idiot, Detective. How can you possibly swallow so many huge coincidences all at once?”
“I can’t. At least not without some serious chewing.” The detective shifted in the hospital chair, which was far too small for his six-foot-plus body. “Truth is, I hate coincidences. Which is why I want you to get the hell out of this town, Faith, and let us do our jobs.”
Hadn’t he been listening? Faith raised up on her elbow and twisted to look at him. “I told you I—”
“Please.” The young doctor had been steadfastly ignoring the debate between Faith and Detective Bentley, but at her movement he looked up, aggrieved. “I need you to be still. You two can work this out when I’m done.”
“I’m sorry.” But Faith couldn’t lie back down. Her adrenaline was pumping too wildly, making her veins feel slightly electrified. She felt as if she could leap off this table, run right out and capture Doug Lambert single-handedly. She glared hard at the detective.
“I’m serious. I’m not going to scuttle away. I am not afraid of him anymore. Let him try to kill me if he thinks he can.”
Bentley met Faith’s bravado with dark, serious eyes. Those eyes had seen too much, she thought suddenly. And now they saw everything, even the things she was trying to hide.
“Okay.” He paused. “And what about your nephew? If the boy is with you, he’ll probably get killed, too. Is that also okay?”
Faith stared at him a minute, hating him. And then, the adrenaline leaking out of her like water from an opened drain, she lowered herself slowly back onto the table.
Spencer.
She shut her eyes, feeling herself go limp. She had been right to cling desperately to her anger. The adrenaline had been the only thing that stood between her and the razor edge of meltdown.
The doctor took advantage of her momentary quiescence, knit his final stitch and tied it off. He stood, peeling off his latex gloves, obviously eager to depart before things got emotionally out of hand. Blood he could handle. Tears obviously were a different story.
That was his youth, Faith thought vaguely. Though she was only twenty-five, she felt a thousand years older than this young man. You had to cry a lot yourself before other people’s tears didn’t scare you anymore.
“Tell you what,” the doctor said, picking up her chart and scribbling in it. “I’ll leave you two to finish this. Let my nurse know when you’re ready, and she’ll apply the dressing. Detective, if you need anything more, have them page me.”
No one tried to stop him. And then Faith and the policeman were alone in the little alcove formed by the long white curtain. It wasn’t really a shelter, but it at least offered the illusion of privacy.
Still lying on her side, Faith stared at the huge silver hooks that held the drape on its semicircular rod. But she didn’t really see any of that. Instead she saw Spencer, his brown eyes wide and liquid with fear, his skinny, six-year-old body trembling, his hand creeping into hers. His pain locked somewhere so deep inside him it couldn’t make its way out in words.
Spencer.
Grief and guilt seeped in again, in the void the adrenaline and anger had left behind. She felt suddenly too heavy to move.
“And even if Lambert doesn’t bother killing the kid,” Detective Bentley went on conversationally, as if the subject truly intrigued him. “What does Spencer do when you’re gone? When he’s lost his mother and you?”
She didn’t answer. The anaesthetic was starting to wear off, and her arm had begun to throb.
The policeman didn’t seem to notice her silence. He just kept talking, as if mulling over the subject with an idle curiosity.
“Well, I guess he’d just have to go into foster care. It’s my understanding you’re the only family he’s got left—am I right? Kind of tough on the kid, though, wouldn’t you say? Foster care can be pretty grim. They don’t even stay in one home very long before—”
She closed her eyes. “Detective.”
“Yes?” He sounded annoyingly smug, as if he had predicted to the nanosecond exactly when her resistance would vanish.
“That’s enough,” she said softly. “You win.”
“I do?”
“Yes. I’ll go. I’ll go to—” She took a deep breath, though the air was sharp with disinfectant. “What did you say this mouse-hole you’ve found for me is called?”
“Actually, I didn’t say,” he answered politely. “You didn’t ask. But now that you have, I’m happy to tell you. This mouse-hole, as you put it, just happens to be upstate, in a rather beautiful little mountain town called Firefly Glen.”

ON THE WAY down to his veterinary clinic the next morning, Reed Fairmont looked around his quiet home, a rambling, lovingly renovated farmhouse from the 1800s, and tried to imagine strangers living here.
Frankly, he just couldn’t do it. In the two years since Melissa died, he’d come to terms with solitude. More than that—he’d come to like it. He’d come to need it.
And yet, by dinnertime today, these total strangers, this Faith Constable, who had somehow tangled with a murderer, and her nephew Spencer, who apparently was emotionally disturbed, would be here.
And then what? No more quiet dinners with the newspaper, that was for sure. No more smoky jazz on the stereo when he couldn’t sleep at three in the morning. No more burning off the day’s tension by banging weights around in the exercise room at midnight.
And lately he’d begun to start thinking about maybe dating again, just as another way to work off tension. Well, forget that, too.
Hell. Damn Parker Tremaine anyhow. Reed should never have let Parker talk him into this. That was a lawyer for you. They started talking, and before they were finished you found yourself agreeing with them.
He slammed the door that cut the rest of the house off from the clinic, something so out of character that Justine Millner, his receptionist, looked up, a line of worry marring her clear, white forehead.
“Anything wrong, boss?”
Behind her, a baby stirred and began to whimper, probably roused by the slamming door. Justine caught her lower lip prettily between her teeth.
“Sorry, Dr. Fairmont. My mom couldn’t keep Gavin this morning. My dad was home and he won’t let her, you know, so I had to bring him with me. I didn’t think you’d mind. I mean, you did say—”
“It’s fine,” he said, shaking off his bad mood long enough to bend down and let the baby wrap his fat hand around Reed’s thumb. “Everything’s fine.”
But was it? As if he didn’t have enough to worry about, he was already having second thoughts about giving Justine this job. For one thing, she was an incurable flirt. Reed had a fairly healthy ego—after all, he had won Melissa, hadn’t he? And since Melissa’s death plenty of women had shown themselves eager to help him recover.
But Justine was only nineteen. To her, a thirty-two-year-old widowed vet, however fit, however nice-looking, must seem ancient. Still she couldn’t open her mouth without flirting.
And, though she had assured him her mom would keep the baby whenever she could, whenever her father wasn’t home to forbid it, half the time Justine showed up dragging the diaper bag and baby carrier behind her.
But how could he have said no? The kid had been desperate, an exhausted former beauty queen with no husband, a hungry infant and a father who had disowned her loud enough for the whole damn Glen to hear.
The judgmental old bastard. What kind of father pinned a scarlet letter to his own daughter? Mayor Alton Millner’s kind, of course. Rumor was he’d wanted Justine to give the baby up, and he couldn’t forgive her for defying him.
That showed some serious backbone. And she clearly wasn’t stupid, in spite of the fatherless baby, the compulsive flirtation and the tight sweaters, which were probably all parts of the same self-esteem issue.
So Reed, aware that he was one of the few employers in the Glen who didn’t need to curry favor with Mayor Millner, had hired her.
The baby was sucking his finger. Reed pulled it free carefully, making a deft substitute move with the plastic pacifier. Then he straightened and headed toward the back.
“Mr. Tremaine is in room one,” Justine called after him. “He’s brought Frosty in for his shots.”
“Is that so?” Reed changed course, heading for room one with a purposeful stride. “Mr. Smooth-talking Tremaine. Just the man I want to see.”
He swung through the door with a firm push. Parker was sitting comfortably in the corner chair. Frosty, a beautiful golden retriever about a year old, stood on his hind legs beside him, paws dangling over Parker’s lap, getting a lazy ear rub that had sent the dog into sleepy-eyed ecstasy.
“Uh-oh.” Parker smiled, obviously recognizing Reed’s foul mood and deducing the cause. “I hope we’re not having second thoughts about our new housekeeper and her nephew.”
Frosty bounded over to greet Reed, whom he adored. Of course, Frosty adored everyone, so Reed didn’t let it go to his head.
“No,” he said, petting Frosty but glaring at Parker over the dog’s head. “We’re not having second thoughts. I am. You’re not involved in this. You’re not the one whose house is being invaded.”
Parker returned his glare with complete innocence. But Reed wasn’t buying it. He straightened and narrowed his eyes. At six-three, he was a full inch taller than Parker, which drove his friend crazy.
“And I have to ask myself, why is that? If this Good Samaritan deed is so important, why isn’t Parker Tremaine the one doing it?”
Parker stretched out his long legs and put his hands behind his head, the picture of ease and a perfectly clean conscience. “We went over this, Reed. I’m not the one with a huge house and a million extra bedrooms—”
“Two,” Reed corrected, lifting Frosty up onto the table and checking his ears, which were spotless, of course. This was one well cared-for animal. “Two extra bedrooms.”
“Right. Two,” Parker agreed pleasantly. “Which is the perfect number for two people. And I’m not the one who needed a housekeeper, which is the perfect cover for a woman in hiding. I’m not the one with fifteen open acres for a kid and his dog to play in. In fact, I’ve got a relatively small house, a new wife, a new baby and two dogs tearing up the place already.”
Reed checked Frosty’s teeth, which were fine, and began clipping the dog’s toenails.
“Yeah, but you’re the superhero with all those years in the Secret Service, and a stint as sheriff, to boot. You’re the one who’s trained to protect and defend. If a murderer shows up here, what am I going to do, neuter him and give him a rabies booster?”
Parker laughed. “With this guy, that might be the best approach. But he’s not going to show up here, unless he’s a mind reader. There’s not a single thing to tie Faith Constable to you or Autumn House. Jim Bentley and I did Secret Service duty together five years ago, and he asked a favor. I suggested you. That’s a convoluted path not even a lunatic could trace.”
Reed’s assistant brought in the inoculations and stayed to help Reed hold Frosty in place while he administered them. Not that Frosty was wriggling. It was actually unnatural, this dog was so well behaved. Must be the result of living with a teacher and a lawyer. If Sarah, the teacher, couldn’t make Frosty behave, Parker could talk him into it.
While the assistant was in the room, Parker kept quiet, but as soon as they were alone, he started in again.
“So what’s really bugging you, Reed?” Frosty was back on the ground, and Parker stroked the dog’s head absently, his intense blue gaze fixed on Reed.
Reed turned to wash his hands, buying time.
“I’m not believing that the bad guy makes you nervous,” Parker said. “I’ve seen you bring down a charging bear with one well-placed tranquilizer dart. I’ve seen you rope a crazed bull and wrestle it to the ground. That’s one reason I thought of you. You’re young, you’re fit and you’re not afraid of a damn thing.”
Reed flicked a glance over his shoulder, just in time to see Parker grinning.
“Hell,” Parker added, “I’ve even heard it said that you’re a whole inch taller than I am, although that part’s a dirty lie.”
Reed dried his hands, then turned around slowly.
“Okay,” he said. “You’re right. I don’t give a damn about this Lambert character. A guy who sneaks up on women and breaks their necks is clearly a coward. I suspect I could handle him if I have to. My real problem is that—”
He paused. Like most men, he and Parker didn’t discuss their emotions much. They’d known each other so long they really didn’t have to.
“What?”
Reed took a deep breath.
“I guess I’m just hoping you don’t have some hidden agenda here. I hope you’re not thinking that, because of Melissa, I’ll be able to relate to these people in some special way. I hope you don’t think I have some gem of wisdom to offer them about surviving the loss of a loved one.”
Parker smiled. “Sorry. Frankly, ‘wisdom’ isn’t the first word that comes to mind when I think of you, old buddy.”
Reed knew what he meant. If anything, he had handled Melissa’s death with a spectacular lack of good judgment. In fact, he’d been a mess. He’d refused to see anyone except his patients. He’d barely left the house. He had drunk himself to sleep for a full year.
But damn it, he had been married only two years. Two years. Melissa had been only twenty-seven. And to see all that beauty, all that life, eaten away by cancer…
Well, it didn’t really surprise him that he’d drunk himself to sleep. It only surprised him that he hadn’t somehow managed to drink himself to death.
“Yeah, but I know you, Parker. You probably think that, because I did survive, I learned something.”
He wiped his hands on the paper towels so hard his skin burned. “But I didn’t. The only thing I learned is that eventually time will put enough distance between you and the pain, and you’ll be able to go on. I can’t help these people, Parker. Just because I came out of it, that doesn’t mean I can help them out of it, too.”
Parker leaned over to clip the leash back onto Frosty’s collar. When he stood, his face was somber.
“I never for a minute thought you could,” he said. “If anything, it might be the other way around. Maybe I thought they could help you. Truth is, you’re not as far out of it as you like people to think.”
Reed shook his head. “You’re wrong,” he said.
He wanted to be angry, wanted to dispute the implication that he wasn’t fully recovered. But the look on Parker’s face stopped him. “You’re completely wrong,” he repeated dully.
“Could be,” Parker agreed, shrugging as he headed toward the door. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Just ask Sarah.”
But that was nonsense. Parker’s beautiful new bride didn’t think a single word Parker had ever uttered was wrong. If he said day was night, Sarah would kiss him sweetly and obediently go to sleep. And it went both ways. If she said jump, Parker would soar right over the moon.
Reed remembered what that had been like. A good marriage—two people cocooned in love. It had been soft and easy, exciting and alive, real and profound and achingly brief.
He had to fight hard against the bitter envy that welled up in him whenever he saw the blissful Tremaines. But damn it, Parker didn’t know what he was talking about here. Reed didn’t need a distraction. He didn’t need a Good Samaritan mission. He didn’t even need a housekeeper.
And he damn sure didn’t need Faith Constable and her troubled nephew, with a murderer nipping at their heels.
What he needed was Melissa. Or, failing that, someone to drill into his brain and surgically remove all memories of being in love.

CHAPTER TWO
FAITH CHECKED HER WATCH in the bright mountain sunlight. She had checked her watch about ten times in the past half hour. She didn’t really care what time it was. She just needed something to do, something to fidget away the anxiety that was threatening to overtake her.
At four-seventeen, just two minutes behind schedule, Detective Bentley stopped his car at a deserted mountain pass called Vanity Gap. It was time to turn them over.
His friend Parker Tremaine was waiting at the mouth of the gap, ready to receive them. It was a strange, complicated transaction, designed to make it difficult for anyone to follow them without being seen. Faith felt a little like a ransomed hostage. Or perhaps just a parcel of smuggled goods.
Parker looked very nice, and was in fact startlingly handsome. Still, as Faith watched Detective Bentley transferring their suitcases from the unmarked cop car into Parker’s expensive luxury sedan, she felt a clutch of fear.
At least she knew the detective. After the past intense weeks, he seemed to have become a real ally. A friend. Besides, he was her tie to the city, to her sister, to her real life, which for the past three hours had been rapidly receding in the rear window.
Getting into this new car with this stranger, however handsome, would be like sailing into darkness, and she was suddenly washed with uncertainty.
Somehow she had to hide it, though, for Spencer’s sake. The little boy stood beside her, still as a statue. The only movement came from his Sheltie puppy, Tigger.
Tigger, whose boundless energy had earned him his name, was struggling to reconcile his excitement about the trip with his innate urge to stay close to his little master. Consequently, though he whined and writhed in place, he never got more than two inches from Spencer’s left foot.
Faith patted the puppy, then took Spencer’s hand and smiled down at him reassuringly.
“Okay, sweetie, here we go,” she said with an attempt at brightness.
Spencer just stared at her, his brown eyes so like his mother’s that Faith almost couldn’t bear to look into them.
He didn’t speak, of course. Spencer hadn’t spoken a word since Grace’s death. “Conversion reaction,” the psychiatrists had called it. Or perhaps “selective mutism.” But she called it something simpler—and yet far more tragic. She called it unbearable pain.
He was only six years old, and already the world had hurt him so much he no longer had the power to express it.
No, she corrected herself. The world hadn’t done that. Doug Lambert had done it.
“We’re going with Mr. Tremaine now. He’s taking us to Autumn House. That’s where you and Tigger and I will be living for a little while, remember?”
“Please. Call me Parker.” The tall, blue-eyed man came over and squatted down to get at eye level with Spencer. “Autumn House belongs to a friend of mine. It’s very big and very pretty. And it has a huge yard that puppies like to run around in. I think Tigger will have a great time there.”
Faith noticed that Parker didn’t phrase anything as a question. So he must already know about Spencer. Detective Bentley had probably filled him in on all the pitiful details. Which was only natural, of course. Only fair. These people were doing her a huge favor, and they deserved to know exactly what they were getting into.
It was ungrateful of her to mind. And yet the idea of these strangers discussing her personal tragedies was oddly distressing. Intrusive, as if she really were just that troublesome parcel of handle-with-care cargo.
She felt a new stab of hatred toward Doug Lambert as she added this to his list. He had stolen their basic right to privacy. A small loss, compared to the loss of Grace, or the loss of Spencer’s emotional peace, but another black mark on the board nonetheless.
When the bags were all transferred, Detective Brantley came over to say goodbye. His kind eyes sent courage into hers as he wished her well, and assured her that he’d keep in touch frequently through Parker, making sure she was always updated on the search for Doug Lambert.
Faith allowed herself one long hug. She had to pull herself away, finally, for fear she might dissolve into tears, which would be embarrassing. Besides, it would frighten Spencer, who needed to believe that his aunt, at least, had a firm grip on the reins of their changing, unpredictable world.
“Thanks for everything, Detective,” she managed to say before her voice gave out. And then, without looking back, she took Spencer’s hand and led him into the soft, leather-upholstered interior of Parker Tremaine’s waiting car.
Parker and the detective must have said their goodbyes very quickly, because in less than a minute Parker joined them.
He slipped his key in the ignition, using the mirror to check Spencer and Tigger, who were huddled together in the back seat.
“Everybody buckled in?”
Spencer pretended he hadn’t heard him, but Faith could see that the seat belt was already carefully pulled over both boy and dog. Spencer was so cautious now, she realized with a pang. It was unnatural to see any little boy sitting so still. Like someone frozen in the middle of a minefield.
Once Spencer would have fussed and giggled and played stalling games, pretending he couldn’t find the dreaded lap restraint. But not now. Now he obviously clung to any illusion of safety he could find.
“We’re all ready,” she said, turning to Parker with her best attempt at a smile. He was an innocent bystander in this drama. No need to make him any more uncomfortable than was absolutely necessary.
But as they drove down the winding road that led to Firefly Glen, she gradually realized that Parker wasn’t the uncomfortable type. His conversation was easy, wry and interesting. He avoided anything personal, instead amusing them with stories of how Vanity Gap got its name, and the history of the four “season” houses of Firefly Glen.
They would be staying in one of those special mansions—the Autumn House. Parker spent a lot of time describing the place, somehow making it sound both cozy and grand. Out of the corner of her eye, Faith could see that Spencer had tilted forward slightly, so that he wouldn’t miss a word.
Parker was very smooth. By the time they reached the bottom of the mountain, Faith had relaxed considerably, and she could see that even Spencer’s knuckles were no longer clenched white and bloodless.
“This is Main Street,” Parker said as they turned into a shopping area so quaint it might have been in a picture book of charming European villages.
Faith’s first impression was of clean, sparkling color. It had rained earlier, and gleaming cobblestones wound their way through storefronts decorated with garlands of autumn leaves. Golden chrysanthemums frothed out of pots at every door and late-season daisies flowered in a hundred hanging planters.
“It’s very pretty,” she said inadequately. Actually, it was far more than that. It was like the schoolbook illustration for Our Happy Hometown.
Warm and welcoming, a little jeweled paradise where surely everyone was generous and good, and nothing ever went wrong.
But it was, of course, merely an illusion. No such Eden existed, she knew that. Even a town this beautiful had its secrets, its tears, its cruelties behind closed doors. In spite of the mountains that stood guard on every side, illness and evil and despair had undoubtedly found their way into Firefly Glen, just as they had into every other place on earth.
But none of that was visible on the surface. And a couple of months ago, before Doug Lambert had come into their lives, she might have believed it.
Parker seemed to believe it still. He clearly adored his little town. His voice was warm as he pointed out its special features.
“Main Street wraps around the Town Square. See that central area? It stretches from the church at the north end to the hotel at the south. That’s the heart of the town. All the fun stuff happens here. We’ll be having a Halloween party here next month.”
He glanced in the rearview mirror. “It’s the best party in the world. Great rides, great games and enough cotton candy to make you puke pink.”
Faith thought she heard a noise from the back seat. It might have been a muffled giggle. But when she turned around, Spencer was studying the tag on Tigger’s collar, and he didn’t even seem to have heard.
“Sounds delightful,” she said dryly, watching the long, open green square pass by. The streets were lined with maple trees that had already begun to hint at autumn color. It would undoubtedly be gorgeous at the height of the fall. “But we probably won’t be—”
She stopped herself before she could finish the thought. We won’t be here then, she had been about to say. Halloween was a whole month away, so surely…
But the truth was, she didn’t really know what the future held. She had no idea when—or if—the police would catch Doug Lambert. She had no idea when she and Spencer could go home.
And it was extremely important that she never, ever mislead the little boy. She mustn’t ever get his hopes up, only to dash them later. He had suffered so much shock, so much loss that he didn’t trust anything or anyone anymore.
She was going to have to work very hard to win back even a little of that sweet trust he used to give so freely.
“It sounds terrific,” she repeated, without the wryness. “Maybe we’ll go, if we’re still here at Halloween.”
And as soon as she said the words, a voice in the back of her head added another thought…the kind of sickening thought she’d never had before Grace’s death. The kind of ugly, shivering thought that seemed so out of place in Firefly Glen.
Maybe they’d go. If…
If Doug Lambert didn’t find them.
If they were still alive at Halloween.

REED’S LAST PATIENT of the day was a bunny that had hopped onto a nasty piece of broken glass. Flopsy, the beloved pet of a nine-year-old cutie named Becky, was going to be fine. Becky was another matter. She hadn’t stopped crying for the past twenty minutes.
Otherwise, though, it had been a light day. And it promised to be an easy night, too. They had only two boarders—a sleepy Persian cat recovering from a routine neutering and a spoiled lizard whose doting owners were out of town and didn’t trust anyone but Reed to shove lettuce into its terrarium properly.
He appreciated the easy workload, especially today, when Faith Constable and her nephew were set to arrive any minute. It had given him time to make sure the guest bedrooms were presentable—which took longer than he’d expected.
He had opened the windows to banish any mustiness. He’d been too long without a housekeeper, that was for damn sure. He hoped she was a good one.
At four-thirty, Tucker Brady, the teenager who helped him with the heavy work, poked his head in the door.
“Hey, Doc. Things are pretty quiet back here. Any chance I could dip out a little early?”
Reed ought to say no. He had promised Tucker’s older sister, Mary, that he’d keep Tucker so overworked and underpaid that he couldn’t acquire any more tattoos. Tucker already had a fire-breathing dragon trailing down one arm, and he was so proud of it he hadn’t worn a long-sleeved shirt since he got it, not even last week, when the temperature dropped below forty.
But tonight Tucker didn’t look like a boy hot for a tattoo. He had washed his face, slicked back his dark hair and waded into a vat of cologne. He looked—or more accurately smelled—like a boy with a hot date.
“Sure,” Reed said, handing the bandaged rabbit back to Becky, who clutched it to her chest tightly. Actually, Flopsy was in far more danger of dying of suffocation than a cut foot. “Just toss some food out for the ducks before you leave, okay?”
Tucker agreed eagerly and disappeared before Reed could change his mind. Becky’s mom dried the little girl’s tears, paid her bill and departed.
So far so good. And still twenty minutes left before Faith Constable was due to arrive.
But Reed should have known that, the minute he started congratulating himself on having things under control, something would go wrong.
He was washing his hands, waiting for Justine to finish running the computer backup discs so they both could call it a day, when suddenly the room came alive with a raucous honking.
Justine covered her ears and grimaced. But Reed knew that sound. Something was bothering the ducks out by the back pond. They were making such a violent ruckus that, though the clinic was a hundred yards away, the quiet office seemed full of quacking and honking and the flapping of frantic wings.
He met Justine’s bewildered gaze.
“Another fox?” she asked, worried. She picked up Gavin and held him protectively, as if she feared that the fox might decide that the plump, soft baby would make a tastier treat than an old stringy duck.
“It’s a little early for that—they usually show up at dusk. But I’ll see.” Reed went out the back door. God, that fox was a persistent devil, wasn’t he? He thought he’d scared the scavenger away for good last week.
Though he knew that ducks in the wild became dinner for foxes every day, he felt a certain responsibility toward these particular silly birds. Melissa had encouraged them to live on their pond—had named them and generally pampered them into lazy, domesticated guests.
And, as she had always said, laughing, it was very bad manners to let a predator come in and gnaw on your guests.
But, when Reed walked outside, he saw immediately that it wasn’t a fox.
Instead, it was a skinny little boy and a shaggy little dog.
And it was also a beautiful, dark-haired, well-dressed woman who had kicked off her shoes and dropped her purse at the edge of the grass and now seemed to be playing a peculiar game of tag with the other two.
As best Reed could tell, the dog had started it. Just a puppy, really, he was racing up and down the length of the pond, trailing a long, limp leash. He was having the time of his life, his pink tongue flying as he ran, barking incessantly, clearly intoxicated by the power of setting the ducks into a noisy flutter.
The little boy was chasing the dog, making periodic futile attempts to snag the leash. His pinched face was as serious as a judge, and he never took his eyes off the puppy, as if his life depended on catching him.
The woman was chasing the boy, stumbling over clumsy ducks who waddled into her path. “Spencer! Tigger! Stop! Please, sweetheart. Stop.”
At the same instant, Reed observed his friend Parker rounding the corner, his arms full of suitcases, which he promptly dropped when he spied the chaos before him.
“Spencer, don’t,” Parker called out, echoing the woman. Then he noticed Reed standing at the clinic door and gave him a sheepish grin. “This isn’t exactly how the introductions were supposed to go, but that great-looking lady down there is your new housekeeper.”
“So I gathered.”
Parker’s grin deepened. “Well? It’s your pond. Your ducks. And you’re the superhero in this story. You’re the gallant protector.”
“Damn it, Parker, I knew you had a hidden agenda here. I am nobody’s superhero, and you damn well know it.”
“Okay, okay.” Parker looked meek. “But you’re in your work clothes, while I, unfortunately, am wearing Sarah’s favorite overpriced suit. Maybe you should…um…do something?”
With a dark glance at Parker—a glance that reminded him whose idea all this had been in the first place—Reed moved toward the pond, which seemed to be churning with wings and webbed feet.
Suddenly, without warning, the dog took a flying leap into the pond and began to paddle furiously toward the nearest mallard.
Without a moment’s hesitation, the little boy barreled in after him, making a hell of a splash.
And, of course, the woman followed frantically.
She probably thought the boy was in danger. She couldn’t know, of course, that the pond was a mere two feet deep. The puppy was the only one who couldn’t touch the bottom quite easily.
Reed started to lope toward them, but Faith looked over, her lovely mouth pressed tight, her wide gaze embarrassed. She shook her head.
“No, please,” she said. “It’s okay.”
He stopped. Her voice was low and pleasant, a little husky—the kind of voice that drove men wild without even trying. But it was emphatic. She was already embarrassed, and she did not want to be “rescued.”
So he honored that, standing at the edge of the pond, watching in case anyone slipped on the way out.
Now that her clothes were drenched, he couldn’t help noticing that her body was spectacular. He glanced at Parker suspiciously, wondering if his friend had known that Faith Constable was a bona fide beauty when he decided she should hide out at Autumn House. It would be just like him to try a little matchmaking.
But Parker looked every bit as mesmerized as Reed felt. Parker might be happily married, but that didn’t mean he was blind. And, even soaking wet—maybe especially soaking wet—this woman was enough to drive an army to its knees.
“Please,” she called out again. “I don’t want you to get wet, too, Dr. Fairmont. We’re fine, really.”
She was holding out her hand to stop him, and Reed realized he must have unconsciously taken another step toward her. He reined himself in with effort.
She was right, of course. They were fine. Spencer had quickly caught the dog, who wriggled in his arms, ecstatically licking mud from his chin. Faith put her arm across the boy’s wet, bony shoulder and bent down, ignoring the water, to give him something that was a cross between a hug and a stern talking to.
It was quite a scene, the two drenched and muddy creatures standing knee deep in water, their clothes ruined, their hair streaming in their faces. And all around them, the ducks paddled peacefully, staring straight ahead with stately boredom, as if, sadly, nothing interesting ever happened on their little pond.
Just then, Justine appeared at Reed’s elbow, chewing on some spearmint-scented gum, her sleeping baby propped on her shoulder.
“Wow,” she said without much inflection, scanning the weird tableau before them. “That half-drowned thing in the pond is your ‘fox’?”
“No.” Reed shook his head slowly, and then, seeing that Faith’s minilecture was over, he began to move a little closer. Maybe he could just lend a hand, just make sure they could climb out without any further dunking.
He glanced back at Justine briefly with a small smile. “Actually,” he said, “that’s my new housekeeper.”
Justine stared a minute, and then she chuckled, stroking her baby’s cheek softly.
“Wow,” she said again as she turned to go back into the clinic. “And I thought you were nuts for hiring me!”

CHAPTER THREE
FAITH HAD NEVER BEEN so humiliated in her life. What a great first impression! She couldn’t imagine what Reed Fairmont must think.
She had to fight the urge to come staggering out of the pond, dripping mud all over everyone, and start compulsively overexplaining, overapologizing, overreacting.
She hadn’t realized that Tigger was essentially being theatrical and never had any intention of massacring Dr. Fairmont’s ducks. Tigger wasn’t a bird dog. He was just a puppy with too much energy, but for a minute she’d forgotten that.
And she hadn’t, of course, realized how shallow the pond was. She had been too focused on the fact that Spencer wasn’t a strong swimmer. He was just six years old, and if he’d slipped beneath the black-gold water, she might not have been able to find him in time.
But, though these were good reasons, they weren’t the real reasons, and she knew it. The real reason Spencer had overreacted to the fear of losing Tigger, and the real reason she had been so afraid of losing Spencer, was simply that they had lost too much already.
They weren’t like other people anymore. Their antennae were always subtly tuned to the disaster frequency. They had seen how swiftly tragedy could strike—even on a sunny summer morning, even in your own home, even while people were making peanut butter sandwiches—and that knowledge had changed them forever.
But that wasn’t the kind of thing you walked right up to a total stranger and began explaining. “Hello, nice to meet you, sorry about the ducks, but you see my nephew and I have developed this disaster mentality.”
Impossible. So instead she put her arm around Spencer’s shoulder and guided him toward the bank of the pond. She stroked his hair back from his forehead, and then did the same to her own. Her stitches hurt—she shouldn’t have let them get wet—but she ignored the pain.
She summoned up all her dignity and looked at Reed Fairmont with her best imitation of a normal smile.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “We seem to have made a terrible mess.”
The man in front of her smiled, too. It was such a warm, sympathetic smile that for a minute Faith thought maybe Reed Fairmont did understand everything. Maybe he knew about how fear seemed to follow them everywhere, even to Firefly Glen, how they heard its whisper in the song of the birds, in the rustle of the wind and the slither of the rain, and even in the kiss of the sunset.
But that was ridiculous, of course. Reed was a doctor. That smile was probably just part of his reassuring bedside manner.
“It’s no problem,” he said. “I’m just sorry you must be so uncomfortable.”
Her next thought was that he was a surprisingly young, attractive man. If anything, even more attractive than the elegant Parker Tremaine. She looked from one man to the other curiously.
Firefly Glen must have some kind of sex-appeal potion in its water.
Detective Bentley had never said how old Dr. Fairmont was—just that he was the widowed veterinarian of this small mountain town. Faith’s imagination had summoned up a gray-haired, weather-beaten image, kind of a countrified Gregory Peck in half glasses and a lab coat, his trusty hound trotting at his heels.
She couldn’t have been more wrong. No gray hair, no wrinkles, no reading glasses, no lab coat and no hound. Instead, the real Reed Fairmont was in his early thirties and good-looking enough to be an actor playing a country vet or a model posing for the cover of Adirondack Adventure.
Six-foot-something, with broad shoulders, trim hips and muscles in all the right places. Longish, wavy brown hair with a healthy dose of highlights. And green eyes smiling out from a forest of thick lashes.
He bent down and gave Tigger a pat. He smiled at Spencer. “Hi,” he said comfortably. “You’ve got a pretty great dog here.” Spencer just ducked his chin and stared down at Tigger.
Reed didn’t seem to notice. He stood without comment and gave Faith another smile. “It’s getting chilly,” he said. “I bet you’d like to get out of those wet clothes.”
She looked over at the house, which was gleaming now with lights in the encroaching dusk. Autumn House. It, too, had surprised her. Detective Bentley had reported that it was a large, wooden Adirondack cabin, but that simple description hadn’t begun to do it justice.
Autumn House was huge, and as beautiful as the forest itself. It sprawled with a natural grace as far as the eye could see—here following the contours of a small silver creek, there wrapping around an ancient oak. The house rose three stories at its center, then sloped to two, then one, then tapered off to a long wooden boardwalk that eventually disappeared into the woods.
It had huge picture windows that looked out onto the sunsets, and porches on all three floors. She felt sure that the place had been built as a haven, a place where terrible things wouldn’t dream of happening.
If only that were true.
“Tell you what,” Reed said, as if he had followed her longing gaze to the warm, lighted house. “Why don’t you let Parker take you up and show you where your rooms are? That way you can get a warm shower and change.”
She longed to say yes. A warm shower sounded like heaven. But she looked down at Tigger, uncertain. “I think I’d better wash the puppy off first,” she said. “He’ll get mud all over your lovely house.”
“I can do that.” Reed squatted down again and tugged lightly on Tigger’s muddy ear. “I’ve got everything I need back in the clinic. That is, if Tigger doesn’t mind going with a stranger.”
Tigger had never met a stranger. He licked Reed’s hand and wriggled with anticipation. Reed chuckled. “Guess that’s my answer,” he said pleasantly, then looked at Spencer. “I promise I’ll take good care of him.”
Suddenly Parker Tremaine stepped up, clearing his throat. “I think you’ve got it backward, Reed,” he said with a wry smile. “It’s your house—I’m not even sure which rooms you’ve set aside for them. So how about you take Faith and Spencer up to the house, and I’ll wash the dog?”
Tigger sniffed Parker’s outstretched hand and began thumping his tail in unqualified approval. But Reed gave his friend a quizzical expression that Faith couldn’t quite decipher.
“What about your suit, Parker? I seem to remember that you’re wearing Sarah’s favorite suit.”
Parker tilted his head and grinned slowly. “True, but, you know, Reed, there is something Sarah values even more than a good suit.”
Reed squinted narrowly at the other man, as if he suspected him of an ulterior motive. “Really. And what would that be?”
Parker hesitated—a small pause that had a distinctly teasing flavor. Faith saw that they were communicating privately—and very effectively—but she couldn’t really tell about what. Maybe it was as simple as trying to get out of having to wash the muddy dog. Or having to squire the dripping guests up to the shower…
Suddenly Parker held out his hands with a smile, asking Spencer to transfer custody of Tigger. To Faith’s amazement, Spencer hardly hesitated. He handed the puppy over with a single kiss to his matted head.
“Dogs,” Parker said, holding Tigger up with the triumphant air of a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. “As you know, Reed, Sarah just loves dogs.”

SPENCER AND TIGGER fell asleep early, almost as soon as they had wolfed down dinner. Reed wasn’t surprised. They had both been subdued, obviously exhausted by their eventful day.
At one point, Spencer had looked up at his aunt intently, then gazed over at his bed. She must have understood, because she turned to Reed and asked whether he’d mind if Tigger slept on the bed.
Naturally, he hadn’t minded at all. He’d been six years old once. And frankly he still didn’t see the point in having a dog if you didn’t let it sleep on the bed.
Reed assumed that Faith would fall asleep early, too, but to his surprise when he strolled out onto the second-floor porch at about ten o’clock, she was standing out there, as well.
She didn’t hear him at first. Wrapped in a moonlight-blue robe and a gray cloud of deep thoughts, she was staring into the trees as if she longed to lose herself in their inky depths.
It probably would be wiser to turn around and leave her there. But he wasn’t feeling wise. All evening he’d been feeling edgy, unable to settle in. He felt irrationally as if his life was on the verge of becoming completely different, though he had no idea how.
Maybe it was just the weird feeling of having other people in the house. No one but him had slept in this house since Melissa died.
And, to be honest, he was curious. He wanted to know Faith Constable’s story. Parker had given him broad outlines, but, now that he’d met her, outlines weren’t enough.
He was careful to make enough noise walking toward her to be sure she’d hear him. Given what she’d been through lately, the last thing he wanted to do was startle her.
She turned around. “Hi,” she said, smiling.
“Hi,” he responded casually, but inside his senses were suddenly reeling. She smelled of soap and some kind of perfume that made him think of pink flowers and springtime. She wore no makeup, and the blue-gray shadows under her eyes were more apparent than before, but somehow she was more beautiful than ever.
Her dark hair fell to midarm—curving against the tender spot where he had earlier noticed a large white bandage. The bandage had been a brutal reminder that she wasn’t here for a social visit. She wasn’t even here to be his housekeeper.
She was a wounded, frightened woman. A refugee seeking asylum.
He felt a sudden flash of anger toward this insane, vicious Douglas Lambert. How could anyone be trying to hurt someone so beautiful?
He joined her at the railing. The night was chilly, but not yet cold. The autumn sky was like a piece of heavily sequined black satin.
“So,” he said, not sure how to open a normal conversation. So much about this situation was far from normal. “Is the room okay? Do you have everything you need?”
“Oh, yes, absolutely.” She sounded stilted, but polite. She turned toward him with another of those strained smiles. “I haven’t thanked you properly yet. It’s very generous of you to let us hide out here.”
“I’m glad to be able to help,” he answered. God, this was like a bad comedy of manners. They were living together, for Pete’s sake. They might be living together for weeks—even months. They were going to have to get past this stilted exchange of meaningless pleasantries.
“So, I was wondering… If this is a good time, with Spencer asleep, I thought maybe you’d be willing to tell me a little more about what happened.”
She touched her arm. “More like what?”
He chose his words carefully. He didn’t want to sound insensitive, as if he found her tragedy as morbidly fascinating and unreal as a soap opera. “About your sister, and why this guy is still after you. Why Spencer doesn’t talk.”
She didn’t answer at first. He shouldn’t have rushed her, he thought, kicking himself mentally. She wasn’t ready.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know it can’t be easy to talk about. It’s just that—if I’m going to help—I thought maybe I should know a little more.”
She gripped the railing and stared back out at the trees. “No, that’s okay,” she said. “You’re right. It’s just that sometimes it’s hard to—”
“I know,” he said, wishing he could unspeak the words. What a clumsy approach this had been. He really was rusty at dealing with women, wasn’t he? “It can wait.”
“No. Now is better. I just—I don’t really know why Spencer doesn’t talk.” It was as if she had to hurry up and get started, for fear she might lose her courage. “Not exactly. The psychiatrists seem to think it’s the stress of losing his mother. They use some pretty impressive phrases when they talk about it. They say his ‘stressor reactions of fear exceeded the normal adaptive responses.’”
She shrugged, then winced. The movement must have pulled her stitches. “Whatever that means.”
“I guess it means his system maxed out.”
“Right. They called it his ‘breaking point threshold.’”
Yeah, Reed thought. He’d heard those terms himself, back when he was in his heavy denial and heavy drinking phase. The breaking point threshold. Everyone had one. You didn’t necessarily see it coming, but you sure as hell knew when you crossed it.
“Anyhow,” she went on, “they seem to think it’s selective, that he can talk if he wants to—as opposed to a true loss of neurological function. Apparently that’s a positive sign.” Her eyes grew dark. “I hope they’re right.”
“I think they probably do know what they’re talking about,” he said. “Even if they like to say it in some pretty pompous ways.”
She rewarded him for that supportive joke with a brief smile. “Anyhow, I guess I ought to tell you about Doug, too. He’s the man…the man who—”
“They told me,” he said quickly. “He’s the man you believe killed your sister.”
“I know he did,” she said with a sudden vehemence. “I don’t understand why no one can just believe me!”
“I believe you,” he said. And he did. He had seen how her face blanched, and her lips had seemed to grow stiff when she tried to say his name. She knew Doug Lambert was a killer. She knew it in her veins, which in his book was far more reliable than knowing it in your head.
She looked at him hard, as if she wondered whether he might be merely humoring her. But she must have seen his sincerity, because she took a deep breath and went on.
“I have an interior design business. Doug was one of my clients. He had a lot of money, and he wanted his entire house done over. I worked with him for a couple of months, but eventually his interest grew…personal.” She swallowed. “Personal and very disturbing.”
“He wanted a relationship?”
She nodded, shivering slightly. “He was obsessed with it. It was pretty frightening, actually. He was a big man. Not as tall as you are, but bulky. Sometimes, when I wouldn’t let him—” She paused, getting control of her voice. “You could almost feel the violence running through him.”
Reed waited, still careful not to push. It was a little like trying to coax a hurt kitten out of the safety of its cage. He had learned through the years that you succeeded far faster if you did absolutely nothing, just provided a safe place to enter.
“I handed his work off to my partner, but he wouldn’t take the hint. Eventually we had to turn the whole job over to another firm. And still he wouldn’t stop. He kept calling, coming over unannounced, sending roses. Thousands of red roses.” She glanced at Reed. “I used to like roses. You can’t imagine how I hate them now.”
He didn’t deny it. He couldn’t know, not really. Probably no man could—especially not a healthy, physically capable man. Men generally met other men on a level playing field. But take this fragile, slender woman next to him—probably no more than five-five and just over a hundred pounds. All the self-defense classes in the world wouldn’t change the fact that a six-foot man would always have the advantage.
“I had invited Grace over that day,” she said. “Douglas was supposed to be out of town, and I was feeling great. It was lovely to know he wouldn’t show up and make a scene. Grace was happy, too. Spencer’s father died three years ago, but Grace had found a new boyfriend, and she was so happy—”
He touched her shoulder, careful to avoid the stitches. “It’s all right,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me this part if you don’t want to.”
“I do want to.” She was standing very, very straight and her gaze was looking at something he couldn’t see. “I had gone out for supplies for lunch, and when I got back, I saw Spencer sneaking out of the building. He had Tigger with him. I’m sure Grace had told him not to leave the apartment, but my apartment building was next to a park, and it probably was just too enticing.”
She smiled a little. “You likely can’t believe it, but before his mother died Spencer was a very mischievous little boy. Very active. Talked a mile a minute. She used to say she couldn’t keep him still long enough to tie his shoes.”
Reed smiled, too. It was a cute picture. He wanted to see the little boy like that again.
“He was sneaking out to play with Tigger at the park. He was so ashamed when he saw me coming after him. He’s not naughty, just mischievous. He came with me right away. And that’s when I saw Doug Lambert. Coming out of my apartment building.”
She put her hand over her eyes. “He saw me, too. I’ll never forget the look on his face. It was as if he’d seen a ghost.”
“Oh, my God.” Reed hadn’t heard this part. He hadn’t realized that Doug Lambert had killed the wrong sister. Suddenly he could feel the pit of guilt that must yawn before Faith Constable, and he marveled at her ability to keep her balance, to keep from falling into it and never coming out at all.
“That’s right. He thought he had just killed me. I honestly believe it wasn’t until he saw me on the street with Spencer that he had any idea he had killed Grace instead.”
It was too horrible. “You and your sister—were you twins?”
“No, but she was only a year older than I was, and we looked so much alike. She wore her hair the same way. We even shared clothes. I think he was just so angry, when he came in and heard her talking to Kenny on the telephone, when he heard what she was saying. Kenny told the police that they had been so playful, kissing each other through the phone, and talking about—”
He heard the moment her voice broke. She made a choking sound, struggling to hold back. And then, defeated, she ducked her head, trying to hide the tears. “I hate him,” she said. “I hate him so much.”
He didn’t think. He just reached out and pulled her up against him.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Go ahead. It’s all right to cry.”
She didn’t try to free herself. But she didn’t surrender to the emotion either.
“No, it isn’t,” she said tightly. Her voice was muffled against his shirt, but he could still hear that it was thick with tears that needed desperately to fall. “I can’t let Spencer see me crying.”
“Spencer is asleep,” he said. Her hair was as soft as the black satin sky, and he ran his hand down it over and over, as if he could stroke the tears out of her with the rhythmic touch. After a few minutes, he imagined that her muscles were relaxing, just a little
“Go ahead,” he said. “Let it go. It isn’t good to keep it all inside.”
He knew that all too well. He hadn’t cried, either, after Melissa died. He had taken refuge in liquor the way Faith was taking refuge in her anger. Either way, the unshed tears would poison you, until you hardly knew who you were.
She shook her head, but his shirt was warm and wet where she had been, and he knew she was losing the fight.
“Crying is weak,” she whispered. “I haven’t cried since the day she died. I can’t afford to be weak, can’t you see that? I have to be strong until they catch him.”
It was too cruel. He tightened his arms around her. And as he felt her slender body press against him, he was suddenly reminded of a small, broken bird he had once treated. It had been brought to him much too late. The bird had died in his hands.
Determination shot through him like a burning streak of light. She had come here for protection, and by God he would make sure she got it.
“No, you don’t,” he said softly. “You’re not alone anymore. Just this once, let someone else be strong for you.”
She tensed again, holding her breath. And then, weeks and weeks too late, this brave, grieving woman finally allowed herself the luxury of tears.

DOUG LAMBERT laughed to himself as he passed a policeman on the street. For a minute, he considered asking the cop for a dollar, just to enjoy the thrill of looking into his eyes and knowing the dumb bastard had no idea who he was.
But ultimately it wasn’t worth it. Cops were too stupid to live—fooling them wasn’t even very much fun.
While they scrambled around, putting out their asinine all-points bulletins about millionaire murder suspect Douglas Lambert and scouring all the obvious places in vain, Doug was hiding in plain sight.
Living at a squalid, smelly homeless shelter.
See, that was the key. The cops had no imagination. They never even thought of looking there. They believed he was rich, spoiled, incapable of enduring hardship, unwilling to sleep on anything but his expensive Turkish sheets or to eat anything but five-star cuisine.
Morons. They didn’t know a damn thing about Doug Lambert. He came from a filthy, wretched nothingness, and he was perfectly comfortable returning there for as long as it took.
Actually, it had been almost embarrassingly easy. Get a box of Clairol do-it-yourself color and go a few weeks without a shave or a hundred-dollar haircut.
Take out your expensive front bridgework and let your lips cave in over a toothless mouth. He felt smug to think how everyone had urged him to get implants—he could certainly afford them. But he didn’t like doctors, he didn’t like pain, and so he had settled for the best damn dentures on the market. See, now, what a good decision that turned out to be?
Then splurge five bucks on cast-off jeans and a T-shirt and a pair of stained sneakers. After that you could walk right up and spit in that flatfoot’s ugly face, and the damn fool would never know the difference.
Still, Doug knew he had to find out where Faith had gone. He could feel the urge building inside him, until it was so big now it was almost a physical pain. Sometimes he thought he couldn’t breathe around it.
He had to find her.
He wasn’t stupid enough to hire a private detective. The police would be looking for that. But there were other ways. A man like him knew plenty of useful people whose names weren’t in the Yellow Pages.
By the time he arrived back at the shelter, he had come to a decision. He wouldn’t wait any longer, with this anger, and the desire that was its twin, building inside him like a tumor. He was patient, but he wasn’t a waffler. He liked action.
He sat down, put his hand into the pocket of the drunk slumped next to him and pulled out a couple of quarters, staring in the man’s eyes the whole time, daring him to object.
And then he dropped them into the pay telephone in the hall and dialed a number he knew well but almost never used.
He needed relief, and there was only one way to get it.
Faith Constable had to die.

CHAPTER FOUR
“LET GO OF THAT, you diabolical son of a—”
Faith squatted down by the vacuum cleaner, tugging with all her strength at the drapery pull that was half-in, half-out of the Hoover-monster’s long silver snout. But she’d forgotten to turn the motor off, so the monster was still roaring, sucking in, as if green tassels were the most delectable treats on earth.
“I…said…let…go!”
It was too late. By the time she reached the power switch, the tassel had disappeared. The monster’s roar dwindled to a sick choking sound, and the air smelled ominously of burned rubber.
She bit back a curse, remembering just in time that Spencer was in the room. She glanced at him.
“Sorry,” she said. “This machine is giving me a hard time.”
Tigger had been watching her the whole time, whining and growling and thumping his tail. But Spencer just kept staring out the large picture window, which offered a spectacular view of the hickory, birch, sycamore and maple that dotted the Autumn House property, thickening until gradually they blended with the untamed woods beyond.
It was gorgeous. But she was pretty sure Spencer wasn’t communing with nature. His shoulders were stiff, his arms tightly wrapped over his bony chest, his eyes unblinking, probably fixed on his own tragic thoughts.
He was so unhappy, she thought with a twist of pain. And she had no idea how to help him.
Suddenly overcome by her own incompetence—if she couldn’t control a simple vacuum cleaner, how was she going to cope with parenting a traumatized little boy?—she sank to her knees. She glared at the vacuum and wondered what on earth to do now.
Frankly, she had no idea. As anyone could tell you, Faith was the world’s worst housekeeper.
It wasn’t something she’d ever been ashamed of before. She worked hard all day, and her interior design company was successful. So she hired a “domestic technician” to perform lemony magic at her apartment once a week.
Sometimes on Fridays Faith opened her door with her eyes shut, just to savor the sparkling fresh smell that said Delilah had been there. She valued a clean house, all right. She just didn’t have a clue how to make it happen except by writing a check.
Still, how hard could it be? She wiggled her middle finger down the tube of the vacuum, but encountered nothing but smooth plastic. She squinted into it, but saw only blackness. She tapped it against the floor as hard as she dared, but nothing emerged except a puff of dirt that billowed up into her eyes and mouth.
Coughing, she scanned the room. She could not face Reed Fairmont and tell him that she had lost a wrestling match with a vacuum cleaner. Especially after she’d so stupidly wept all over his shirt last night.
He undoubtedly already thought she was a weakling. She couldn’t add hopeless incompetent to the mix.
She was smart. She was creative. She could think of something…
Of course! A metal hanger.
Five minutes later she’d broken two fingernails, the stitches in her shoulder ached and the hanger was wedged down the long snout, as lost as the tassel. She rubbed her stinging, sooty eyes and made a mental note to give Delilah a raise. A big one.
“Well, well,” a dry voice observed. “You must be the new housekeeper.”
Faith looked up. A tidy little woman, probably seventy-something, stood in the doorway, a casserole dish in her hands and wry amusement in her sharp brown eyes. The woman was all skin and bones, but somehow so authoritative in her plain—but very expensive—black pantsuit that Faith found herself scrambling to her feet.
“Hi,” she said, trying to brush the dirt from her white polo shirt. How stupid to have chosen white! “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you knock.”
“I don’t knock,” the other woman said. “I’m Theo Burke.”
Faith hesitated, unsure whether that was a non sequitur.
“Good heavens.” Theo Burke chuckled. “That was pretty cocky, even for me. I just meant I have a key. Reed and I go way back. I’ve been bringing him dinner three days a week since Melissa died. Not that he needs it anymore, the lazy scamp. It’s just a habit now, but we both like it.”
“I can understand why. It smells fantastic.” Faith held out her hand, hoping it wasn’t too grimy. “It’s nice to meet you, Theo. I’m Faith Constable, Dr. Fairmont’s new housekeeper.”
“I knew it. They’re talking about you in town. They said you didn’t look like a housekeeper.” Theo let her gaze skim the mess on the floor. “I’m inclined to agree.”
Faith took a breath. “Well, I—”
“Not that it matters. You’re pretty enough, and young enough—no one will ever care. It’s only when you get to be an old prune like me that people expect you to be good at things.”
Faith stared at the older woman, wishing she could explain why she was here, why she was posing as a housekeeper, when even a blind person could tell she was nothing of the sort. She knew it didn’t really matter what Theo Burke, whoever she was, thought of her. But darn it—she was good at things. Lots of things. Just not domestic things.
“We’d better get this straightened up.” Theo set the casserole, which was wrapped in a thermal covering, on one of the elegant wooden end tables. “Don’t want Reed to come in and find the house a wreck on your first day. Melissa spoiled him rotten, of course. She was the perfect wife. She could scrub tubs, baste a pheasant and win the Miss America contest all at the same time. If she hadn’t been such a sweetie, every female in Firefly Glen would have hated her gorgeous guts.”
Faith blinked. This level of candor was rather amazing. The small-town style, no doubt. In the city, you were lucky to get a hello grunt.
“Anyhow,” Theo continued, “let’s see what can be done. How bloody was the battle? Did you actually kill the poor vacuum, or just maim it?”
“I—” Faith shook her head and numbly picked up the long gray nozzle. The looped end of a metal hanger stuck out like a rude tongue. “To be honest, I don’t know. It all started when I pointed that thing at one of the curtain tie-backs. It just got worse from there.”
Theo laughed, a surprisingly warm, pleasant sound, considering how acerbic her conversation had been so far. “Oh, this is just a flesh wound. Let Dr. Theo do a little surgery.”
As Faith stepped back, she noticed that Spencer had brought Tigger over to get a better look at Theo. Boy and dog were peeking around the edge of a large rose-colored armchair.
Theo saw him at that moment, too. “That your son?”
“My nephew.” Faith tried to motion Spencer out of hiding. “Spencer, this is Ms. Burke.”
But Spencer wasn’t moving. He was just a pair of round, dark eyes under a mess of spiky brown hair. He held Tigger tightly in his arms.
“None of this Ms. Burke stuff. Everybody calls me Theo. Everybody I like, that is, and I already know I like you, Spencer. Know how I know?”
Spencer’s brow wrinkled subtly. Faith could tell he was curious, but of course he didn’t say a word.
Luckily, Theo didn’t seem to require an answer. “I’ll tell you how I know,” she said, unscrewing the body of the vacuum with a tiny silver tool she had whisked out of her pocket. “I know because your dog likes you. Dogs know who the good people are.”
She held out the loose screw. “Hold these for me, would you, Spencer? And don’t drop them.”
To Faith’s amazement, Spencer inched out from behind the chair. He took three steps closer to the vacuum cleaner and opened his small palm. Theo dropped the screws into his hand and went on working, as if nothing peculiar had happened.
Faith, too, tried to pretend nonchalance. It was such a little thing, compared to the old Spencer, who had always been sociable and talkative. But the new Spencer rarely even made eye contact with strangers.
After a few minutes, Theo tugged out the green tassel. It was crumpled and dingy, but intact. Then she wiggled the hanger free, too.
She held it up with a smile. “You were lucky. Could have done some real damage with this, but you just melted the belt.”
She tilted her head and scrutinized Faith, who was sucking on her index finger, trying to soothe it where the nail had broken below the quick. Faith stopped with a guilty start and tucked her hand behind her back as if she had something to hide.
“Okay, I’ve got to know.” Theo grinned, suddenly looking twenty years younger. “It’s none of my business, but I’m going to ask you anyhow. I always do. Anybody can tell you that.”
“Ask me what?”
“What made a woman like you decide to take a job as a housekeeper? I’d be willing to bet the cost of that glamorous manicure that you’ve never actually touched a vacuum cleaner before.”
“Well, of course I ha—”
Theo’s prim silver eyebrows arched, and Faith’s fib died on her lips.
“You’re right,” she said. “I am very new to this. I’ve never used one of these canister vacuums, and I haven’t a clue how to baste a pheasant, either. Sadly, I’m no Melissa Fairmont.”
Theo let out a gruff bark of laughter. “You can say that again. Melissa could have built you a whole new vacuum cleaner with just this hanger, two stamps and a thumbtack.”
Faith smiled ruefully. So Reed Fairmont was used to living with a domestic goddess. Poor man. He volunteered to do a good deed, and look what happened. A domestic dummy invaded his lovely house, drenched his shirt and melted his belt. He was probably already kicking himself hard for being such a patsy.
She took a deep breath. “It’s all right, Theo. I think I know what you’re trying to tell me, and I really do appreciate the warning.”
Theo rose with a grunt and handed the screwdriver to Spencer. “Put that back together for me, would you, please? You saw how I took it apart, right?”
When the little boy accepted the screwdriver, Theo nodded briefly, then turned to Faith. “What exactly do you think I’m trying to tell you?”
“Well…” Faith felt herself coloring. “Just that Melissa Fairmont was a very unusual, very accomplished woman. And that Dr. Fairmont may be disappointed to discover how little his new housekeeper has in common with her.”
“Well, that’s part of it.” Theo smiled. “You may disappoint him in some ways. But you may also make him laugh.” She looked at the broken vacuum.
“In fact, I’m absolutely positive you will. And a little laughter may be what this house needs most of all.”

REED HAD TOYED with the idea of skipping dinner—he had plenty of work to do in the clinic—but he’d finally decided that would be too cowardly.
He had to sit down and share a meal with his new houseguests sooner or later. And, as he’d learned the first day at med school, when it came to facing a problem, sooner was always better.
It wasn’t, in the end, quite as awkward as he’d feared. Theo’s chicken-mushroom casserole was delicious, of course, and Faith had obviously worked to set a homey tone. She’d filled a small cut-glass bowl with yellow apples for a centerpiece, and she had found Melissa’s favorite green-flowered napkins, which looked great against the maple table.
She was good at keeping the conversation going, too. She showed an intelligent—though undeniably artificial—interest in every detail of his veterinary practice. To help her along, Reed trotted out his silliest stories—the duck that bit the sheriff, the lizard that liked to have his tummy rubbed, the bunny that hatched an egg and the cat that delivered her kittens in a birdcage.
He even mentioned that he was heading out after dinner to see those newborn kittens, and suggested that Spencer and Faith could join him if they liked.
But, though both he and Faith kept sending encouraging glances down to Spencer’s end of the table, the kid never cracked a smile.
When it was over, Spencer had dashed upstairs to his room, Tigger close on his heels. Now Faith and Reed were in the kitchen washing dishes in a silence that was strangely comfortable.
Suddenly the telephone rang. Faith whirled toward it so eagerly Reed thought for a moment she planned to answer it herself. She seemed to remember just in time that this wasn’t her house.
“Sorry,” she said. She backed away with a sheepish smile and returned to the sudsy water. But her posture was tight and wary. He could tell she was listening intently as he picked up the receiver.
It was just the Petermans, the overprotective owners of the spoiled lizard. Reed managed to assure them that Spike was quite contented, eating well, but not too much, missing them, but not too much, getting plenty of attention, but not too much.
Finally he hung up the phone with a chuckle and turned to Faith. “Spike’s owner. Apparently Spike suffers from separation anxiety. If he looks lonely, I’m supposed to give him extra food. Unfortunately, I’m having trouble reading the nuances of his facial expression. It always looks like a cross between superbored and mildly ticked off.”
She smiled half-heartedly. “Well, maybe lizard nuances are more in their body language.”
Reed shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe the Petermans are nuts.”
Truth was, though, Reed did believe in body language, in animals and in people. And right now Faith Constable’s body language screamed tension. She had wanted that telephone call to be someone else. But who?
He took Theo’s rinsed casserole dish from her hands and began rubbing it with his thickest kitchen towel. “I wondered—the way you went for the telephone. Are you expecting a call from someone?”
“Not expecting, really.” She tried to smile again, but it clearly was becoming more of a strain every minute. “Just hoping, I guess.”
He looked at her sad mouth and wondered if there was a boyfriend back in New York City, a guy who was ordinarily in charge of making her smile. “But I thought—I mean, who even knows you’re here?”
“Detective Bentley. He promised he’d keep me posted. About the investigation. About whether they’re closing in on…on—”
“On Doug Lambert.”
“Yes.”
“But it’s only been one day. Surely it’s too soon?”
“Yes. I know.” She took a deep breath. “I know it is.”
They worked in silence another moment, and then she spoke again.
“It’s just that…they did expect to hear from the florist today. The one who might have sold him the roses.”
“The roses?” Reed was careful to keep any overly curious quality from his voice. He didn’t want to pry, but he wanted to know everything he could. And it would do her good to talk about it. After her tears last night, she had seemed much more relaxed. She had let him guide her to the bedroom door as limply as an exhausted child.
“They found three rose petals in my kitchen that day, next to my sister’s body.” She scrubbed at an already clean glass so hard her knuckles turned as white as the suds. “The problem was that these roses hadn’t come from Doug’s regular florist. He sent me roses all the time, but not this kind.”
Reed wanted to take the glass out of her hand. She was holding it much too tightly. But he didn’t dare break the flow of words.
“These roses were a much rarer variety. At first the police thought that meant it hadn’t been Doug after all. But Detective Bentley sent the petals to a botanist, who said it was a variety called ‘Faith.’”
Reed made a noise in spite of himself.
A shiver seemed to pass through her, and the glass slipped, plopping into the water. She fished it out again with trembling fingers.
“I think that was when Detective Bentley began to believe me. He finally found the little shop that sold them. It was two blocks from my apartment. We’re waiting for the owner to get back from vacation, to see if he can identify Doug as the man who bought the roses that day.”
“Of course it was.”
“Yes.” Her voice was even huskier than usual. “But they need evidence. For a jury. For a conviction.”
Reed moved closer to the sink. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry that call wasn’t Detective Bentley.”
“It’s all right.” But her voice cracked, and he knew it wasn’t true.
She turned to hand him the glass. As he reached out, it fell from her shaking fingers and smashed on the wooden floor, splinters of crystal scattering in all directions.
He bent quickly, and so did she. As they knelt, their faces were only inches apart, and he could feel waves of stress pulsing from her. Her brown eyes were almost black, and a sharp sliver of glass glinted on her shirt, right over her heart.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, and he could feel her struggle to hold herself together, to keep her emotions from flying into a hundred different pieces, just like the glass. She gathered shards quickly, filling her palm. “Please. I’ll clean it up.”
He caught her by the wrist. “It’s all right,” he said.
“No, it isn’t.” She bit her lower lip hard and inhaled deeply. The pulse in her wrist was like a jackhammer under his thumb.
“I hate this,” she said. “This isn’t me. I’m not like this.”
“Like what?”
She held out her palm full of sparkling bits of glass. “Like this. Clumsy. Incompetent. You probably won’t believe it, but I have my own business. I’m good at what I do. I don’t break everything I touch.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“And I’m not weak. I never cry. Never. I don’t know what happened to me last night. I’d hate for you to think that I—”
A sudden noise in the kitchen doorway stopped her. She looked up and saw Spencer standing there, staring at them curiously. She glanced at Reed, who let go of her hand. She stood up, all the ferocity instantly draining from her expression.
“Hi,” she said to her nephew. “Don’t come in, honey. I broke a glass, and it’s all over the place.”
The little boy didn’t protest. He waited in the doorway, holding on to Tigger’s collar to keep the puppy safe, too. They finished cleaning up the shards quickly, and then, at a nod from Faith, Spencer walked in, holding out a large piece of paper.
She took it with a smile. “What’s this? Oh—how cute! I’ll bet you drew this for Dr. Fairmont, didn’t you?”
Spencer didn’t answer, of course, but he didn’t snatch the paper back, either, and even Reed could see that the little boy was comfortable with Faith’s deduction. His somber brown gaze transferred to Reed, as if he were waiting for his reaction.
“Look,” Faith said, handing it over. “It’s the kittens you were talking about at dinner.”
The kid was pretty good. Reed could clearly see three tiger-striped kittens sleeping inside a large, domed birdcage. Spencer had even added a colorful parrot on top of the cage, staring down, bewildered by what had become of his home.
Reed chuckled and looked over at Spencer. “Nice job,” he said. “It’s very good, and it’s funny, too.”
Spencer didn’t smile, exactly. But he worried at his lip, as if he had to work to keep himself from smiling, and that was good enough for Reed. It felt good to see even the tiniest bit of pleasure on that pinched, freckled face. Kids weren’t meant to be so sad.
“Spencer, what’s that?” Faith bent down and tugged on a bit of leather that stuck out of the little boy’s back pocket. “You brought Tigger’s leash? Why?”
Spencer darted a quick look over at Reed, and Faith made a low sound of sudden comprehension. “Oh, I know. Maybe you’ve decided that you would like to go out with Dr. Fairmont to see the kittens?”
The little boy answered by leaning down and affixing the leash to Tigger’s collar. The puppy immediately began turning around in frenzied circles of joy.
Faith looked up at Reed, delighted surprise written all over her lovely face. Apparently it was something of a miracle that Spencer would actually be willing to go out into the night with a stranger, even to see newborn kittens.
“Sure,” Reed said easily. “I’d love to take him along.”
Oops—he must have phrased that wrong. Spencer’s brow wrinkled deeply under his shaggy brown bangs. He tugged on Faith’s sweater. When he got her attention, he walked to the far counter and grabbed her purse. He came back and handed it to her.
The implication was unmistakable. Spencer wasn’t going anywhere without his aunt.
“Reed?” She lifted her eyebrows. “Do you have room for all of us?”
“Of course,” he said. “It’ll be fun.”
And he realized that, much to his surprise, he actually meant it. He had thought he’d have trouble relinquishing his accustomed solitude—and yet here he was, downright pleased that he wouldn’t have to make the long drive out to the Lofton estate alone.
Someone knocked on the kitchen door. Spencer froze, then sidestepped behind Faith’s legs, dragging Tigger with him. Soon all you could see were his little white-knuckled fingers around her hips.
“It’s probably just Theo,” Reed said reassuringly. “She’ll be wanting her casserole dish.”
Faith put her hand behind her back to stroke Spencer’s head. “Can’t be Theo,” she said with a smile. “Theo doesn’t knock.”
Reed grinned back—he could easily imagine Theo saying something as haughty as that. So who was it? Mentally crossing his fingers that it wasn’t any kind of emergency, he opened the door.
It was an emergency, all right. Somehow he managed not to groan out loud. It was a bona fide, four-alarm, social faux pas emergency.
It was Pauline Ferguson, the young owner of Waterworks, the newest retail store on Main Street. Pauline, the red-haired beauty from South Carolina who had been chasing Reed for months, trying to coax him into casting off his mourning and rejoining the social scene at her side.
He was supposed to be at her house right now, picking her up for their first real date.
She was angry, but far too clever to show it. Only the bright flash of her green eyes gave it away. Reed had once seen that same flash in the eyes of a furious, wounded fox.
“Oh, hell, Pauline. I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.”
That didn’t help, naturally. But it was the truth. And if she wanted to date him, she was going to have to accept the truth. He’d forgotten their date because it honestly didn’t mean very much to him. He wasn’t ready for a “relationship” and he’d told her so, a hundred times. He’d only said yes because she wouldn’t accept a no.
She had assured him that she wasn’t interested in anything serious, either, her divorce was too recent, couldn’t they just keep each other company? But in those two flashing seconds he saw that she’d been lying.
If only he could just call it off. He’d much rather see whether the kittens, who were as small as hamsters, as blind as bats and as cute as hell, could make Spencer smile.
But he was stuck, of course. He wasn’t selfish enough to insult Pauline like that. He introduced Pauline to Faith—and to Spencer, though Pauline had to take his word for it that a little boy was actually attached to those clutching fingers.
“I hope you’re feeling flexible about tonight’s date,” he said with a smile. “I need to go to the Lofton farm before I can do anything else. And I promised Spencer and Faith they could come along. Dina Lofton has some newborn kittens that are pretty darn cute.”
Pauline was no fool. She smiled, the picture of flexibility. The wounded fox was completely hidden behind the easygoing Southern charm.
“Of course I don’t mind. You know I adore kittens.”
But Spencer began tugging frantically at Faith’s sweater, pulling at her purse, trying to make her take it off her shoulder. His meaning was clear. He was no longer interested in going anywhere.
“It’s okay, Spencer,” Reed said. He felt irrationally annoyed with Pauline, who didn’t realize the damage she’d done just by showing up. “We can still go. We’ll all pile into the truck together. It’ll be fun.”
Spencer froze—and then he came out from behind Faith’s legs slowly. He gave Reed one long, blank look. He reached over and plucked his kitten sketch very carefully from the kitchen table. And then, with Tigger prancing in happy ignorance behind him, the little boy left the room.

FOUR HOURS LATER, Reed let himself into the house quietly, hoping he wouldn’t wake his houseguests. He was tired, and he needed to be alone.
The date had been a disaster.
Pauline hadn’t done anything wrong, exactly. She was as clever as a chameleon, and she’d adapted herself to his mood, going from gaily high-spirited to sensitively low-key in a blink. Her message came through neon-clear: See? I’m the perfect woman. I can be whatever you want.

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Kathleen OBrien

Тип: электронная книга

Жанр: Современные любовные романы

Язык: на английском языке

Издательство: HarperCollins

Дата публикации: 16.04.2024

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О книге: Faith Constable is not the kind of woman who runs from a fightIf it weren′t for her orphaned nephew, she never would have left Manhattan for the sleepy little town of Firefly Glen. But now she′s here–hunted by a madman and forced to live in fear.Reed Fairmont can help everyone but himselfReed knows Faith needs a safe place to hide, but he′s beginning to wonder just what kind of protector he can be. His previous failure has already cost one life. Still, he can′t back out now–Faith and her nephew have nowhere else to go.

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